It didn't take long for Mattie 3.0 to claim the response from Brother Bain, the turn-of-the-last-century fax machine hidden in the back of the refrigerator of his Old Orleans apartment, and to decipher its glyph-code.
"They want you to take him up on his offer to take you to this place -- and they'll push off the trip to the Chicago City Reserve until after you get back," he explained matter-of-factly.
(In case you had forgotten, the relevant "him" was that old man who had approached me on the corner telling me that New Orleans still existed and that he could take me there -- even though everyone in 2084 new that the New Madrid Quake of 2023 had split the United States in two and, when combined with the effects of global warming, had created the Bay of Mississippi where the River once ran, meaning that the original New Orleans [as opposed to the facsimile of it called Old Orleans in which I found myself] was clearly at the bottom of that Bay.)
"Well there you go," I replied. "I'm a guest of the IntransiGents -- so I'll do as they say. What do we have to do before tonight to get ready?" I queried.
Mattie 3.0 re-read the document in his hand before replying.
"It's more about what *you* have to do. I'm not authorized to join you. *This* is a solo mission for you."
I wasn't expecting that surprise. "Me? By myself? Even though I'm not of this place and time?"
"The IntransiGents know what you eventually became from having access to your IQ, EQ and SQ files, so they believe in your skill set -- even though you don't yet know the roles you have played in the Uprisings through the years." Mattie 3.0 explained.
"Right ... but ... shouldn't I be told that part of my history so that I can act accordingly on this mission?" I countered.
"That would be too risky at this juncture. If you travel back through time armed with *that* information, it might influence your choices in your immediate future in a way that leads to different outcomes in this time."
His response made my head hurt. And since your head might be feeling the same way, so this is probably a good spot to end this missive, seeing as how the Vitalnet update window is almost over. In other words -- take two aspirin and meet me on Troy-in-2019's social media on the last day of the month next, won't you?
Showing posts with label Stories: 2 0 8 4. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stories: 2 0 8 4. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 30, 2019
Sunday, March 31, 2019
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 38
Somewhere in the middle of that first night spent in Old Orleans on the couch of the apartment where Mattie 3.0 stayed, I was awakened by a sound I hadn't heard in years -- decades even.
And I wasn't referring to the fact that my life had been fast-forwarded some sixty-plus years once I stepped through the portal that my cell phone had created that had sent me there in 2084. Even back at the turn of the millennium, the distinct ring-buzz-whirr of a fax machine was an antiquated noise.
Sure enough, though, "Brother Bain", as Mattie 3.0 had called it, received a response from his IntransiGent contact under the cover of night. I wanted to get up off of the couch and head to the refrigerator and slide it out of its nook and spin it around to retrieve the old-fashioned missive, but I knew from watching him send a note the night before that they were also using a glyph based code for which I had no key.
I slept fitfully -- and I later deduced that the sound of the fax machine had likely made me recall the life I had left behind for the first time since embarking on this journey. All the excitement I had experienced on the boat ride from the Florida Isles on the trip to East America had kept me focused on what I was learning and doing and seeing for the first time.
In the early hours of that morning of that first night in those environs was also the first time I wondered how it would be that I would return. The concept of "astral projection with a corporeal element" had been explained to me, so I had grasped that I could exist back in my original time as Troy AND in this new age as Ilion (the name I had taken for myself) AND as the sum total of my IQ, EQ and SQ files living on within the Vitalnet.
Without access to the information in those files, though, me-as-Ilion began to worry how -- and when -- I would one day rejoin me-as-Troy ... and how that life, if again intertwined, could ever be the same again.
Eventually, Mattie 3.0 walked in to the living room and his presence drew me out of my disturbing thoughts.
"Morning!" he said, with a smile.
It would have been polite of me to respond in kind. Instead, I just pointed to the refrigerator and mumbled. "Brother Bain has spoken."
With that, I promise to share more about that morning the next time I'm able to send a communication to you on the last day of the month when I can take advantage of the loophole as the Vitalnet updates. Until then, I remain Ilion using Troy-in-2019's social media to share news of the future with you ... in small bitesize pieces ... only when possible.
And I wasn't referring to the fact that my life had been fast-forwarded some sixty-plus years once I stepped through the portal that my cell phone had created that had sent me there in 2084. Even back at the turn of the millennium, the distinct ring-buzz-whirr of a fax machine was an antiquated noise.
Sure enough, though, "Brother Bain", as Mattie 3.0 had called it, received a response from his IntransiGent contact under the cover of night. I wanted to get up off of the couch and head to the refrigerator and slide it out of its nook and spin it around to retrieve the old-fashioned missive, but I knew from watching him send a note the night before that they were also using a glyph based code for which I had no key.
I slept fitfully -- and I later deduced that the sound of the fax machine had likely made me recall the life I had left behind for the first time since embarking on this journey. All the excitement I had experienced on the boat ride from the Florida Isles on the trip to East America had kept me focused on what I was learning and doing and seeing for the first time.
In the early hours of that morning of that first night in those environs was also the first time I wondered how it would be that I would return. The concept of "astral projection with a corporeal element" had been explained to me, so I had grasped that I could exist back in my original time as Troy AND in this new age as Ilion (the name I had taken for myself) AND as the sum total of my IQ, EQ and SQ files living on within the Vitalnet.
Without access to the information in those files, though, me-as-Ilion began to worry how -- and when -- I would one day rejoin me-as-Troy ... and how that life, if again intertwined, could ever be the same again.
Eventually, Mattie 3.0 walked in to the living room and his presence drew me out of my disturbing thoughts.
"Morning!" he said, with a smile.
It would have been polite of me to respond in kind. Instead, I just pointed to the refrigerator and mumbled. "Brother Bain has spoken."
With that, I promise to share more about that morning the next time I'm able to send a communication to you on the last day of the month when I can take advantage of the loophole as the Vitalnet updates. Until then, I remain Ilion using Troy-in-2019's social media to share news of the future with you ... in small bitesize pieces ... only when possible.
Thursday, February 28, 2019
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 37
Mattie 3.0, the defictionalized character of my own creation that had been brought to life in 2084 shortly before I myself had been brought to that year via the time travel portal in my cellphone, had told me to sit on his plain gray couch in his apartment in Old Orleans and to wait while he got "Brother Bain" up and running so that he could report in to the Intransigents about the surprise invite I had gotten to the mysterious original New Orleans, now at the bottom of the Bay of Mississippi, and so that's exactly what I did.
(By the way -- if you are confused by any of those words in that ridiculously long run-on sentence, then you should probably read some [or all] of the prior 36 missives.)
But I stayed seated for only just a quick minute -- because I jumped to my feet in surprise when Mattie 3.0 slid the refrigerator out of its nook in the kitchen, and spun it around to reveal a secret compartment in the back. It became clear that that was where "Brother Bain" was housed.
"A fax machine?!", I said aloud, half questioning and half naming what I was seeing as if I was a naturalist in the wild who had come across an animal for the first time that everyone had thought was long extinct.
Mattie 3.0 smirked.
"Indeed -- a fax machine. We found that the easiest way to communicate in secret code is to resurrect an ancient technology. We can still plug into the Vitalnet, but the transmission is so lowkey, it's virtually undetectable. It registers as little more than noise."
As he explained, he was quickly filling a blank piece of paper with rows and rows of images. When he saw me looking intently at what he had created, he provided an explanation for that as well.
"But just in case -- we conscripted the best of the old glyph type languages for our cause."
He paused and stared right at me, lowering his voice to almost a whisper.
"You can never be too careful."
Once again, I felt awkwardly like the student had become the teacher.
"Never!", he added, one more time for emphasis.
And with the loophole closing that I use at the end of each month when the aforementioned Vitalnet is updating to send a message back to you in your time, I'll leave you with that same thought, as I know now that the First of the Four Uprisings is nigh. YOU can also NEVER be too careful. Until the last day of the month next when I use Troy-in-2019's social media to continue telling this tale, please, I implore you ... BE CAREFUL!
(By the way -- if you are confused by any of those words in that ridiculously long run-on sentence, then you should probably read some [or all] of the prior 36 missives.)
But I stayed seated for only just a quick minute -- because I jumped to my feet in surprise when Mattie 3.0 slid the refrigerator out of its nook in the kitchen, and spun it around to reveal a secret compartment in the back. It became clear that that was where "Brother Bain" was housed.
"A fax machine?!", I said aloud, half questioning and half naming what I was seeing as if I was a naturalist in the wild who had come across an animal for the first time that everyone had thought was long extinct.
Mattie 3.0 smirked.
"Indeed -- a fax machine. We found that the easiest way to communicate in secret code is to resurrect an ancient technology. We can still plug into the Vitalnet, but the transmission is so lowkey, it's virtually undetectable. It registers as little more than noise."
As he explained, he was quickly filling a blank piece of paper with rows and rows of images. When he saw me looking intently at what he had created, he provided an explanation for that as well.
"But just in case -- we conscripted the best of the old glyph type languages for our cause."
He paused and stared right at me, lowering his voice to almost a whisper.
"You can never be too careful."
Once again, I felt awkwardly like the student had become the teacher.
"Never!", he added, one more time for emphasis.
And with the loophole closing that I use at the end of each month when the aforementioned Vitalnet is updating to send a message back to you in your time, I'll leave you with that same thought, as I know now that the First of the Four Uprisings is nigh. YOU can also NEVER be too careful. Until the last day of the month next when I use Troy-in-2019's social media to continue telling this tale, please, I implore you ... BE CAREFUL!
