THE ABANDONED

Hey! Working class kid makes good!

The Holy Mother, saved by Cloister the Stupid, who was frozen in time, and who gaveth of his life that we might live.

Who shall returneth to lead us to Fushal, The Promised Land.

And Cloister spake, `Lo, I shall lead you to Fyushal, and there we shall open a temple of food, wherein shall be sausages and doughnuts and all manner of bountiful things.

Yea, even individual sachets of mustard. 

And those who serve shall have hats of great majesty, yea, though they be made of coloured cardboard and have humorous arrows through the top.'

“And Cloister gave to Frankenstein the sacred writing, saying, `Those who have wisdom will know its meaning.' And it was written thus: `Seven socks, one shirt--'" 

And the ark that left first followed the sacred signs, and lo, they flew straight into an asteroid.

And the righteous in the second ark flew ever onward, knowing they were indeed righteous." 

KRYTEN laughs hard, banging his head off the table, then abruptly sobers

up.

KRYTEN:

“Mum”  

I never had a mum.

CAT :

There, there, it's alright, buddy, it's all part of being drunk.

You've been through the happy stage, now you're going through the melancholy stage.

KRYTEN:

Oooooh... everybody should have a mum.

HOLLY:

I never had a mum, neither.

RIMMER: 

Well, you can have mine!  Everybody else did!

LISTER :

I never had a mum either.

RIMMER:

Oh, for god's sake, what's wrong with everyone?!

HOLLY:

Why didn't you have a mum?

LISTER: 

I was abandoned.

KRYTEN: 

Abandoned?

LISTER: 

Six weeks old.  

A cardboad box underneath the pool table.  

I was just abandoned in this pub.

KRYTEN: 

How could anybody do that?

LISTER:

I don't know.  

I never found out.

For a long time, you'll think that you were abandoned, but you weren't, man.  

You were put here to create a paradox, an unbreakable circle.  

With us going 'round and 'round in time, the human race can never become extinct.

We're like... a kind of 'holding pattern'.

LISTER reaches into the box and touches the baby's chin tenderly

I'll see ya, son.

Quietly, LISTER approaches the pool table and, bending down, gently slides the box underneath.  

He steps away

LISTER: 

Does it say what happened to the rest of the Cats? 

HOLLY: 

Holy wars.

 

There were thousands of years of fighting, Dave, between the two factions. 

LISTER:

What two factions? 

HOLLY:

Well, the ones who believed the hats should be red, 

and the ones who believed the hats should be blue.

LISTER: 

Do you mean they had a war over whether the doughnut diner hats were red or blue? 

HOLLY: 

Yeah. Most of them were killed fighting about that. 

It's daft really, innit? 

LISTER:

You're not kiddin’. 

They were supposed to be green.

Go on, Hol. 

HOLLY: 

Well, finally they called a truce, and built two arks and left Red Dwarf in search of Fyushal. 

LISTER:

But there's no such place as Fyushal. 

It's Fiji. 

I mean, how are they supposed to find it? 

“And Cloister gave to Frankenstein the sacred writing, saying, `Those who have wisdom will know its meaning.' 

And it was written thus: 

`Seven socks, one shirt--'" 

LISTER:

That's my laundry list! 

I lined the cat's basket with me laundry list! 

HOLLY:

The Blue Hats thought it was a star chart leading to The Promised Land. 

LISTER: 

Well it wasn't, it was my dirty washin’.

What happened next, Hol? 

HOLLY: 

“And the ark that left first followed the sacred signs, and lo, they flew straight into an asteroid.

And the righteous in the second ark flew ever onward, knowing they were indeed righteous." 

LISTER: 

This is terrible. 

Holy wars. Killing. 

They're just using religion as an excuse to be extremely crappy to each other. 

TOASTER: 

So what else is new? 

 15 Int. Another corridor.

LISTER: 

Cat! Come on, kitty, kitty! Meow ... meow ... come on, kitty ... come on, Cat, the crispies are getting warm ... come on, Cat...

16 Int. Cargo hold.

Everything is covered in dust and cobwebs. 

There's an improvised altar (a filing cabinet with some cat figurines and candles on top), a big statue of Cloister (wearing a doughnut on his head), and a bed, on which an old, blind Cat priest wearing red robes and hat (complete with arrow) lies. 

The other CAT (the one we know) is there too.

CAT: 

Aaaooowww, yeah yeah yeah yeah, (to the figurines on the altar) 

Hey fellas! 

Yes sir, I'm back! 

Feeling good! (To the priest) 

Feed me. 

PRIEST: 

You're always leaving me! 

Where do you go? 

CAT: 

Investigating! 

See, I have these feet-- 

PRIEST: 

I'm dying. 

CAT: 

I'm telling you about my feet! 

My investigating feet. 

PRIEST: 

Don't you hear me?! 

I'm dying. 

CAT: 

Yeah. But I'm telling you about my feet. 

PRIEST: 

Oh, why should you listen to me, a blind old priest that's lost his faith. 

CAT: 

I'm not listening to you. 

