The Christmas Guitars

            Looking to do something worthwhile this last Christmas season, I applied for and was accepted to be a Salvation Army Bell Ringer. Yes, I was to become one of those many people you’ve seen over the past many holiday seasons standing outside of a local store or mall, ringing a bell whilst standing beside a red kettle into which donations are placed.

            Seems like an easy gig you say - well, believe it or not there are a lot of rules and - as I was to find out during orientation - responsibilities that go with the job. And it takes a little bit o’ people skills to boot, if you are like Oscar the grouch on ....Sesame Street.... –odds are you wouldn’t have a very full kettle at the end of the day.  So after attending the orientation (don’t smoke, wear appropriate clothing, smile, greet people and, of course - watch the kettle!) I figured that was it.

            Whoo boy, I was wrong!

            A mere two days before the start of the bell ringing season, I was informed by the Tyler Salvation Army’s Captain Zachary Bell that he wanted me to play my guitar instead of the regular bell ringing and he wanted me to do Christmas songs. Captain Bell is quite a Captain – a thirty-something powerhouse of a guy with a can-do attitude that makes it appear like he could smile his way through any trouble that might present itself to him.

            I immediately thought to myself that there were going to be some slight problems, as I really didn’t know many Christmas songs right off the bat and the calluses on my fingers were not really any where near thick enough to play for any extended amount of time. Before I came to stay at the Salvation Army’s Center Of Hope, I had been used to playing, songwriting and recording at least five hours a day – but the living arrangements I was faced with didn’t lend itself to keeping that regime up, so my calluses had atrophied somewhat with the passage of time.

 I thought about this for a moment and amazingly found myself telling Captain Bell, “Sure, no problem.”.

One part of my brain turned to the part that spoke and said, “What did you do that for?!?!?!”

 Reason I did that is because you simply can’t say no to Captain Zach – it’s like saying “no” to Bambi or some other bubbly positive force of nature – you’d just feel like a total, total smuck afterwards. He is such an exuberant guy that it’s rather infectious, you find yourself starting to get that same optimistic attitude of “Yeah, guys! We can do it, folks! Let’s go!” and next thing you know you find yourself popping popcorn at a Halloween party for 100 attendees or standing out in the rain trying to direct 30 or so Mobile Canteens and their drivers during a Hurricane crisis. He is that good. I am daily thankful that he is on the side of the good guys!

            So I walked out of his office thinking to myself, “Just what have you gotten into now??”.

            As it turned out – quite a bit……

            First thing the next day I assembled Christmas songs and began to putter through them – trying to find the right songs to fit my style and others that I could adapt. I played as much as I could to build up my calluses, but that type of thing simply just doesn’t happen overnight. Especially not over the span of two days!  I finally settle on “Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer”, “Greensleeves”, “Jingle Bells”, & “Away in a Manger” to start off with and figured I would add more later.

            My first day was, in a word – long. My first bell-ringing gig was in front of the food section of a local Walmart. And the morning started off cold, so it wasn’t until later when it warmed up that I brought the guitar out. Being cold – I was obliged to use the bell, ringing and greeting the folks as they came up. Some would stop and put some money in  - a few cents out of their pockets or a dollar or two. But, seeing as we were now officially in an economic free fall, folks were much less inclined to be as giving as they had in previous years. So you had to sell it – as best you could, put on your best smile and positive patter and sell it. Boy, it wasn’t an easy gig. Sometimes my smiler got tired. But I persevered; I was determined not to let Captain Zach and the Salvation Army down.

            But after it warmed up and I brought out the guitar – things began to happen………

            I was playing an old guitar that I had brought for a couple of hundred bucks four years ago in a guitar shop in ....Canton.., ..TX..... It was a fairly good guitar except for the fact that it had begun to warp due to the harsh conditions it had been forced to endure in the back seat of my car. But it played pretty well enough and I was used to it. I had a cheap set of new strings that I put on it the night before and reasoned they would do well enough for the job at hand.

            I tuned her up and began to play my version of “Jingle Bells” and that’s when things started to happen. The many people passing by on their way into Wal-Mart would begin to slow as they approached and would smile, stopping for a moment to listen, dropping money in the kettle in the process. Kids would hear the music as they walked up with their parents and become all excited – apparently seeing a guitar player up close was a new thing for them! Older men and women walking up would look up from their feet as they approached, smiling at me as they took in the guitar and the music. Invariably, they would pause long enough to drop in at least a few coins. More than one person would remark to me that the guitar was SO much better than that bell! And stop to shove a couple of bills into the red kettle with a smile.

            And I keep playing – running through my small repertoire in a fairly short time. I kept repeating it, reasoning that most of these folks aren’t standing around to listen to a whole show – they only hear me as they go in and out. So I repeated or stretched out a lot of tunes.

And things were going just fine until I broke a string.

I didn’t have any spares with me (poor planning on my part.), so I was shut down until I could get a replacement.