Thursday, January 31, 2019
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 36
It didn't take us very long at all to reach the apartment where Mattie 3.0 was staying in Old Orleans.
I looked around his space, decorated sparsely in monochromatic tones. While taking it all in, I finally figured out what was missing the most. There were little to no personal effects -- and especially no pictures.
He must have caught me processing, because he interrupted my thoughts with a question.
"Are you okay? Something wrong?"
I shook my head and replied. "No, no ... just still shocked at the circumstances."
"Let me guess -- it's not the way you would have written it?" he continued.
Mattie was literally a character that I created and added into multiple short stories back in the late 2010's. To have him appear in person now that I was in 2084 was still hard to comprehend. He had explained that the IntransiGents had perfected the process of defictionalization that had created him ... but still.
"Just noticing that there are no pictures ... no family," I finally offered.
He shrugged his shoulders. "It's a solitary life. No one else from my stories got defictionalized with me. Although you know my Mom and Dad ... so we probably dodged a bullet there."
I couldn't help but chuckle. I did indeed know his parents, as I had created them -- and I would not have wanted to run into them during this trip into the future on which I unexpectedly found myself.
"So what's next?" I queried.
"I have to update my 'Gent and confirm that our original plans will change since you got your invite from that stranger on the corner. And I need to do it quickly because the clock is ticking for you. As soon as you set foot in town, you started showing up on the PCB's facial recognition exception reports."
Ah yes. The Population Control Board kept on coming up in conversations.
"I stayed in back alleys when I went out to wander waiting for your shift to finish. Do you think they saw me?"
It was Mattie's turn to chuckle.
"Of course they did. We are all always being watched. There is no such thing as privacy -- although I would have thought YOU would have known that, since it was your generation that killed it dead." He motioned to the gray couch. "But don't worry ... we have connections everywhere, so we've bought some time. Take a seat and I'll get Brother Bain up and running ..."
And that seems like a perfect spot to stop this part of my tale, especially seeing as how the loophole I'm using to contact you when the Vitalnet updates at the end of every month is a short one. As always, I remain Ilion (the name I took when I time traveled to 2084) using Troy-in-2019's social media to keep you informed of what's happening nearly seventy years in the future. Until the last day of the month next, I wish you health and happiness and I hope you enjoy the last vestiges of privacy that you and your loved ones will ever know.
I looked around his space, decorated sparsely in monochromatic tones. While taking it all in, I finally figured out what was missing the most. There were little to no personal effects -- and especially no pictures.
He must have caught me processing, because he interrupted my thoughts with a question.
"Are you okay? Something wrong?"
I shook my head and replied. "No, no ... just still shocked at the circumstances."
"Let me guess -- it's not the way you would have written it?" he continued.
Mattie was literally a character that I created and added into multiple short stories back in the late 2010's. To have him appear in person now that I was in 2084 was still hard to comprehend. He had explained that the IntransiGents had perfected the process of defictionalization that had created him ... but still.
"Just noticing that there are no pictures ... no family," I finally offered.
He shrugged his shoulders. "It's a solitary life. No one else from my stories got defictionalized with me. Although you know my Mom and Dad ... so we probably dodged a bullet there."
I couldn't help but chuckle. I did indeed know his parents, as I had created them -- and I would not have wanted to run into them during this trip into the future on which I unexpectedly found myself.
"So what's next?" I queried.
"I have to update my 'Gent and confirm that our original plans will change since you got your invite from that stranger on the corner. And I need to do it quickly because the clock is ticking for you. As soon as you set foot in town, you started showing up on the PCB's facial recognition exception reports."
Ah yes. The Population Control Board kept on coming up in conversations.
"I stayed in back alleys when I went out to wander waiting for your shift to finish. Do you think they saw me?"
It was Mattie's turn to chuckle.
"Of course they did. We are all always being watched. There is no such thing as privacy -- although I would have thought YOU would have known that, since it was your generation that killed it dead." He motioned to the gray couch. "But don't worry ... we have connections everywhere, so we've bought some time. Take a seat and I'll get Brother Bain up and running ..."
And that seems like a perfect spot to stop this part of my tale, especially seeing as how the loophole I'm using to contact you when the Vitalnet updates at the end of every month is a short one. As always, I remain Ilion (the name I took when I time traveled to 2084) using Troy-in-2019's social media to keep you informed of what's happening nearly seventy years in the future. Until the last day of the month next, I wish you health and happiness and I hope you enjoy the last vestiges of privacy that you and your loved ones will ever know.
Monday, December 31, 2018
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 35
"This. Changes. Everything!"
Mattie 3.0, a character I had created in the early 2000's for a few stories I had written who had been defictionalized in 2084 -- which is where I was spending my time since getting transported through a portal in an app in my cell phone to the future -- was *very* excited when I told him about the old man I had met on the corner of Bourbon-not-Bourbon street in Old Orleans.
"I know we had planned to head toward Chicago in a week or two ... but if you found a way to get to the original New Orleans, then you need to follow up on it. I will check with my handlers in the IntransiGents in the morning, but I am all but certain that they will want you to take advantage of that offer. We've heard rumors of that city's continued existence -- despite it being at the bottom of the bay of Mississippi -- but we thought it was just conspiracy theorists having their fun."
I wanted to temper his enthusiasm.
"To be clear, though," I countered. "It was just some random man on some random corner who was trying to recruit me. I can't vouch for his authenticity or anything."
"It doesn't matter," he replied. "You *have* to pursue the lead. We *need* to know if it really exists ... and we *need* to know if they will join us in the Fourth Uprising."
I hesitated before I responded.
"I can't possibly go by myself. I mean I just arrived here from my era and I don't want to do anything to interfere with what is happening in these times."
"Sure ... sure," said Mattie 3.0. "I was cleared to go with you to Chicago ... but I'll have to find out whether I can join you on the other journey. Let's head back to my apartment and figure things out."
And so Mattie 3.0 and I walked through the back alleys of Old Orleans, just a time travelling man with his defictionalized creation navigating the world of 2084, planning and plotting for the next adventure -- an adventure about which I'll tell you more on the last day of the month next. Until then -- this is Ilion in 2084 using Troy-in-2018's social media to stay in touch with those of you who are about to experience the "first" Uprising. I understand it to be New Year's Eve in your time ... and so I wish you the best as you plan and plot for *your* upcoming adventures in 2019.
Mattie 3.0, a character I had created in the early 2000's for a few stories I had written who had been defictionalized in 2084 -- which is where I was spending my time since getting transported through a portal in an app in my cell phone to the future -- was *very* excited when I told him about the old man I had met on the corner of Bourbon-not-Bourbon street in Old Orleans.
"I know we had planned to head toward Chicago in a week or two ... but if you found a way to get to the original New Orleans, then you need to follow up on it. I will check with my handlers in the IntransiGents in the morning, but I am all but certain that they will want you to take advantage of that offer. We've heard rumors of that city's continued existence -- despite it being at the bottom of the bay of Mississippi -- but we thought it was just conspiracy theorists having their fun."
I wanted to temper his enthusiasm.
"To be clear, though," I countered. "It was just some random man on some random corner who was trying to recruit me. I can't vouch for his authenticity or anything."
"It doesn't matter," he replied. "You *have* to pursue the lead. We *need* to know if it really exists ... and we *need* to know if they will join us in the Fourth Uprising."
I hesitated before I responded.
"I can't possibly go by myself. I mean I just arrived here from my era and I don't want to do anything to interfere with what is happening in these times."
"Sure ... sure," said Mattie 3.0. "I was cleared to go with you to Chicago ... but I'll have to find out whether I can join you on the other journey. Let's head back to my apartment and figure things out."
And so Mattie 3.0 and I walked through the back alleys of Old Orleans, just a time travelling man with his defictionalized creation navigating the world of 2084, planning and plotting for the next adventure -- an adventure about which I'll tell you more on the last day of the month next. Until then -- this is Ilion in 2084 using Troy-in-2018's social media to stay in touch with those of you who are about to experience the "first" Uprising. I understand it to be New Year's Eve in your time ... and so I wish you the best as you plan and plot for *your* upcoming adventures in 2019.
Friday, November 30, 2018
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 34
I, Ilion (the name I had taken for myself after using the portal on my cell phone to travel to 2084), still had an hour or two to kill that night in Old Orleans after interacting with the old man in the shadows on the corner who had promised he could spirit me away to the original New Orleans, which I knew was at the bottom of the Bay of Mississippi in that era -- and that Old Orleans was really what I would have called Tuscaloosa in my time, although Tuscaloosa was never a port city as this Old Orleans was now.
The arrangement I had made with Mattie 3.0, a character I had written into some short stories back before I made the time jump who had been de-fictionalized by 2084. was that I would be as inconspicuous as possible while I was waiting for him to finish his shift at the sex-porium, so as not to alert anyone to my presence.
Luckily for me, the creators of Old Orleans had gone out of their way to make the experience on this Bourbon Street as retro as possible, so everyone I passed was mostly focused on letting their own good times roll, and a visitor from the future without the telltale sixth texting finger that humans had evolved into having (with a little help from the genetic engineering that the Population Control Board had pioneered in the zoos where the next generation was raised) wasn't to be noticed lurking in the background.
I had previously noted that those creators had succeeded in capturing most of the sights and smells of the famed party street, but as I wandered around to pass the time, I finally realized what was missing.
There were no beads -- and there were no activities that used to power the bead economy. No flashes of breasts or asses or other body parts ... no cat calls. The drunkenness was ever-present around every corner ... but the lasciviousness was missing.