I'm trying to tell you about my feet. 

PRIEST: 

What do you care? 

CAT: 

I don't care! 

You're the one who's doing the dying, not me. 

Why should I let it spoil MY evening?

17 Int. Corridor.

The corridor is dusty and cobwebby. LISTER is still looking for the CAT.

LISTER: 

Cat? ... Cat?

He pushes on a grille marked "Supply Pipe 28" and falls through it.

LISTER: 

(Picking himself up) 

Oohh. Cat, when I get you I'm going to turn you into a kebab. 

Holly? Can you still hear me?

Cat...?

18 Int. Cargo cathedral.

PRIEST: 

Here. 

(Takes his hat off.) 

Burn the sacred hat. 

CAT: 

That's a fearsome hat. 

PRIEST: 

Burn it, burn it! 

It's a symbol of the lies.

The CAT takes the hat and puts it on. Meanwhile, LISTER's face appears at a window.

CAT: 

It's burnt. 

PRIEST: 

All my life I've served a lie. 

Because you're not there, Cloister, are you? 

You've never been there! 

YOU DON'T EXIST!

In the antechamber, LISTER has grabbed one of the golden doughnuts off the head of a statue of Cloister and put it on his own head. As the priest shouts his disbelief, LISTER pushes open the doors.

PRIEST: 

Who's that? 

LISTER: 

It is I, Cloister! 

PRIEST: (To CAT) 

Who is it, boy? 

LISTER: 

I told you, it's me, Cloister. 

I've returned from The Dead. 

PRIEST: 

Is it him? 

Is it truly him? Does he look like a king?

LISTER quickly grabs one of the giant golden sausages that line the entrance and holds it threateningly over CAT.

CAT: 

A king?!

Yeah, yeah! 

PRIEST: 

Is he wearing the doughnut and the golden sausage? 

CAT: 

Yeah, yeah! 

PRIEST: 

Then it truly is him! 

Oh, I've failed you, Cloister. All these years I kept my faith. 

I wore the Holy Custard Stain and the Scared Gravy Marks.

LISTER suddenly realises that the priest's robe bears the same stains as his own T-shirt.

PRIEST: 

I renounced coolness, and chose the righteous path of slobbiness. But in The End, I failed you. 

LISTER: 

Why didn't you go on the arks with the rest of the Cats? 

PRIEST: 

They left us behind. 

The sick and the lame. 

Left us to die. 

But then, The Boy was born  - to the cripple and the idiot. 

CAT: 

What idiot? 

PRIEST: 

Your father, boy. 

CAT: 

MY father was a jelly-brain? 

PRIEST: 

Yes, that's why he ate his own feet. 

CAT: 

I did wonder. 

PRIEST: 

But, as one by one we died, my faith died also. 

You tested me, Cloister, and I failed you. 

LISTER: 

Oh, no. You didn't fail, old man. 

You passed! I'm giving you ... 

I'm giving you an A+ distinction. 

PRIEST: 

You ... you mean there's a place for me on Fyushal? 

LISTER: 

A place? Got your own bathroom, own suite, cork floors, your own barbecue on the patio, double glazing, a phone, everything! 

PRIEST: (Horrified) 

My hat! I've burned my sacred hat! 

LISTER: 

No you haven't! (Grabs it off of CAT's head and replaces it on the priest's.) 

PRIEST: 

A miracle! (Tries to stand up.) 

This is the happiest day of my -- uh -- aaahhh--

The priest suddenly collapses back on the bed, as dead as some doodoo. 

LISTER sits down, appalled. 

CAT puts his arm around Lister's shoulders.

CAT: 

Did I ever tell you about my feet? My investigating feet? Once upon a time, there was an old man...

“From the moment he discovered that the cadmium II had achieved critical mass, Holly had less than fifteen nanoseconds to act. He sealed off as much of the ship as possible - the whole cargo area, and the ship's supply bay. 

Simultaneously, he set the drive computer to accelerate far beyond the dull green-blue disc of Neptune in the distance, and out into the abyss of unknown space. Then he read the Bible, the Koran, and other major religious works: he covered  Islam, Zoroastrianism, Mazdaism, Zarathustrianism, Dharma,  Brahmanism, Hinduism, Vedanta, Jainism, Buddhism, Hinayana, Mahayana, Sikhism, Shintoism, Taoism and Confucianism. Then he read all of Marx, Engels, Freud, jung and Einstein. And, to kill the remaining few nanoseconds, he skipped briefly through Joe Klumpp's Zero Gee Football - It's a Funny Old game. 

At the end of this, Holly came to two conclusions. First, given  the whole sphere of human knowledge, it was still impossible to determine the existence or not of God. And second, Joe Klumpp should have stuck to having his hair permed. 

In the hold, Frankenstein's four offspring began to breed. Each litter produced an average of four kittens, three times a year. At the end of the first year, the second generation of kittens started to breed too. 

They also produced three annual litters of three to four kittens. 

When Frankenstein died, at the great old age of fourteen, she left behind one hundred and ninety-eight thousand, seven hundred and thirty-two cats. 

198,732 cats, who continued to breed 

 

Still Red Dwarf accelerated. 

Holly witnessed at first hand phenomena which had never been witnessed before. He saw phenomena which had only been guessed at by theoretical physicists. 

He saw a star form. 

He saw another star die. 

He saw a black hole. 

He saw pulsars and quasars. 

He saw twin and triplet sun systems.

He saw sights Copernicus would have torn out his eyes for, but all the while he couldn't stop thinking how bad that book was by Joe Klumpp. 

 

The cats continued to breed. 

 

Red Dwarf continued to accelerate. 

The forty-square mile cargo hold was seething with cats. 

A sea of cats. 

A sea of cats, sealed from the radiation-poisoned decks above with nowhere to go. 

Only the smartest, the biggest and the strongest survived.

The mutants. 

The mutants, who had rudimentary fingers instead of claws, who stood on their hind legs, and clubbed rivals to death with crudely made clubs. Who found the best breeding mates. 

And bred. 

Felis erectus was born.

Red Dwarf, still accelerating, passed five stars in concentric orbits, performing a breathtaking, mind-boggling stellar ballet. 

Not that Holly noticed. 

He'd been on his own now for two million years and was no 

longer interested in mind-boggling stellar ballets. What he was really into was Netta Muskett novels. The young doctor had just told Jemma she had only three years to live, as he held her in his powerful masculine grip, his dark brooding eyes piercing her very 

soul. Outside, the suns danced into a perfect pentagon and span, end over end, like a gigantic Catherine wheel. 

 

But Holly didn't see it. He was too busy reading Doctor, Darling. 

Then there was a plague. 

And the plague was hunger. 

Less than thirty Cat tribes now survived, roaming the cargo decks on their hind legs in a desperate search for food.

But the food had gone. 

The supplies were finished. 

Weak and ailing, they prayed at the supply hold's silver moun-

tains: huge towering acres of metal rocks which, in their 

pagan way, the mutant Cats believed watched over them. 

Amid the wailing and the screeching one Cat stood up and held aloft the sacred icon. The icon which had been passed down as holy and one day would make its use known. 

It was a piece of V-shaped metal with a revolving handle on its head. 

He took down a silver rock from the silver mountain, while the 

other Cats cowered and screamed at the blasphemy. 

He placed the icon on the rim of the rock, and turned the handle. 

And the handle turned. 

And the rock opened. 

And inside the rock was Alphabetti spaghetti in tomato sauce. 

And in the other rocks were even more delights. Sugar-free baked  beans. Chicken and mushroom Toastie Toppers. Faggots in rich meaty gravy. All sealed in perfect vacuums, preserved from the 

ravages of Time. 

God had spoken. 

And Felis sapiens was born. 

Holly was gurning. He was pulling his pixelized face into the most bizarre and ludicrous expressions he could muster. He'd been gurning now for nearly two thousand years. It wasn't much of a hobby, but 

it helped pass the time. 

He was beginning to worry that he was going computer-senile. 

Driven crazy by loneliness. What he needed, he decided, was a companion. 

He would build a woman.

A perfectly functioning human woman, capable of independent thought and decision-making. Identical to a real woman in the minutest detail. 

The problem was he didn't know how. 

He didn't even know what to make the nose out of. 

So he gave the whole scheme up as a bad idea, and started  gurning again. 

And there was a war between the Cats. 

A bloody war that laid waste many of their number. 

But the reason was good. 

The cause was sensible. 

The principle was worth fighting over. 

It was a holy war. 

Some of the Cats believed the one true father of Catkind was a man called Cloister, who saved Frankenstein, the Holy Mother, and was frozen in time by the evil men who sought to kill her. One day Cloister would return to lead them to Bearth, the planet where they could make their home. 

The other Cats believed exactly the same thing, except they maintained the name of the true Father of Catkind was a man called Clister. 

They spent the best part of two thousand years fighting over this huge, insuperable theological chasm.

Millions died. 

Finally, a truce was called. 

Commandeering the fleet of shuttles from the docking bay, half the Cats flew off in one direction, in search of Cloister and the Promised Planet, and the other half flew off in the opposite direction, in search of Clister and the Promised Planet. 

Behind them they left the ones who were too weak to travel: the old, the lame, the sick and the dying. 

And one by one, they died. 

Soon only two remained: one a cripple, one an idiot. 

They snuggled together for warmth and companionship.

And one day, to the cripple and the idiot, a son was born. 

UGLY

“For all his growing reputation as a shallow sensationalist, Millar was an altar boy at heart; he used the language of the lowest common denominator to preach hellfire. ‘Wanted’ was an epic attempted exorcism, but its raw admission of Millar’s own dark-side dreams and its flirtation with a genuinely nihilistic endorsement of every antivalue as the way to “make it” in This World suggested a demon big enough to leave sizable bite marks in any Augustine cassock.