Captain Sandy had briefed me on the boat ride from the Florida Isles about how sex was all of the virtual kind since children were grown in the zoo labs and the sex act wasn't necessary for procreation to grow the population. But still -- in the time from which I came, alcohol was the social lubricant that quickly turned into a sexual lubricant as the amount consumed increased.
I couldn't fathom how drinking in 2084 wouldn't lead to the same outcome, and yet there was nary a nipple to be seen. I'd have to wait until I had the chance to speak to Mattie 3.0 to get that clarified ... and since the window when the VitalNet updates on the last day of every month is closing, *you'll* have to wait until next time for me to share what I learned.
Until then, I remain Ilion in 2084 using Troy-in-2018's social media to contact you. Please be careful ... the time of the *first* Uprising if rapidly approaching.
The arrangement I had made with Mattie 3.0, a character I had written into some short stories back before I made the time jump who had been de-fictionalized by 2084. was that I would be as inconspicuous as possible while I was waiting for him to finish his shift at the sex-porium, so as not to alert anyone to my presence.
Luckily for me, the creators of Old Orleans had gone out of their way to make the experience on this Bourbon Street as retro as possible, so everyone I passed was mostly focused on letting their own good times roll, and a visitor from the future without the telltale sixth texting finger that humans had evolved into having (with a little help from the genetic engineering that the Population Control Board had pioneered in the zoos where the next generation was raised) wasn't to be noticed lurking in the background.
I had previously noted that those creators had succeeded in capturing most of the sights and smells of the famed party street, but as I wandered around to pass the time, I finally realized what was missing.
There were no beads -- and there were no activities that used to power the bead economy. No flashes of breasts or asses or other body parts ... no cat calls. The drunkenness was ever-present around every corner ... but the lasciviousness was missing.
Captain Sandy had briefed me on the boat ride from the Florida Isles about how sex was all of the virtual kind since children were grown in the zoo labs and the sex act wasn't necessary for procreation to grow the population. But still -- in the time from which I came, alcohol was the social lubricant that quickly turned into a sexual lubricant as the amount consumed increased.
I couldn't fathom how drinking in 2084 wouldn't lead to the same outcome, and yet there was nary a nipple to be seen. I'd have to wait until I had the chance to speak to Mattie 3.0 to get that clarified ... and since the window when the VitalNet updates on the last day of every month is closing, *you'll* have to wait until next time for me to share what I learned.
Until then, I remain Ilion in 2084 using Troy-in-2018's social media to contact you. Please be careful ... the time of the *first* Uprising if rapidly approaching.
Wednesday, October 31, 2018
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 33
"Lookit," I replied, "I don't know you. I just got to town. It's only for a night or two, and then I'm heading up north."
He stared intently at me when I spoke.
Of course, the old man from the shadows stared intently at me when I was silent as well.
And that silence was awkward, so I broke it.
"I appreciate the offer to follow you to the original New Orleans, or whatever, but I have family waiting for me here."
Family. I chose that word, although I wasn't sure that Mattie 3.0 met that definition. He was a character from a story I had written in the first part of the century, now come to life through a process called defictionalization near the end of that same century. He was my only contact in Old Orleans, though, as I was sure that Captain Sandy had taken her boat and left town to do more of the IntransiGents' business.
His stare was unnerving. Was he from the Population Control Board? Was this some kind of test that I didn't quite understand that I might have failed in some way? He reached into his pocket and I tensed, unsure of what he'd pull from it.
"There is nothing for you in this town," he said determinedly as he handed me a small business card. "You think it over and you meet me here tomorrow night at this same time. You won't be disappointed."
He shifted backwards into the shadows, and was gone just as suddenly as he had appeared.
I looked down at what he had given me. He had told me that he was a recruiter, but it was only then that I noticed the spelling: 're-krewe-ter'. The "New Orelans" sure was strong with this one.
Unfortunately, that's all the time I have for this month. Until the last day of the month next, I remain Ilion in 2084, using Troy-in-2018's social media to stay in touch with you and to tell you of my future journeys -- wherever they may take me. Be well -- be careful -- and be prepared, for the path to where I am from where you are is a tortured one, full of disappointment.
He stared intently at me when I spoke.
Of course, the old man from the shadows stared intently at me when I was silent as well.
And that silence was awkward, so I broke it.
"I appreciate the offer to follow you to the original New Orleans, or whatever, but I have family waiting for me here."
Family. I chose that word, although I wasn't sure that Mattie 3.0 met that definition. He was a character from a story I had written in the first part of the century, now come to life through a process called defictionalization near the end of that same century. He was my only contact in Old Orleans, though, as I was sure that Captain Sandy had taken her boat and left town to do more of the IntransiGents' business.
His stare was unnerving. Was he from the Population Control Board? Was this some kind of test that I didn't quite understand that I might have failed in some way? He reached into his pocket and I tensed, unsure of what he'd pull from it.
"There is nothing for you in this town," he said determinedly as he handed me a small business card. "You think it over and you meet me here tomorrow night at this same time. You won't be disappointed."
He shifted backwards into the shadows, and was gone just as suddenly as he had appeared.
I looked down at what he had given me. He had told me that he was a recruiter, but it was only then that I noticed the spelling: 're-krewe-ter'. The "New Orelans" sure was strong with this one.
Unfortunately, that's all the time I have for this month. Until the last day of the month next, I remain Ilion in 2084, using Troy-in-2018's social media to stay in touch with you and to tell you of my future journeys -- wherever they may take me. Be well -- be careful -- and be prepared, for the path to where I am from where you are is a tortured one, full of disappointment.
Sunday, September 30, 2018
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 32
"Let me guess. Another virtual reality sex-porium experience?"
I was being cagey in my reply to the old man who had emerged from the shadows on Bourbon-not-Bourbon Street in Old Orleans -- just as I had been instructed to do by my IntransiGent handlers, and as I had just recently been reminded to do by Mattie 3.0, in order to not blow my cover. His unsolicited offer to take me to the original New Orleans, which I knew to be under water in what was now the Bay of Mississippi, was unexpected and felt like a potential trap.
Before he answered, he took a drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke up into the darkness of the night just outside the cone of light originating from the balcony above us. Then he spoke.
"I've always been more a fan of *actual* reality -- in AND out of the bedroom. These kids nowadays have been so desensitized by the extremes they've fake-experienced that they can't even appreciate what's right in front of them."
It was good to see that grumpy old men, as a distinct species, survived -- and thrived -- well into the future.
He looked me up and down at least three times before he continued.
"Your eyes aren't dead yet. That's why I made you the offer."
I made a mental note. In addition to all the other things I already knew that might make me stand out as a time traveler to 2084 -- the missing sixth texting finger that had evolved for the later generations, my lack of Population Control Board papers, my tendency to say the wrong name of the town in which I was now located -- I had to add not having "dead eyes" to the list.
The old man had one last surprise to offer.
"I'm a recruiter," he said quietly, almost under his breath, "and I see something in you".
I found that to be the most intriguing thing I had heard from him, but I was too fearful to take him up on any offer.
Of course, I'll have to tell you more in the next missive, as the size of the file I can send during this monthly Vitalnet update that allows me to communicate with you this way is limited. I have to continue to stay under the radar, so no one discovers that I am Ilion, the name I took on when I arrived in 2084, using Troy-in-2018's social media account to communicate with you. Just know that there will indeed be more to share.
I was being cagey in my reply to the old man who had emerged from the shadows on Bourbon-not-Bourbon Street in Old Orleans -- just as I had been instructed to do by my IntransiGent handlers, and as I had just recently been reminded to do by Mattie 3.0, in order to not blow my cover. His unsolicited offer to take me to the original New Orleans, which I knew to be under water in what was now the Bay of Mississippi, was unexpected and felt like a potential trap.
Before he answered, he took a drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke up into the darkness of the night just outside the cone of light originating from the balcony above us. Then he spoke.
"I've always been more a fan of *actual* reality -- in AND out of the bedroom. These kids nowadays have been so desensitized by the extremes they've fake-experienced that they can't even appreciate what's right in front of them."
It was good to see that grumpy old men, as a distinct species, survived -- and thrived -- well into the future.
He looked me up and down at least three times before he continued.
"Your eyes aren't dead yet. That's why I made you the offer."
I made a mental note. In addition to all the other things I already knew that might make me stand out as a time traveler to 2084 -- the missing sixth texting finger that had evolved for the later generations, my lack of Population Control Board papers, my tendency to say the wrong name of the town in which I was now located -- I had to add not having "dead eyes" to the list.
The old man had one last surprise to offer.
"I'm a recruiter," he said quietly, almost under his breath, "and I see something in you".
I found that to be the most intriguing thing I had heard from him, but I was too fearful to take him up on any offer.
Of course, I'll have to tell you more in the next missive, as the size of the file I can send during this monthly Vitalnet update that allows me to communicate with you this way is limited. I have to continue to stay under the radar, so no one discovers that I am Ilion, the name I took on when I arrived in 2084, using Troy-in-2018's social media account to communicate with you. Just know that there will indeed be more to share.
Friday, August 31, 2018
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 31
"If you're looking for a good time -- and I *think* you are -- I can get you where you need to go!"
The elderly man who had emerged from the shadows and suddenly engaged me in conversation on that street in Old Orleans had thrown me for a loop.
I was supposed to just be passing the time waiting for Mattie 3.0 to finish his shift at the sex-porium. I wasn't supposed to be making eye contact with anyone. And I sure as hell wasn't supposed to be making anyone suspicious about the fact that I didn't belong in 2084 -- that I had only arrived a few weeks prior via a portal that an app on my cell phone had created and that I was being spirited around by the Intransigents, who were busy planning the Fourth Uprising.