‘Wanted’ articulated a new myth for the hordes of suddenly cool under-achievers who’d been lionized by the rise of “nerd culture.” Big business, media, and fashion were, it seemed, so starved of inspiration, they’d reached down to the very bottom of the social barrel in an attempt to commodify even the most stubborn nonparticipants, the suicide Goths and fiercely antiestablishment nerds. 

The geeks were in the spotlight now, proudly accepting a derogatory label that directly compared them to degraded freak-show acts. 

Bullied young men with asthma and shy, bitter virgins with adult-onset diabetes could now gang up like the playground toughs they secretly wanted to be and anonymously abuse and threaten professional writers and actors with family commitments and bills to pay.

Soon film studios were afraid to move without the approval of the raging Internet masses. They represented only the most minuscule fraction of a percentage of the popular audience that gave a shit, but they were very remarkably, superhumanly ANGRY, like the great head of Oz, and so very persistent that they could easily appear in the imagination as an all-conquering army of mean-spirited, judgmental fogies.”

Excerpt From

Supergods

Grant Morrison

A website called Agony Booth cited this episode as 

The Absolute Worst Star Trek Episode

in their list of 

“The Worst of Trek"

In their recap, they commented, 

"This episode completely destroys Archer, making him out to be an incompetent, childish moron. 

As such, it's probably responsible in no small part for sending Enterprise into a ratings death spiral." 

"There have been times I've disliked a character. There have been times when I think the writers ruined a character, or undid a lot of a character's development, purely out of laziness. But this… this is all-out character destruction the likes of which I have never seen before. It takes active, aggressive hatred for your own creations to annihilate them to this degree."

 "It's not terrible in the way most of the movies featured on this website are terrible, in that the filmmakers didn't know what they were doing, and just stumbled into making a horrible movie as a result of their own incompetence. It's terrible in that Epic Movie kind of way, where it seems everybody knew better, but the writers just hated the characters, hated themselves, hated their jobs, and most of all hated you for wanting to watch the shit they write."

TIME HYPNOSIS

Somewhere in Time is a 1980 American romantic fantasy drama film directed by Jeannot Szwarc. It is a film adaptation of the 1975 novel Bid Time Return by Richard Matheson, who also wrote the screenplay. The film stars Christopher Reeve, Jane Seymour, and Christopher Plummer.

Superman plays Richard Collier, a playwright who becomes obsessed with a photograph of a young woman at the Grand Hotel. 

Through self-hypnosis, he wishes himself back in time to the year 1912 to find love with actress Elise McKenna (portrayed by Seymour), but comes into conflict with Elise’s manager, William Fawcett Robinson (portrayed by Plummer), who fears that romance will derail her career and resolves to stop him.

In 1972, college theatre student Richard Collier celebrates the debut of his new play. During the celebration, an elderly woman places a pocket watch in his hand and pleads, “Come back to me.” Richard does not recognize the woman, who returns to her own residence and dies in her sleep that same night.

Eight years later, Richard is a successful playwright living in Chicago. While struggling with writer’s block, he decides to take a break from writing and travels to the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island. While exploring the hotel’s hall of history, he becomes enthralled with a vintage photograph of Elise McKenna, a beautiful and famous early-20th century stage actress. Upon further research, he discovers she is the same woman who gave him the pocket watch. Richard visits Laura Roberts, Elise’s former housekeeper and companion. While there, he discovers a music box that plays the 18th variation of Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, his favorite musical piece. Among Elise’s personal effects is a book on time travel written by his old college professor, Dr. Gerard Finney. Richard becomes obsessed with traveling back to 1912 and meeting Elise, whom he has fallen in love with.

Richard seeks out Professor Finney, who believes he briefly time traveled through the power of self-suggestion. Finney warns Richard that such a process would leave one very weak physically, perhaps dangerously so. Richard is determined to try. Dressed in an early 20th-century suit, he removes all modern objects from his hotel room and attempts to will himself to 1912 using tape-recorded suggestions. The attempt fails because he lacks real conviction, but after finding a hotel guest book from 1912 containing his signature, Richard realizes he will eventually succeed.

Richard hypnotizes himself again, this allowing his absolute faith in his eventual success to serve as the engine that transports him back to 1912. Richard finds Elise walking by the lake. Upon meeting him she asks, “Is it you?” Her manager, William Fawcett Robinson, abruptly intervenes and sends Richard away. Although Elise is initially uninterested, Richard pursues her until she agrees to accompany him on a stroll the next morning. During a boat ride, Richard hums the theme from the 18th variation of opus 43, a tune Elise has never heard before as it has yet to be written. Richard asks what Elise meant by, “Is it you?” She reveals that Robinson has predicted she will meet a man who will change her life, and that she should be afraid. Richard shows Elise the pocket watch she will give him in 1972.

Richard attends Elise’s play where she gives an impromptu monologue dedicated to him. During the intermission, Elise poses formally for a photograph but seeing Richard, breaks into a radiant smile. It is the same image Richard saw 68 years later. Afterward, Richard receives an urgent message from Robinson requesting a meeting. Robinson wants Richard to leave Elise, saying it is for her own good. When Richard says he loves her, Robinson has him bound and locked inside the stables. Robinson then tells Elise that Richard has left, though she does not believe him and professes her love for Richard.

“Superman wakes the next morning and frees himself. The acting troupe has already left for Denver, though Elise has returned to the hotel to find him. They go to her room and make love. They agree to marry and Elise promises to buy Superman a new suit, as his is about a decade out of style. 

Inside one of the suit pockets, Superman discovers a penny with a 1979 mint date. This modern item breaks the hypnotic suggestion, pulling Superman into the present as Elise screams in terror.

Superman awakens back in 1980. His attempts to return to 1912 are unsuccessful. After wandering the hotel grounds despondently, he returns to his room and, physically weakened by the time travel and brokenhearted, dies in despair. His spirit is drawn into the afterlife where he is reunited with Elise.”

BALDER

“As Isaac aged, He became blind and was uncertain when He would die, so He decided to bestow Esau’s birthright upon him. 

He requested that Esau go out to the fields with his weapons (quiver and bow) to kill some venison. 

Isaac then requested that Esau make “savory meat” for Him out of the venison, according to the way He enjoyed it the most, so that He could eat it and bless Esau.

Rebecca overheard this conversation. 

It is suggested that She realised prophetically that Isaac’s blessings would go to Jacob, since She was told before the twins’ birth that The Older Son would serve The Younger. 

Rebecca blessed Jacob and she quickly ordered Jacob to bring her two kid goats from their flock so that he could take Esau’s place in serving Isaac and receiving his blessing. 

Jacob protested that His Father would recognise their deception since Esau was HAIRY and he himself was SMOOTH-SKINNED. 

He feared His Father would curse him as soon as he felt him, but Rebecca offered to take the curse Herself, then insisted that Jacob obey ONLY Her.

Jacob did as His Mother instructed and, when he returned with the kids, Rebekah made the savory meat that Isaac loved. Before she sent Jacob to His Father, she dressed him in Esau’s garments and laid goatskins on his arms and neck to simulate hairy skin.”

“I heard a voice that cried,

Balder the beautiful

Is dead, is dead 

- I knew nothing about Balder; but instantly I was uplifted into huge regions of northern sky, I desired with almost sickening intensity something never to be described (except that it is cold, spacious, severe, pale, and remote) and then, as in the other examples, found myself at the very same moment already falling out of that desire and wishing I were back in it. 

The reader who finds these three episodes of no interest need read this book no further, for in a sense the central story of my life is about nothing else. 

For those who are still disposed to proceed I will only underline the quality common to the three experiences; it is that of an unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than any other satisfaction. 

I call it Joy, which is here a technical term and must be sharply distinguished both from Happiness and from Pleasure. 

Joy (in my sense) has indeed one characteristic, and one only, in common with them; the fact that anyone who has experienced it will want it again. 

Apart from that, and considered only in its quality, it might almost equally well be called a particular kind of unhappiness or grief. 

But then it is a kind we want. 

I doubt whether anyone who has tasted it would ever, if both were in his power, exchange it for all the pleasures in the world. 

But then Joy is never in Our Power and Pleasure often is. 

I cannot be absolutely sure whether the things I have just been speaking of happened before or after the great loss which befell our family and to which I must now turn. 

There came a night when I was ill and crying both with headache and toothache and distressed because my mother did not come to me. 

That was because she was ill too; and what was odd was that there were several doctors in her room, and voices, and comings and goings all over the house and doors shutting and opening. It seemed to last for hours. 

And then My Father, in tears, came into my room and began to try to convey to my terrified mind things it had never conceived before. 

It was in fact cancer and followed the usual course; an operation (they operated in the patient’s house in those days), an apparent convalescence, a return of the disease, increasing pain, and death. 

My Father never fully recovered from this loss. 

Children suffer not (I think) less than their elders, but differently. 

For us boys the real bereavement had happened before our mother died. 

We lost her gradually as she was gradually withdrawn from our life into the hands of nurses and delirium and morphia, and as our whole existence changed into something alien and menacing, as the house became full of strange smells and midnight noises and sinister whispered conversations. 

This had two further results, one very evil and one very good. 

It divided us from our father as well as our mother. They say that a shared sorrow draws people closer together; I can hardly believe that it often has that effect when those who share it are of widely different ages. 

If I may trust to my own experience, the sight of adult misery and adult terror has an effect on children which is merely paralysing and alienating. Perhaps it was our fault. Perhaps if we had been better children we might have lightened our father’s sufferings at this time. 

We certainly did not. 

His nerves had never been of the steadiest and his emotions had always been uncontrolled. 

Under the pressure of anxiety his temper became incalculable; he spoke wildly and acted unjustly. 

Thus by a peculiar cruelty of fate, during those months the unfortunate man, had he but known it, was really losing his sons as well as his wife. 

We were coming, my brother and I, to rely more and more exclusively on each other for all that made life bearable; to have confidence only in each other. 