So I said nothing in reply -- except he did not respond in kind. Instead, he repeated the first words he had uttered to me.
"I can see it in your eyes that you know the difference between Old and New when it comes to the two competing towns of Orleans."
This time, he continued.
"I was there you know."
As impolite as it was for me to not engage, it would have been even more impolite for me to ask him his age. It didn't stop me, though, from trying to calculate it in my head. If it was currently 2084 -- and it was -- and if the fracking-induced New Madrid Quake that split America in two and flooded so much of flyover land when the Mississippi River became the Bay of Mississippi, including the original New Orleans, had happened in 2023 -- and it had -- then the geriatric gentleman had to be in his late sixties or early seventies.
"If you want to go, I can get you there. I know people. I was there just last week."
That's when it hit me. This was some kind of a test. It had to be. "Old" New Orleans had been under water for decades.
Was he with the PCB -- the Population Control Board -- that was always on the job trying to sniff out illegals? Or could he be another of the IntransiGents, and no one had provided me with the right response to identify myself as one of the revolutionaries?
I couldn't stay silent any longer -- I *had* to say something in reply.
And I'll share that with you on the last day of the month next since this window of time to communicate with you back in your day when the VitalNet updates is soon closing. Even now, I can't risk alerting the authorities to my presence, so I will remain Ilion -- the new name I've given myself in 2084 -- communicating with you via Troy-in-2018's social media, having been brought to the future by t1a7n72.lif, my stored EQ, IQ and SQ files from that era.
Until then, take care of each other ... and be wary of those in charge in your time for the havoc I now know they cause in your immediate future is soon upon you.
The elderly man who had emerged from the shadows and suddenly engaged me in conversation on that street in Old Orleans had thrown me for a loop.
I was supposed to just be passing the time waiting for Mattie 3.0 to finish his shift at the sex-porium. I wasn't supposed to be making eye contact with anyone. And I sure as hell wasn't supposed to be making anyone suspicious about the fact that I didn't belong in 2084 -- that I had only arrived a few weeks prior via a portal that an app on my cell phone had created and that I was being spirited around by the Intransigents, who were busy planning the Fourth Uprising.
So I said nothing in reply -- except he did not respond in kind. Instead, he repeated the first words he had uttered to me.
"I can see it in your eyes that you know the difference between Old and New when it comes to the two competing towns of Orleans."
This time, he continued.
"I was there you know."
As impolite as it was for me to not engage, it would have been even more impolite for me to ask him his age. It didn't stop me, though, from trying to calculate it in my head. If it was currently 2084 -- and it was -- and if the fracking-induced New Madrid Quake that split America in two and flooded so much of flyover land when the Mississippi River became the Bay of Mississippi, including the original New Orleans, had happened in 2023 -- and it had -- then the geriatric gentleman had to be in his late sixties or early seventies.
"If you want to go, I can get you there. I know people. I was there just last week."
That's when it hit me. This was some kind of a test. It had to be. "Old" New Orleans had been under water for decades.
Was he with the PCB -- the Population Control Board -- that was always on the job trying to sniff out illegals? Or could he be another of the IntransiGents, and no one had provided me with the right response to identify myself as one of the revolutionaries?
I couldn't stay silent any longer -- I *had* to say something in reply.
And I'll share that with you on the last day of the month next since this window of time to communicate with you back in your day when the VitalNet updates is soon closing. Even now, I can't risk alerting the authorities to my presence, so I will remain Ilion -- the new name I've given myself in 2084 -- communicating with you via Troy-in-2018's social media, having been brought to the future by t1a7n72.lif, my stored EQ, IQ and SQ files from that era.
Until then, take care of each other ... and be wary of those in charge in your time for the havoc I now know they cause in your immediate future is soon upon you.
Tuesday, July 31, 2018
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 30
Off I went, into the night, out to walk up and down Bourbon-not-Bourbon Street in Old Orleans, seeing as how I had to pass the time for a few hours whilst waiting for Mattie 3.0, a character from one of my own stories I had written years earlier who had been defictionalized, to finish his shift at the virtual reality sex-porium where I had gone to get my instructions for the next part of my journey after Captain Sandy had delivered me to what was now a port city of East America.
(And if any of that confuses you, then you must have missed the earlier missives where I explained my trip through the portal created by an app on my cell phone that landed me in 2084.)
I was hesitant to interact with anyone, as I had just been schooled to be careful not to say anything that might pinpoint me as an outsider ... so I made every effort to avoid eye contact as I shuffled about in the shadows.
I had been to New Orleans for a few visits before I jumped through time to land at this re-creation of the town, now situated near what I had known as Tuscaloosa, Alabama -- and now located on the Bay of Mississippi -- the result of drastic geographical changes brought on by the fracking-induced New Madrid Quake of 2023.
The briefing I had gotten on the boat ride from the Florida Isles had prepared me for the successful attempt of the founders to capture the old vibes of the city. The drinking ... the loud music ... the good food ... all of them were fully on display, and there was an air of throwing caution to the wind in order to maximize the fun that was all too familiar to me.
Which is why I was so surprised when the stranger spoke from the alleyway where I had briefly stopped. "They *almost* got it right, eh? But you and I both know that something's off."
An old man stepped out of the shadow and into the dim light that was streaming out from the open doors of a second floor balcony above us.
He continued. "I can see it in your eyes that you know the difference between Old and New when it comes to the two competing towns of Orleans."
Our conversation that night continued ... but I'll have to tell the tale of it on the last day of the month next since the loophole when the VitalNet updates in the final hours of each month is closing. Until our next communication, I remain Ilion -- the new name I've taken on here in 2084 -- communicating with you via Troy in 2018's social media, having been brought to the future by t1a7n72.lif.
Whatever the year is when you are reading this ... stay safe!
(And if any of that confuses you, then you must have missed the earlier missives where I explained my trip through the portal created by an app on my cell phone that landed me in 2084.)
I was hesitant to interact with anyone, as I had just been schooled to be careful not to say anything that might pinpoint me as an outsider ... so I made every effort to avoid eye contact as I shuffled about in the shadows.
I had been to New Orleans for a few visits before I jumped through time to land at this re-creation of the town, now situated near what I had known as Tuscaloosa, Alabama -- and now located on the Bay of Mississippi -- the result of drastic geographical changes brought on by the fracking-induced New Madrid Quake of 2023.
The briefing I had gotten on the boat ride from the Florida Isles had prepared me for the successful attempt of the founders to capture the old vibes of the city. The drinking ... the loud music ... the good food ... all of them were fully on display, and there was an air of throwing caution to the wind in order to maximize the fun that was all too familiar to me.
Which is why I was so surprised when the stranger spoke from the alleyway where I had briefly stopped. "They *almost* got it right, eh? But you and I both know that something's off."
An old man stepped out of the shadow and into the dim light that was streaming out from the open doors of a second floor balcony above us.
He continued. "I can see it in your eyes that you know the difference between Old and New when it comes to the two competing towns of Orleans."
Our conversation that night continued ... but I'll have to tell the tale of it on the last day of the month next since the loophole when the VitalNet updates in the final hours of each month is closing. Until our next communication, I remain Ilion -- the new name I've taken on here in 2084 -- communicating with you via Troy in 2018's social media, having been brought to the future by t1a7n72.lif.
Whatever the year is when you are reading this ... stay safe!
Saturday, June 30, 2018
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 29
"I'm afraid you'll have to wait a week here in Old Orleans before we can leave to head up north to Chicago."
Mattie 3.0, whom I had learned had been defictionalized in a process the IntransiGents had stolen from the military during one of the Uprisings ... defictionalized from one of my very own stories that I had written before I stepped through the portal created by my cell phone app and found myself in 2084 ... broke the news to me gently.
"A week in New Orleans can't be a bad thing!" I replied, mostly under my breath.
"OLD Orleans," he immediately corrected. "And that's the problem -- you will need to do so AND still fit in. Just because you have a Population Control Board stamp on your entry papers doesn't mean that people are going to stop asking questions or being suspicious."
I bowed my head, slightly ashamed at my slip.
Mattie 3.0 continued. "You should understand that if you and I and Captain Sandy and the IntransiGents all know that the Fourth Uprising is being planned -- so does the government. You don't want to get on their radar. I don't want you to get ME on their radar."
"Of course. I'm sorry. I won't do it again," I offered up as penance.
My attempt at an apology didn't seem to placate Mattie 3.0, because he spoke even more emphatically in response.
"YOU aren't supposed to be here. I'M not supposed to be here. BOTH of us exist in 2084 due to technology that ONLY the government is supposed to have. EITHER one of us could lead them to the rest of the IntransiGents. BOTH of us taken together could bring down the whole movement."
There I sat in the sex-porium booth, being lectured to by a fictional character I had once created decades before because my early-2000's-mind wasn't using the appropriate 2084-language in casual conversation. I felt like maybe I should have been given a break. Mattie 3.0 clearly didn't agree.
I decided it was in my best interest to try and change the subject.
"So ..." I breathed in and exhaled slowly to communicate my intent to do just that. "Where will I be staying whilst we wait to begin our journey up north?" I queried.
"That's been arranged," he said straight-forwardly. "You'll need to meet me back here at the end of my shift. I still have to make the coins we'll need for our trip ..."
As for the rest of the story about my night on the town, I'll have to wait until the last day of the month next to share as the loophole when the VitalNet updates each month is soon closing. Until then, I remain Ilion in 2084, communicating with you about the future via Troy in 2018's social media account, having been brought here by t1a7n72.lif (my IQ, EQ and SQ files that live on for eternity).