I expect that we (or at any rate I) were already learning to lie to him. 

Everything that had made the house a home had failed us; everything except one another. 

We drew daily closer together (that was the good result) - two frightened urchins huddled for warmth in a bleak world. 

Grief in childhood is complicated with many other miseries. 

I was taken into the bedroom where my mother lay dead; as they said, ‘to see her’, in reality, as I at once knew, ‘to see it’. 

There was nothing that a grown-up would call disfigurement - except for that total disfigurement which is death itself. 

Grief was overwhelmed in terror. 

To this day I do not know what they mean when they call dead bodies beautiful. 

The ugliest man alive is an angel of beauty compared with the loveliest of the dead. 

Against all the subsequent paraphernalia of coffin, flowers, hearse, and funeral I reacted with horror. 

I even lectured one of my aunts on the absurdity of mourning clothes in a style which would have seemed to most adults both heartless and precocious; but this was our dear Aunt Annie, my maternal uncle’s Canadian wife, a woman almost as sensible and sunny as my mother herself. 

To my hatred for what I already felt to be all the fuss and flummery of the funeral I may perhaps trace something in me which I now recognise as a defect but which I have never fully overcome - a distaste for all that is public, all that belongs to The Collective; a boorish inaptitude for formality. 

My mother’s death was the occasion of what some (but not I) might regard as my first religious experience. 

When her case was pronounced hopeless I remembered what I had been taught; that prayers offered in faith would be granted. I accordingly set myself to produce by willpower a firm belief that my prayers for her recovery would be successful; and, as I thought, I achieved it. 

When nevertheless she died I shifted my ground and worked myself into a belief that there was to be a miracle. 

The interesting thing is that my disappointment produced no results beyond itself. 

The thing hadn’t worked, but I was used to things not working, and I thought no more about it. 

I think the truth is that the belief into which I had hypnotised myself was itself too irreligious for its failure to cause any religious revolution. 

I had approached God, or my idea of God, without love, without awe, even without fear. 

He was, in my mental picture of this miracle, to appear neither as Saviour nor as Judge, but merely as a magician; and when He had done what was required of Him I supposed He would simply - well, go away. 

It never crossed my mind that the tremendous contact which I solicited should have any consequences beyond restoring the status quo. I imagine that a ‘faith’ of this kind is often generated in children and that its disappointment is of no religious importance; just as the things believed in, if they could happen and be only as the child pictures them, would be of no religious importance either. With my mother’s death all settled happiness, all that was tranquil and reliable, disappeared from my life. There was to be much fun, many pleasures, many stabs of Joy; but no more of the old security. It was sea and islands now; the great continent had sunk like Atlantis.

BIRTHRIGHT

Father? If you can hear me, I failed. 

I failed you, I failed myself, and...

And all of Humanity. 

I traded My Birthright for a Life of Submission in a World That’s Now Ruled by Your Enemies. 

There's nobody left to help them now... The People of The World... not since I... 

!!! FATHER !!!

“Disguised as Esau, Jacob entered Isaac’s room. Surprised that Esau was back so soon, Isaac asked how it could be that the hunt went so quickly. Jacob responded, “Because the LORD your God brought it to me.” Rashi, on Genesis 27:21 says Isaac’s suspicions were aroused even more, because Esau never used the personal name of God. Isaac demanded that Jacob come close so he could feel him, but the goatskins felt just like Esau’s hairy skin. Confused, Isaac exclaimed, “The voice is Jacob’s voice, but the hands are the hands of Esau!” Genesis 27:22. Still trying to get at the truth, Isaac asked him directly, “Art thou my very son Esau?” and Jacob answered simply, “I am.” Isaac proceeded to eat the food and to drink the wine that Jacob gave him, and then told him to come close and kiss him. As Jacob kissed his father, Isaac smelled the clothes which belonged to Esau and finally accepted that the person in front of him was Esau. 

Isaac then blessed Jacob with the blessing that was meant for Esau. Genesis 27:28–29 states Isaac’s blessing: “Therefore God give thee of the dew of heavens, and the fatness of the earth, and plenty of corn and wine: Let people serve thee: be lord over thy brethren, and let thy mother’s sons bow down to thee: cursed be every one that curseth thee, and blessed be he that blesseth thee.”

Jacob had scarcely left the room when Esau returned from the hunt to prepare his game and receive the blessing. The realization that he had been deceived shocked Isaac, yet he acknowledged that Jacob had received the blessings by adding, “Indeed, he will be [or remain] blessed!” (27:33).

Esau was heartbroken by the deception and begged for his own blessing. Having made Jacob a ruler over his brothers, Isaac could only promise, “By your sword you shall live, but your brother you shall serve; yet it shall be that when you are aggrieved, you may cast off his yoke from upon your neck” (27:39–40).

Although Esau sold Jacob his own birthright, which was his blessing, for “red pottage,” Esau still hated Jacob for receiving his blessing that their father Isaac unknowingly had given to him. He vowed to kill Jacob as soon as Isaac died. When Rebecca heard about his murderous intentions, she ordered Jacob to travel to her brother Laban’s house in Haran, until Esau’s anger subsided. She convinced Isaac to send Jacob away by telling him that she despaired of his marrying a local girl from the idol-worshipping families of Canaan (as Esau had done). After Isaac sent Jacob away to find a wife, Esau realized his own Canaanite wives were evil in his father’s eyes and so he took a daughter of Isaac’s half-brother, Ishmael, as another wife.

“As Isaac aged, he became blind and was uncertain when he would die, so he decided to bestow Esau’s birthright upon him. He requested that Esau go out to the fields with his weapons (quiver and bow) to kill some venison. Isaac then requested that Esau make “savory meat” for him out of the venison, according to the way he enjoyed it the most, so that he could eat it and bless Esau.

Rebecca overheard this conversation. It is suggested that she realized prophetically that Isaac’s blessings would go to Jacob, since she was told before the twins’ birth that the older son would serve the younger.11 Rebecca blessed Jacob and she quickly ordered Jacob to bring her two kid goats from their flock so that he could take Esau’s place in serving Isaac and receiving his blessing. Jacob protested that his father would recognize their deception since Esau was hairy and he himself was smooth-skinned. He feared his father would curse him as soon as he felt him, but Rebecca offered to take the curse herself, then insisted that Jacob obey her.12 Jacob did as his mother instructed and, when he returned with the kids, Rebekah made the savory meat that Isaac loved. Before she sent Jacob to his father, she dressed him in Esau’s garments and laid goatskins on his arms and neck to simulate hairy skin.”

“In Genesis, Esau returned to his brother, Jacob, being famished from the fields. He begged his twin brother to give him some “red pottage” (paralleling his nickname, Hebrew: אדום‎ (adom, meaning “red”). Jacob offered to give Esau a bowl of stew in exchange for his birthright (the right to be recognized as firstborn) and Esau agreed.

The birthright (bekorah) has to do with both position and inheritance. By birthright, the firstborn son inherited the leadership of the family and the judicial authority of his father. Deuteronomy 21:17 states that he was also entitled to a double portion of the paternal inheritance.

Esau acts impulsively. As he did not value his birthright over a bowl of lentil stew, by his actions, Esau demonstrates that he does not deserve to be the one who continues Abraham’s responsibilities and rewards under God’s covenant, since he does not have the steady, thoughtful qualities which are required.

Jacob shows his willingness as well as his greater intelligence and forethought. What he does is not quite •honorable•, though •not illegal•. The birthright benefit that he gains is at least partially valid, although he is insecure enough about it to conspire later with his mother to deceive his father so as to gain the blessing for the first-born as well.”

“Later, Esau marries two wives, both Hittite women, that is, locals, in violation of Abraham’s (and God’s) injunction not to take wives from among the Canaanite population. Again, one gets the sense of a headstrong person who acts impulsively, without sufficient thought (Genesis 26:34–35). His marriage is described as a vexation to both Rebekah and Isaac. Even his father, who has strong affection for him, is hurt by his act. According to Daniel J. Elazar this action alone forever rules out Esau as the bearer of patriarchal continuity. Esau could have overcome the sale of his birthright; Isaac was still prepared to give him the blessing due the firstborn. But acquiring foreign wives meant the detachment of his children from the Abrahamic line. Despite the deception on the part of Jacob and his mother to gain Isaac’s patriarchal blessing, Jacob’s vocation as Isaac’s legitimate heir in the continued founding of the Jewish people is reaffirmed. Elazar suggests that the Bible indicates that a bright, calculating person who, at times, is less than honest, is preferable as a founder over a bluff, impulsive one who cannot make discriminating choices.”

It is a Massively Complex Quantum Simulation

[Holosuite corridor]

(Rom and Eddington take of a panel to get at the workings.) 

ROM: 

I've had to make a few modifications 

to this holosuite over the years. 

EDDINGTON: 

A few? It's like a junkyard in here. 

ROM: 

My Brother won't let me buy new components so I've had to scavenge for what I need. 

QUARK: 

I'm barely breaking even on the holosuites as it is. 

If I had to buy new equipment every time there was a glitch. 

EDDINGTON: 

Where's the core memory interface? 

ROM: 

Oh it's right behind the spatula. 

EDDINGTON: 

The spatula? 

ROM: 

It's made of a copper-ytterbium composite, the perfect plasma conductor. 

(Eddington scans the innards with a tricorder.) 

EDDINGTON: 

I've found them. All five of their 

physical patterns are in here 

and they're stable. 

ODO: 

Why here? 

EDDINGTON: 

The HoloSuite is specifically designed to store 

highly complex energy patterns. 

The Computer's processing 

their physical patterns as if 

they were HoloSuite characters. 

Trouble is, I'm not reading 

any neural energy. 

ROM: 

Neural energy has to be stored at the quantum level. 

The HoloSuite can't handle that. 

ODO: 

So if their physical bodies are stored 

here, where are their brain patterns? 

QUARK: 

Everywhere else. 