Until the next time ... be sure to take care of each other -- 'cause I'm afraid it gets worse before it gets better. Just know that I trust and believe in our collective ability to get us through what lies ahead.
Mattie 3.0, whom I had learned had been defictionalized in a process the IntransiGents had stolen from the military during one of the Uprisings ... defictionalized from one of my very own stories that I had written before I stepped through the portal created by my cell phone app and found myself in 2084 ... broke the news to me gently.
"A week in New Orleans can't be a bad thing!" I replied, mostly under my breath.
"OLD Orleans," he immediately corrected. "And that's the problem -- you will need to do so AND still fit in. Just because you have a Population Control Board stamp on your entry papers doesn't mean that people are going to stop asking questions or being suspicious."
I bowed my head, slightly ashamed at my slip.
Mattie 3.0 continued. "You should understand that if you and I and Captain Sandy and the IntransiGents all know that the Fourth Uprising is being planned -- so does the government. You don't want to get on their radar. I don't want you to get ME on their radar."
"Of course. I'm sorry. I won't do it again," I offered up as penance.
My attempt at an apology didn't seem to placate Mattie 3.0, because he spoke even more emphatically in response.
"YOU aren't supposed to be here. I'M not supposed to be here. BOTH of us exist in 2084 due to technology that ONLY the government is supposed to have. EITHER one of us could lead them to the rest of the IntransiGents. BOTH of us taken together could bring down the whole movement."
There I sat in the sex-porium booth, being lectured to by a fictional character I had once created decades before because my early-2000's-mind wasn't using the appropriate 2084-language in casual conversation. I felt like maybe I should have been given a break. Mattie 3.0 clearly didn't agree.
I decided it was in my best interest to try and change the subject.
"So ..." I breathed in and exhaled slowly to communicate my intent to do just that. "Where will I be staying whilst we wait to begin our journey up north?" I queried.
"That's been arranged," he said straight-forwardly. "You'll need to meet me back here at the end of my shift. I still have to make the coins we'll need for our trip ..."
As for the rest of the story about my night on the town, I'll have to wait until the last day of the month next to share as the loophole when the VitalNet updates each month is soon closing. Until then, I remain Ilion in 2084, communicating with you about the future via Troy in 2018's social media account, having been brought here by t1a7n72.lif (my IQ, EQ and SQ files that live on for eternity).
Until the next time ... be sure to take care of each other -- 'cause I'm afraid it gets worse before it gets better. Just know that I trust and believe in our collective ability to get us through what lies ahead.
Thursday, May 31, 2018
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 28
Sitting there in the booth at the sex-porium in Old Orleans in 2084, speaking to a shadow who said that he knew me because his grandfather knew me ... a shadow that was instantly recognizable to me as "Mattie" -- my head was spinning.
I had just had a conversation with someone as if he was a real person and yet, after the shock and surprise had faded, I knew him full well to be a character that I had created for fictional stories that I had written decades ago. As the veil between reality and future-ality continued to tear, I realized that I had just referred to that character as "my closest friend", which was both a sad commentary on a past relatively solitary lifestyle where those voices I heard in my head that spilled forth as those populating my tales took on a life of their own ... and a telling insight about how unexpected time travel was scrambling my brain.
Of course, so far it *was* only a shadow. And my own future self *had* contacted me via a cell phone app to entice me to travel to the future through a portal. Plus it *was* 2084, so anything could have happened technologically in the lifetimes that had passed between my old life and my new existence -- which were apparently happening simultaneously in some other bit of mind-warp that I had just had to accept as fact.
"So -- are you virtual reality?" I queried the shadow.
My brain was starting to hurt ... and I was hoping that a modicum of truth would bring some kind of relief.
The screen began to lift, and light started to spill in to the small space.
Light ... and a hand. Not a virtual hand ... but an actual hand ... an actual hand attached to an actual body -- an actual body which spoke directly to me as he stretched out that hand for a welcoming shake.
"Oh no. I assure you I'm real. Flesh and blood. I'm officially Mattie 3.0, which is why I said you knew my 'grandfather' -- because it took three attempts at me being de-fictionalized before the act was perfected."
"De-fictionalized?"
Mattie 3.0 continued. "That's a thing now. Fictional characters of any kind can be de-fictionalized and created into actual human beings. It was the next level of astral projection with a corporeal element that created the IQ, EQ and SQ files -- a secret project the government was running, but the IntransiGents got a hold of the technology. You'd be surprised when it comes to whom you might run into walking around in our times ..."
And with that, my time taking advantage of the loophole when the VitalNet updates on the last day of the month is coming to a close, and so I must leave you as Ilion in 2084, communicating with you about the future via Troy in 2018's social media account, brought here by t1a7n72.lif, the remnants of my soul in said future. Take care of each other ... until next time ...
I had just had a conversation with someone as if he was a real person and yet, after the shock and surprise had faded, I knew him full well to be a character that I had created for fictional stories that I had written decades ago. As the veil between reality and future-ality continued to tear, I realized that I had just referred to that character as "my closest friend", which was both a sad commentary on a past relatively solitary lifestyle where those voices I heard in my head that spilled forth as those populating my tales took on a life of their own ... and a telling insight about how unexpected time travel was scrambling my brain.
Of course, so far it *was* only a shadow. And my own future self *had* contacted me via a cell phone app to entice me to travel to the future through a portal. Plus it *was* 2084, so anything could have happened technologically in the lifetimes that had passed between my old life and my new existence -- which were apparently happening simultaneously in some other bit of mind-warp that I had just had to accept as fact.
"So -- are you virtual reality?" I queried the shadow.
My brain was starting to hurt ... and I was hoping that a modicum of truth would bring some kind of relief.
The screen began to lift, and light started to spill in to the small space.
Light ... and a hand. Not a virtual hand ... but an actual hand ... an actual hand attached to an actual body -- an actual body which spoke directly to me as he stretched out that hand for a welcoming shake.
"Oh no. I assure you I'm real. Flesh and blood. I'm officially Mattie 3.0, which is why I said you knew my 'grandfather' -- because it took three attempts at me being de-fictionalized before the act was perfected."
"De-fictionalized?"
Mattie 3.0 continued. "That's a thing now. Fictional characters of any kind can be de-fictionalized and created into actual human beings. It was the next level of astral projection with a corporeal element that created the IQ, EQ and SQ files -- a secret project the government was running, but the IntransiGents got a hold of the technology. You'd be surprised when it comes to whom you might run into walking around in our times ..."
And with that, my time taking advantage of the loophole when the VitalNet updates on the last day of the month is coming to a close, and so I must leave you as Ilion in 2084, communicating with you about the future via Troy in 2018's social media account, brought here by t1a7n72.lif, the remnants of my soul in said future. Take care of each other ... until next time ...
Monday, April 30, 2018
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 27
"We've been expecting you."
As far as welcomes go, that which the avatar told me was right up there with the most welcoming of opening lines.
Still, though, it made me wonder *exactly * what the voice meant by its proclamation. After all, it was 2084 ... and I had arrived in Old Orleans only by the power of the time travel via the app in my cell phone. Did it really know that I would be showing up in the manner in which I arrived ... or was it just being polite?
"My grandfather knew you well."
For the first time since I slid into the seat of the sex-porium I suspected that my debriefing to expect to be put in touch with the local faction of the Intransigents was on point.
"You and he drove across the country together. Out of Florida. Through Winston Falls. To Chicago. Many many hours spent side by side, charged, as you both were at that time, with keeping Gator safe."
"Mattie?" I whispered in reply. "Is that really you?"
"Mattie was my grandfather," came the response. "And *his* stories became my history," the shadow in the screen continued.
"Your reputation precedes you!" it said excitedly. "And your ability to transcend time was foretold. It is both my honor and my privilege to meet with you again."
"Me you too," I muttered. After all -- what could I say? My arrival in 2084 was somewhat sudden and unexpected. Yet somehow the representation in front of me knew my lineage ... and he knew that I would one day, generations later, be standing in front of him in Old Orleans.
And so began my interaction with the progeny of my closest friend ... an interaction about which there is much to tell ... but a tale that I can only tell on the last day of the month next, when the VitalNet is updating and I can take advantage of a loophole to contact you via Troy's social media of 2018.
Until that opportunity presents itself, I remain Ilion in 2084, brought to the future via Troy in 2018's social media account ... as hosted by t1a7n72.lif., the remnants of my soul in the future. Stay safe. Be careful. Take care of one another. And keep your eyes open for your loved ones - in the future though it might be.
As far as welcomes go, that which the avatar told me was right up there with the most welcoming of opening lines.
Still, though, it made me wonder *exactly * what the voice meant by its proclamation. After all, it was 2084 ... and I had arrived in Old Orleans only by the power of the time travel via the app in my cell phone. Did it really know that I would be showing up in the manner in which I arrived ... or was it just being polite?
"My grandfather knew you well."
For the first time since I slid into the seat of the sex-porium I suspected that my debriefing to expect to be put in touch with the local faction of the Intransigents was on point.
"You and he drove across the country together. Out of Florida. Through Winston Falls. To Chicago. Many many hours spent side by side, charged, as you both were at that time, with keeping Gator safe."
"Mattie?" I whispered in reply. "Is that really you?"
"Mattie was my grandfather," came the response. "And *his* stories became my history," the shadow in the screen continued.
"Your reputation precedes you!" it said excitedly. "And your ability to transcend time was foretold. It is both my honor and my privilege to meet with you again."
"Me you too," I muttered. After all -- what could I say? My arrival in 2084 was somewhat sudden and unexpected. Yet somehow the representation in front of me knew my lineage ... and he knew that I would one day, generations later, be standing in front of him in Old Orleans.
And so began my interaction with the progeny of my closest friend ... an interaction about which there is much to tell ... but a tale that I can only tell on the last day of the month next, when the VitalNet is updating and I can take advantage of a loophole to contact you via Troy's social media of 2018.
Until that opportunity presents itself, I remain Ilion in 2084, brought to the future via Troy in 2018's social media account ... as hosted by t1a7n72.lif., the remnants of my soul in the future. Stay safe. Be careful. Take care of one another. And keep your eyes open for your loved ones - in the future though it might be.
Saturday, March 31, 2018
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 26
"Five. I mean four -- if you don't want me to count my thumb. Or eight, I guess -- if we're doing both hands but still not my thumbs."
I was clearly flustered. You would have thought that answering the question of how many fingers I had, in response to what had been asked of me by the man behind the booth in the front of the gentlemen's club, would have been easy. Back in *my* day -- as opposed to the day in 2084 when I stood there -- I was used to the question being asked at that kind of door by that kind of person to be one about showing an ID ... so a finger census before gaining admittance was odd.
But hey -- it was my first night in Old Orleans -- the city rebuilt when the original one was flooded when the Mississippi River became the Bay of Mississippi after the New Madrid Quake of 2023 had changed America's heartland forever ... and had changed *America* forever as it was split into East and West America shortly thereafter.
These were all things I had learned since arriving in 2084 after slipping through the portal created by my cell phone app.
It was only by running these things through my head as I stood there throwing out various numbers in hopes they one of them would indeed be the right one for me to gain admittance that I also remembered another key fact about "the future" that was likely relevant in that moment.
As part of the debriefing the IntransiGents had given me upon my arrival in the Florida Isles, I had been told about the power of the PCB (Population Control Board) and how they had taken over the zoos in order to raise genetically engineered children ... because animals in zoos, in the future, had been released to be free ... and because children were no longer born the "traditional" way as all sexual activity had moved into the virtual realm.
In those conversations I had been informed that children of the future all had a sixth digit, as such an "evolution" that aided them with their texting efficiency. By my showing my hands as they were, I was IDing myself as *early* 21st century.
"You're in," the man in the booth said, after looking at my outstretched hands. "Head to the Voodoo Room."
Voodoo Room. Voodoo had apparently survived decades later, even though other major religions had failed by that time ...
... which is another story for another end of month, as the window to share with you now is rapidly closing. Until the last day of the month next, I remain Ilion in 2084, hosted and brought to the future by t1a7n72.lif., communicating with you through the use of Troy in 2018's social media accounts.
Until then -- stay safe ... seeing as how all the Uprisings are still to come for y'all!
I was clearly flustered. You would have thought that answering the question of how many fingers I had, in response to what had been asked of me by the man behind the booth in the front of the gentlemen's club, would have been easy. Back in *my* day -- as opposed to the day in 2084 when I stood there -- I was used to the question being asked at that kind of door by that kind of person to be one about showing an ID ... so a finger census before gaining admittance was odd.
But hey -- it was my first night in Old Orleans -- the city rebuilt when the original one was flooded when the Mississippi River became the Bay of Mississippi after the New Madrid Quake of 2023 had changed America's heartland forever ... and had changed *America* forever as it was split into East and West America shortly thereafter.
These were all things I had learned since arriving in 2084 after slipping through the portal created by my cell phone app.
It was only by running these things through my head as I stood there throwing out various numbers in hopes they one of them would indeed be the right one for me to gain admittance that I also remembered another key fact about "the future" that was likely relevant in that moment.
As part of the debriefing the IntransiGents had given me upon my arrival in the Florida Isles, I had been told about the power of the PCB (Population Control Board) and how they had taken over the zoos in order to raise genetically engineered children ... because animals in zoos, in the future, had been released to be free ... and because children were no longer born the "traditional" way as all sexual activity had moved into the virtual realm.
In those conversations I had been informed that children of the future all had a sixth digit, as such an "evolution" that aided them with their texting efficiency. By my showing my hands as they were, I was IDing myself as *early* 21st century.
"You're in," the man in the booth said, after looking at my outstretched hands. "Head to the Voodoo Room."
Voodoo Room. Voodoo had apparently survived decades later, even though other major religions had failed by that time ...
... which is another story for another end of month, as the window to share with you now is rapidly closing. Until the last day of the month next, I remain Ilion in 2084, hosted and brought to the future by t1a7n72.lif., communicating with you through the use of Troy in 2018's social media accounts.
Until then -- stay safe ... seeing as how all the Uprisings are still to come for y'all!
Wednesday, February 28, 2018
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 25
It was Bourbon street ... but it wasn't.
The sounds were the same -- the loudness, the happiness, the drunkenness ... all building in swells to supplement the spilling-over of the music from the clubs.
The smells were the same -- alcohol punctuated by the occasional pungentness of piss, unless you were lucky to catch a food smell wafting on the wind.
The looks were the same -- they had clearly carefully reconstructed the streetscape with the lights and the signs and the balconies all reflecting off of the cobblestones.
The location, though, couldn't have been more different. This was OLD Orleans. Sure, it had been rebuilt on the shores of the Mississippi. But it wasn't the Mississippi RIVER any longer. This was the BAY of Mississippi, and it was the expanse of water that separated East America from West America -- a redrawing of the geography from after the New Madrid Quake of 2023, brought on as it was by uncontrolled fracking.
In my day -- back in the late 20-teens -- this would have been very far inland just a few miles south of Tuscaloosa, Alabama. But between the earthquake and the general rise in sea levels, this recreated community was now a coastal city again, and its port of entry was heavily trafficked with goods and people like me.
And so it was that I found myself in 2084 walking down the Old Orleans version of Bourbon Street, barely stifling the urge to scream "laissez les bons temps rouler" at passersby.
Before leaving the yacht that had brought me here from the Florida Isles, Captain Sandy had given me instructions as to how to find my next handler. Being Bourbon Street, I wasn't shocked to learn that I was to find him in a gentleman's club. And even though I had been debriefed about how all sexual activity had been converted to virtual reality, I wasn't ready for the look of the strip club when I found it on a side street about a block away from Bourbon.
The man in charge of assigning out the booths looked me over very carefully.
"Show me your hands," he said, with a commanding voice that caught me off guard -- so much so, that I didn't respond nearly as quickly as he wanted.
"Your hands ... let me see ... how many fingers do you have?"
There was an urgency to his voice ... as to how I finally responded, you'll have to wait until the last day of the month next, as this month's Vitalnet update is nearly done. Until then, and as always, I remain Troy in 2084 -- known to a select few here as Ilion -- as brought to the future by t1a7n72.lif (my SQ, IQ and EQ files uploaded to the Vitalnet), communicating with you through the use of Troy in 2018's social media accounts during the monthly updates.
Stay safe!
The sounds were the same -- the loudness, the happiness, the drunkenness ... all building in swells to supplement the spilling-over of the music from the clubs.
The smells were the same -- alcohol punctuated by the occasional pungentness of piss, unless you were lucky to catch a food smell wafting on the wind.
The looks were the same -- they had clearly carefully reconstructed the streetscape with the lights and the signs and the balconies all reflecting off of the cobblestones.
The location, though, couldn't have been more different. This was OLD Orleans. Sure, it had been rebuilt on the shores of the Mississippi. But it wasn't the Mississippi RIVER any longer. This was the BAY of Mississippi, and it was the expanse of water that separated East America from West America -- a redrawing of the geography from after the New Madrid Quake of 2023, brought on as it was by uncontrolled fracking.
In my day -- back in the late 20-teens -- this would have been very far inland just a few miles south of Tuscaloosa, Alabama. But between the earthquake and the general rise in sea levels, this recreated community was now a coastal city again, and its port of entry was heavily trafficked with goods and people like me.
And so it was that I found myself in 2084 walking down the Old Orleans version of Bourbon Street, barely stifling the urge to scream "laissez les bons temps rouler" at passersby.
Before leaving the yacht that had brought me here from the Florida Isles, Captain Sandy had given me instructions as to how to find my next handler. Being Bourbon Street, I wasn't shocked to learn that I was to find him in a gentleman's club. And even though I had been debriefed about how all sexual activity had been converted to virtual reality, I wasn't ready for the look of the strip club when I found it on a side street about a block away from Bourbon.
The man in charge of assigning out the booths looked me over very carefully.
"Show me your hands," he said, with a commanding voice that caught me off guard -- so much so, that I didn't respond nearly as quickly as he wanted.
"Your hands ... let me see ... how many fingers do you have?"
There was an urgency to his voice ... as to how I finally responded, you'll have to wait until the last day of the month next, as this month's Vitalnet update is nearly done. Until then, and as always, I remain Troy in 2084 -- known to a select few here as Ilion -- as brought to the future by t1a7n72.lif (my SQ, IQ and EQ files uploaded to the Vitalnet), communicating with you through the use of Troy in 2018's social media accounts during the monthly updates.
Stay safe!
Wednesday, January 31, 2018
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 24
"I do not understand. Explain yourself!" he commanded.
In my short time living "in the future", I had been prepped for this.
"I am looking to reunite with my long lost family who sold me as a baby to child-traders of a European customer visiting from new Canada back in the day when we all lived in Chitown."
Captain Sandy AND my IntransiGent friends had told me that referencing a past in Chicago would all but guarantee me that I could get through any questioning that I would face at the border, because that city had been through so much.