Their brain patterns are so large that they're taking up 

every bit of computer memory on the station. 

Replicator memory, weapons, life supports. 

ODO: 

He may be right. 

So what do we do about it? 

How do we get them back?

The Art of Dying Well : The Way of The Samurai

Negligence is an extreme thing.

The Way of the Samurai is found in death. 

When it comes to either/or, there is only the quick choice of death. 

It is not particularly difficult. 

Be determined and advance. 

To say that dying without reaching one’s aim is to die a dog’s death is the frivolous way of sophisticates. 

When pressed with the choice of life or death, it is not necessary to gain one’s aim.

We all want to live. 

And in large part we make our logic according to what we like. 

But not having attained our aim and continuing to live is cowardice. 

This is a thin dangerous line.

To die without gaming one’s aim is a dog’s death and fanaticism. 

But there is no shame in this. 

This is the substance of the Way of the Samurai. 

If by setting one’s heart right every morning and evening, one is able to live as though his body were already dead, he pains freedom in The Way. 

His whole life will be without blame, and he will succeed in his calling.

A man is a good retainer to the extent that he earnestly places importance in his master. 

This is the highest sort of retainer. 

If one is born into a prominent family that goes back for generations, it is sufficient to deeply consider the matter of obligation to one’s ancestors, to lay down one’s body and mind, and to earnestly esteem one’s master. 

It is further good fortune if, more than this, one has wisdom and talent and can use them appropriately. 

But even a person who is good for nothing and exceedingly clumsy will be a reliable retainer if only he has the determination to think earnestly of his master. 

Having only wisdom and talent is the lowest tier of usefulness.

LION

Discovery is quite possible. 

Our Blue Fairy does exist in one place, and one place only, 

At The End of The World. 

Where The Lions Weep. 

Here is The Place Dreams are Born.

BRAIN

“We Think too much, and Feel too little”

Charlie Chaplain

“In the morning sunshine, in the evening twilight, a small Bear travels through a Forest. 

Why did we follow him when we were so much younger? 

He is, after all, only a Bear of Little Brain. But is Brain all that important? 

Is it really Brain that takes us where we need to go? 

Or is it all too often Brain that sends us off in the wrong direction, following the echo of the wind in the treetops, which we think is real, rather than listening to the voice within us that tells us which way to turn? 

A Brain can do all kinds of things, but the things that it can do are not the most important things. 

Abstract cleverness of mind only separates the thinker from the world of reality, and that world, The Forest of Real Life, is in a desperate condition now because of too many who think too much and care too little. In spite of what many minds have thought themselves into believing, that mistake cannot continue for much longer if everything is going to survive. 

The one chance we have to avoid certain disaster is to change our approach, and to learn to value wisdom and contentment. 

These are the things that are being searched for anyway, through Knowledge and Cleverness, but they do not come from Knowledge and Cleverness. 

They never have, and they never will. We can no longer afford to look so desperately hard for something in the wrong way and in the wrong place. 

If Knowledge and Cleverness are allowed to go on wrecking things, they will before much longer destroy all life on earth as we know it, and what little may temporarily survive will not be worth looking at, even if it would somehow be possible for us to do so. 

The Masters of Life know the Way, for they listen to the voice within them, the voice of wisdom and simplicity, the voice that reasons beyond Cleverness and knows beyond Knowledge. 

That voice is not just the power and property of a few, but has been given to everyone. 

Those who pay attention to it are too often treated as exceptions to a rule, rather than as examples of the rule in operation, a rule that can apply to anyone who makes use of it. 

Within each of us there is an Owl, a Rabbit, an Eeyore, and a Pooh. 

For too long, we have chosen the way of Owl and Rabbit. 

Now, like Eeyore, we complain about the results. 

But that accomplishes nothing. 

If we are smart, we will choose the way of Pooh. 

As if from far away, it calls to us with the voice of a child’s mind. It may be hard to hear at times, but it is important just the same, because without it, we will never find our way through The Forest.”

NOCEBO

You've heard of 

The Placebo Effect.

But are you aware of 

The Nocebo Effect?

 

In which the human body has a negative physical reaction to a suggested harm.

This will make you vomit.

This will make you vomit.

This will make you vomit.

Your mind has The Power to Create its own physical reality.

This will make you vomit.

[VOMITING]

[CHEERING IN DISTANCE.]

Why do we yawn when we see others yawn? 

Throughout history, there have been incidents.

The Dancing Plague of 1518 

The Tanganyika Laughter Epidemic.

The Hindu Milk Miracle.

Psychologists call it a 

Conversion Disorder

In that The Body converts a mental stress to a set of physical symptoms.

In this case, a tic, or spasm.

And, like any disorder, it can be contagious.

This kind of collective behavior is not limited to human beings.

What we know is that, in certain communities, under specific circumstances, an involuntary physical symptom developed by one person can become viral.

And spread, from person to person until the entire community is infected.

And so, my question to you is :

If The Idea of Illness can become Illness, what else about Our Reality is actually a Disorder?