Epic stories about epic locations provided epic cover -- or so they had assured me.
"I just want to learn the story of my past," I stated, with the puppiest of puppy dog eyes I could muster.
It appeared that just one gentleman stood between me and my entry to East America via the port of Old Orleans. If I could only convince him that the papers with which I had been provided were sufficient, I would be an accepted immigrant in a 2084 world.
Clearly way too much authority had been entrusted to one human.
"Not all the stories have happy endings," he said, with a sadness I wasn't expecting from he who passed as a border agent in that future world.
"I'm sorry?", I said.
He didn't specifically reply. "I'm going to stamp your papers. But I want you to know that I can't promise you that what you'll find will be of comfort to you."
I nodded my head My mentors had clearly communicated that, above all else, I was NOT to engage. My problems of being an illegal immigrant some sixty plus years after an era in which I once belonged were mine to bear.
The night about which I am sharing was all about me getting access to then new world in which I found myself. And I was successful.. As to what came next, I'll have to share that with you on the last day of the month next, as that is the only window of time in which I can communicate.
Until then, I remain Troy in 2084 -- now known as Ilion -- as brought to the future by t1a7n72.lif (my SQ, IQ and EQ files uploaded to the Vitalnet) communicating with you through the use of Troy in 2018's social media accounts.
Talk to you soon!
In my short time living "in the future", I had been prepped for this.
"I am looking to reunite with my long lost family who sold me as a baby to child-traders of a European customer visiting from new Canada back in the day when we all lived in Chitown."
Captain Sandy AND my IntransiGent friends had told me that referencing a past in Chicago would all but guarantee me that I could get through any questioning that I would face at the border, because that city had been through so much.
Epic stories about epic locations provided epic cover -- or so they had assured me.
"I just want to learn the story of my past," I stated, with the puppiest of puppy dog eyes I could muster.
It appeared that just one gentleman stood between me and my entry to East America via the port of Old Orleans. If I could only convince him that the papers with which I had been provided were sufficient, I would be an accepted immigrant in a 2084 world.
Clearly way too much authority had been entrusted to one human.
"Not all the stories have happy endings," he said, with a sadness I wasn't expecting from he who passed as a border agent in that future world.
"I'm sorry?", I said.
He didn't specifically reply. "I'm going to stamp your papers. But I want you to know that I can't promise you that what you'll find will be of comfort to you."
I nodded my head My mentors had clearly communicated that, above all else, I was NOT to engage. My problems of being an illegal immigrant some sixty plus years after an era in which I once belonged were mine to bear.
The night about which I am sharing was all about me getting access to then new world in which I found myself. And I was successful.. As to what came next, I'll have to share that with you on the last day of the month next, as that is the only window of time in which I can communicate.
Until then, I remain Troy in 2084 -- now known as Ilion -- as brought to the future by t1a7n72.lif (my SQ, IQ and EQ files uploaded to the Vitalnet) communicating with you through the use of Troy in 2018's social media accounts.
Talk to you soon!
Sunday, December 31, 2017
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 23
I distinctly recall that it was a beautiful clear night when we approached the port of Old Orleans.
(In case you missed the missive where I explained that destination for this part of my journey -- Old Orleans was allegedly a wild bit of a town located on the Bay of Mississippi, which had separated East and West America since the New Madrid Quake of 2023 that had been brought on by unregulated excessive fracking in the heartland which had opened a larger fissure filled quickly by the rising waters of the world. Earlier in my preparation, I had overlaid a map from my time onto a map from this new time, and it had appeared to be in the area where Tuscaloosa, Alabama once stood.)
Captain Sandy had wrapped up everything that she had needed to tell me earlier that evening and she was busy coordinating the details of our arrival, and so I was alone at that moment, just staring up at the stars. Admittedly, science hadn't been my strong suit in high school, but in that moment, I was pretty sure that I remembered something about how, based on the extreme distances on which the galaxy was based, it could take up to thousands of years for some of the starlight to reach earth.
I concluded that, since my time travel had only sent me just some sixty-plus short years in the future, there was a good chance that the stars upon which I was gazing made up the *same* sky that I would have seen had I been doing the same thing back in 2017.
So as this particular monthly update of the VitalNet comes to a close -- as another reminder ... taking advantage of that loophole is *exactly* how I'm able to slip messages back to you in 2017 via the Facebook on the last day of every month -- I encourage you to do the same thing.
Go outside. Look at the stars. Know that they are the same stars that have been in your sky for years before you and for years after you. Your problems ... your issues ... your troubles ... your concerns ... in the grand scheme of things, recognize that, despite how overwhelmed you may feel in your moment, they too shall pass.
And through it all, those stars will still be shining. Those stars are the promise that, just like them, humanity will survive. Sure, there will be uprisings -- and of course, things will change -- but those same stars will be blazing brightly as we arrive at our future.
I can't wait to tell you more about that future on the last day of the month next ... but until then, I remain Ilion in 2084 as brought to the future by t1a7n72.lif., communicating with you through the use of Troy in 2017's social media account. As I've said before: stay safe and take care of each other and when you get overwhelmed, take a deep breath and look up at those stars to re-orient yourselves. We'll get through this ... and we WILL arrive at our future ... together.
(In case you missed the missive where I explained that destination for this part of my journey -- Old Orleans was allegedly a wild bit of a town located on the Bay of Mississippi, which had separated East and West America since the New Madrid Quake of 2023 that had been brought on by unregulated excessive fracking in the heartland which had opened a larger fissure filled quickly by the rising waters of the world. Earlier in my preparation, I had overlaid a map from my time onto a map from this new time, and it had appeared to be in the area where Tuscaloosa, Alabama once stood.)
Captain Sandy had wrapped up everything that she had needed to tell me earlier that evening and she was busy coordinating the details of our arrival, and so I was alone at that moment, just staring up at the stars. Admittedly, science hadn't been my strong suit in high school, but in that moment, I was pretty sure that I remembered something about how, based on the extreme distances on which the galaxy was based, it could take up to thousands of years for some of the starlight to reach earth.
I concluded that, since my time travel had only sent me just some sixty-plus short years in the future, there was a good chance that the stars upon which I was gazing made up the *same* sky that I would have seen had I been doing the same thing back in 2017.
So as this particular monthly update of the VitalNet comes to a close -- as another reminder ... taking advantage of that loophole is *exactly* how I'm able to slip messages back to you in 2017 via the Facebook on the last day of every month -- I encourage you to do the same thing.
Go outside. Look at the stars. Know that they are the same stars that have been in your sky for years before you and for years after you. Your problems ... your issues ... your troubles ... your concerns ... in the grand scheme of things, recognize that, despite how overwhelmed you may feel in your moment, they too shall pass.
And through it all, those stars will still be shining. Those stars are the promise that, just like them, humanity will survive. Sure, there will be uprisings -- and of course, things will change -- but those same stars will be blazing brightly as we arrive at our future.
I can't wait to tell you more about that future on the last day of the month next ... but until then, I remain Ilion in 2084 as brought to the future by t1a7n72.lif., communicating with you through the use of Troy in 2017's social media account. As I've said before: stay safe and take care of each other and when you get overwhelmed, take a deep breath and look up at those stars to re-orient yourselves. We'll get through this ... and we WILL arrive at our future ... together.
Thursday, November 30, 2017
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 22
"Did you know the Third Uprising actually *started* in Chicago?"
I did not. And so I told Captain Sandy as much as we sat there in the cool of the evening on the deck of the luxury yacht the night before we arrived at our destination of Old Orleans. Chicago was a part of my cover story for making it into East America, so the Captain was making sure that I was as informed as I possibly could be in order to not raise any flags during any interactions with any others from 2084 who might get suspicious and peg me as someone who was different.
Of course, the chances of anyone figuring out that the specific difference when it came to me was that I had traveled through a portal from 2017, summoned there through communication initiated by the files that had been uploaded to the Vitalnet that represented my future self's IQ, EQ and SQ (soul quotient) in computerized form -- they would have been slim. It was highly unlikely that anyone would have guessed that I was being providing safe passage by the IntransiGents, who had begun planning for the Fourth Uprising ... and that I was going to be a part of it.
"That was the last straw -- the city was basically abandoned after the blockade," she said.
She then told me about the city's initial early upheaval once it became known that it was a White Power cell based in Rockford that was secretly supplying the minority-led gangs with drugs and guns as part of a master plan to have them destroy each other -- and how the race riots went on for years until a truce was reached only by creating zones where each group could live with their own kind.-- the Black, the Brown, the Rainbow and the White -- all entrenched in their historic neighborhoods, with the downtown area a no-man's land.
The New Madrid Quake of 2023 -- which led to the creation of East and West America -- was strong enough to do substantial damage to most of the infrastructure and the high rises ... and the rising water levels created all new problems for which the city wasn't initially prepared. Sandy told me that the only good thing to come from those back to back natural disasters was that the remaining survivors found a way to unify and to throw off their zone allegiance. The IntransiGents took notice and moved in and established the faction that eventually launched the Third Uprising. Then a blockade ... followed by the abandonment ... and finally the Captain assured me that no news made it in or out of the area ... and so no one in 2084 knew for certain what was happening in what was once known as Chitown.
So now you guys in 2017 know as much as I did that evening in 2084. With that, I have to say a fond farewell for tonight as the window during which the Vitalnet updates on the last day of the month is closing ... as is my ability to use that loophole to pass along yet another communication. Until the last day of the month next, I remain Troy-in-2084, now known as Ilion, using Troy-left-in-2017's social media to share updates of my journey to the future as sponsored by my t1a7n72.lif files in the Vitalnet.
I did not. And so I told Captain Sandy as much as we sat there in the cool of the evening on the deck of the luxury yacht the night before we arrived at our destination of Old Orleans. Chicago was a part of my cover story for making it into East America, so the Captain was making sure that I was as informed as I possibly could be in order to not raise any flags during any interactions with any others from 2084 who might get suspicious and peg me as someone who was different.
Of course, the chances of anyone figuring out that the specific difference when it came to me was that I had traveled through a portal from 2017, summoned there through communication initiated by the files that had been uploaded to the Vitalnet that represented my future self's IQ, EQ and SQ (soul quotient) in computerized form -- they would have been slim. It was highly unlikely that anyone would have guessed that I was being providing safe passage by the IntransiGents, who had begun planning for the Fourth Uprising ... and that I was going to be a part of it.
"That was the last straw -- the city was basically abandoned after the blockade," she said.
She then told me about the city's initial early upheaval once it became known that it was a White Power cell based in Rockford that was secretly supplying the minority-led gangs with drugs and guns as part of a master plan to have them destroy each other -- and how the race riots went on for years until a truce was reached only by creating zones where each group could live with their own kind.-- the Black, the Brown, the Rainbow and the White -- all entrenched in their historic neighborhoods, with the downtown area a no-man's land.
The New Madrid Quake of 2023 -- which led to the creation of East and West America -- was strong enough to do substantial damage to most of the infrastructure and the high rises ... and the rising water levels created all new problems for which the city wasn't initially prepared. Sandy told me that the only good thing to come from those back to back natural disasters was that the remaining survivors found a way to unify and to throw off their zone allegiance. The IntransiGents took notice and moved in and established the faction that eventually launched the Third Uprising. Then a blockade ... followed by the abandonment ... and finally the Captain assured me that no news made it in or out of the area ... and so no one in 2084 knew for certain what was happening in what was once known as Chitown.
So now you guys in 2017 know as much as I did that evening in 2084. With that, I have to say a fond farewell for tonight as the window during which the Vitalnet updates on the last day of the month is closing ... as is my ability to use that loophole to pass along yet another communication. Until the last day of the month next, I remain Troy-in-2084, now known as Ilion, using Troy-left-in-2017's social media to share updates of my journey to the future as sponsored by my t1a7n72.lif files in the Vitalnet.
As always, stay safe and take care of each other for I now know that it gets much worse before it gets better.
Tuesday, October 31, 2017
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 21
Hello again from 2084!
It's Ilion, the name I took when I stepped through the portal created by the Vitalnet app I downloaded to my cell phone, so as not to be confused with the Troy I left behind in 2017 (because I actually exist in both eras, courtesy of a scientific advancement in the future called "astral projection with a corporeal element"). My 2017 self didn't live long enough to make it to 2084, but thanks to yet another scientific advancement, my IQ, EQ and SQ (soul quotient) files have been downloaded into that same Vitalnet, and it's those files (designated as t1a7n72.lif) that originally contacted me during a loophole on the last day of the month when the Vitalnet processes its updates.
Of course, you already knew all of that.if you've been reading these monthly communications. And you also already know that I'm currently one of many on a boat being guided from the Florida Isles to Old Orleans by Captain Sandy so that I can gain entry to East America to bear witness to the Fourth Uprising.
The Captain, who is connected to the InstransiGents, the group of resisters that has coordinated all of the specifics of this part of my journey, has been staying up late nights when it is safe to do so to fill me in on the state of world and national affairs so that I don't make any gaffes when I eventually interact with those outside of the organization who will not know of my status of being a visitor who skipped over 60 years of history.
During one of our late night sessions, she let me know that Hawaii had succumbed to the same rise in seawater that turned Florida into a set of small islands, and was now simply known by the active volcanic peaks of Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea seeing as how the main hospitable land was underwater. Alaska had been abandoned by the split countries of East and West America (split geographically by the 2023 Madrid Quake and politically by the rise of the replacement parties to Republicans and Democrats based on allegiance to Android or Iphone smart technology). It was now land fought over between the Sino Dynasty and the newSSR as both hoped to establish a presence on the continent (Greater Germany, the other world superpower, had no interest in the land, which had been drained of all of its natural resources by this future time.)
Feeling a bit more knowledgeable about how the Americas of 2084 compared to the America of my original time, I then requested an update on Chicago. After all, Chicago was a key part of the cover story that had been crafted for me ... and so I needed to be able to understand its history in order to avoid raising any suspicions when the boat docked in Old Orleans.
As much as I'd like to share that with you today, I'll need to save that information for my next missive, as the window is closing on the monthly Vitalnet update. Until next month at this time, I remain Troy-in-2084, now known as Ilion, using Troy-left-in-2017's social media to share updates of my journey to the future as sponsored by t1a7n72.lif files in the Vitalnet.
And please -- stay safe and take care of each other for it gets much worse before it gets better.
Saturday, September 30, 2017
2 0 8 4:M i s s i v e 20
Ilion here -- aka Troy in 2084 -- coming to you from the future on the last day of the month courtesy of that loophole when the Vitalnet updates at EOM (if this confuses you, you should probably look up the other 19 missives I've sent).
Recently, in these small windows of time I have to contact you back in 2017, I've been sharing just a little bit of the education that Captain Sandy gave me on my boat ride from the Florida Isles to my destination of Old Orleans and I've been focused on sharing the current state of world affairs (where "current" equals "2084-current" of course) as I was most fascinated by all the changes -- the jbola zone in Africa that had reduced that continent to what was basically an all-animal populace, the contamination zone in the Middle East that was the natural outcome of Crusadageddon, and the rise of the three world powers of Greater Germany, the newSSR and the Sino Dynasty.
Although she knew much about the world of that time, she had no way of knowing about the machinations that were already underway regarding the fears related to Pangaea.2100. But I'm getting ahead of myself -- *that* particular crisis didn't cross my radar until a few months after that boat ride. (As a reminder, since I can only communicate with you in small tidbits, the tale of my time here in 2084 is being chunked out to you in pieces.)
Captain Sandy reminded me that, as intrigued as I was, it was more in my interest to be able to spout off facts about East and West America in case the Covfefe Crew interrogated me after seeing the forged papers that the IntransiGents had provided.
Like a schoolboy, I recited what I knew. The New Madrid Quake of 2023 had split the country in two and they were separated geographically by the enlarged Bay of Mississippi. The area I had known as New England has been sold to Quebec, which had finally seceded from Canada. Texas had been flooded and then split in half between the Chapo-Escobar Archipelago and what became known as South Oklahoma -- and yes, a wall was built to separate the territories. Most of the populated sections of California had slid off into the ocean the same year as the Madrid Quake when the San Andreas fault finally erupted. Lake SuMiHuEO had replaced the Great Lakes and had swallowed up all of the real estate those five bodies of water once bordered.
Captain Sandy applauded me for knowing those details -- and then she instantly informed me that I'd need to know about what happened to Alaska ... and Hawaii ... and, since my manufactured personal history involved Chicago, all that happened to that Windy City through the years. That lesson will have to be the topic of next month's missive, as my time is running short. Until the last day of the month next, I remain Troy in 2084 now known as Ilion as brought to the future by t1a7n72.lif (my future files in the Vitalnet).
Take care of each other ... for I'm afraid it only gets worse from where you are situated in the timeline currently ...
Recently, in these small windows of time I have to contact you back in 2017, I've been sharing just a little bit of the education that Captain Sandy gave me on my boat ride from the Florida Isles to my destination of Old Orleans and I've been focused on sharing the current state of world affairs (where "current" equals "2084-current" of course) as I was most fascinated by all the changes -- the jbola zone in Africa that had reduced that continent to what was basically an all-animal populace, the contamination zone in the Middle East that was the natural outcome of Crusadageddon, and the rise of the three world powers of Greater Germany, the newSSR and the Sino Dynasty.
Although she knew much about the world of that time, she had no way of knowing about the machinations that were already underway regarding the fears related to Pangaea.2100. But I'm getting ahead of myself -- *that* particular crisis didn't cross my radar until a few months after that boat ride. (As a reminder, since I can only communicate with you in small tidbits, the tale of my time here in 2084 is being chunked out to you in pieces.)
Captain Sandy reminded me that, as intrigued as I was, it was more in my interest to be able to spout off facts about East and West America in case the Covfefe Crew interrogated me after seeing the forged papers that the IntransiGents had provided.
Like a schoolboy, I recited what I knew. The New Madrid Quake of 2023 had split the country in two and they were separated geographically by the enlarged Bay of Mississippi. The area I had known as New England has been sold to Quebec, which had finally seceded from Canada. Texas had been flooded and then split in half between the Chapo-Escobar Archipelago and what became known as South Oklahoma -- and yes, a wall was built to separate the territories. Most of the populated sections of California had slid off into the ocean the same year as the Madrid Quake when the San Andreas fault finally erupted. Lake SuMiHuEO had replaced the Great Lakes and had swallowed up all of the real estate those five bodies of water once bordered.
Captain Sandy applauded me for knowing those details -- and then she instantly informed me that I'd need to know about what happened to Alaska ... and Hawaii ... and, since my manufactured personal history involved Chicago, all that happened to that Windy City through the years. That lesson will have to be the topic of next month's missive, as my time is running short. Until the last day of the month next, I remain Troy in 2084 now known as Ilion as brought to the future by t1a7n72.lif (my future files in the Vitalnet).
Take care of each other ... for I'm afraid it only gets worse from where you are situated in the timeline currently ...
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