Which meant I was back to bell ringing. Which was way more boring than

playing a guitar. But it might have been a good thing I’d stopped when the string broke as my fingertips were starting to hurt a bit. Later, they would hurt a lot.

            And while I was back to just bell ringing, I notice a definite drop in donations. People just didn’t seem to be as inclined to give, as they had been when I was strumming the guitar. I had the feeling I was on to something.

            The next day – armed with another string that I salvaged from the strings I had replaced, (and bringing along replacements just in case.) I returned to what would become my regular spot at Wal-Mart and started playing just as soon as it was environmentally feasible. In other words – when it was warm enough to play without freezin’ my little fingers off.

            And I played and played and played and played. Smiling at the folks as they passed coming in and out of the store. Playing “Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer” or my instrumental version of “Jingle Bells” as the little ones crowded around the red kettle on it’s stand, impatient to put their coins in first! And when they had their chance they would all (up to about the age of five, I think..), place each coin, one by one, into the kettle - with all the concentration of a surgeon during a difficult operation. Beyond the age of five or six they would do what most people would do and put the money in two or three at a time instead of one by one. And I was having fun, it warmed my heart to bring smiles to faces that moments before had such dour expressions. But I was starting to notice my fingertips feeling a mite bit misused. So I began taking breaks when my fingertips barked too much and went back to the bell.

            By the third or fourth day my fingertips were doing more than merely barking, they were outright complaining and showing real signs of wear and tear. If they could have, I think they would have gotten a lawyer and sued me for the abuse I was forcing upon them!  Luckily I had a couple of days to rest them before going out and doing in again – but that time off didn’t help that much. Noticeable blisters were being to form – and yet I kept on playing as long as I was able to stand the pain.

            But it was worth it, as I was to find out – I was rapidly becoming one of the top bell ringers in terms of how much money I had in my kettle at the end of the day. The other bell ringers were becoming a bit miffed at my success; there was some grumbling in the ranks. One of the other top bell ringers played a harmonica and he did just as well as I. So music did more than soothe the savage breast – it also made it more giving apparently…..

            Slowly but surely as the days passed my fingers began to develop calluses that enable me to play longer and longer and I expanded my repertoire. I also began to sing – something that initially I was a little nervous about – it had been some years since I had sung in public and I wasn’t sure if I was any good anymore. I play bass for the Tyler Salvation Army praise band and once had attempted to sing backup - which was difficult as at the time we didn’t have anywhere near what would be a proper monitor setup. I must not have been doing so hot - seeing how one day I came to practice and while my bass was still there, the microphone I had been using had been removed.  Nobody had to drop a brick on my head – I got the hint.

But, after conquering my initial fears – I began belting out songs and received much encouraging feedback from folks. Bolstered by this I added more songs such as Jose Felecianos “Felice Navidad”, “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town” and “White Christmas”.  I wrote another song while bell ringing, which really went over well, called “Christmastime Is Here” in addition to another written on the spot instrumental which I called “The Bell Ringers Song” for lack of a better title!

            I was having a great time – singing and playing for the passersby and watching my kettle get visited time and time again by passing shoppers. I was also becoming known – some folks called up the Salvation Army praising my meager efforts. But the most fun for me was the smiles on the children’s faces.

            And then one day, disaster struck.

            It had started out as a typical day – I arrived at my spot around nine thirty, set up my stand and hung the kettle. When it had warmed up enough, replacing my tinkling bell with the guitar and did my thing. After a few hours I went to take my break – putting down my guitar by the coke machine for the few moments I would be away to place my kettle behind the Walmart service desk. I was gone maybe the sum total of two to three minutes, perhaps less.

            Upon my return – I immediately noticed the guitar was gone.

            My first thought was that some intrepid Walmart employee had removed it and placed it somewhere for safekeeping, but upon questioning the door greeter I quickly found that was not the case. I then alerted the management and they in turn alerted their security people.  Together we realized that the guitar had been stolen. And the odds of finding the thief and getting the guitar back were slim to none.

            Needless to say this was quite a blow – both personally and bell-ringing-wise. Without the guitar, I felt rather incomplete. And it was hard to smile and greet people in the Christmas spirit after such an event. I was at a loss and turned to my faith as to how best to handle this situation…… And I seemed to get an answer that said to me, “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”.

            A day later the Salvation Armys’ PR person approached me saying that the local television news station, Channel 7 had heard about the theft and would I agree to be interviewed on camera about what had happened to me? Not having much else to do, I agreed to the interview and went before the lens.

            The two-person news crew arrived, the reporter who would do the interview and her cameraman in tow. We adjourned to the ....Center.. Of ..Hopes.... resource library and while the cameraman set up the equipment, the reporter asked some initial queries and wrote down some notes on her notepad. She then sat me down before the camera along with its bright lights and began asking me questions, which I answered as best I could. I wasn’t at all nervous about it, after all – I had some previous experience of such things from my years as a musician.  Captain Zach arrived while the young reporter finished her interview with me and the camera was subsequently turned on him. Of course he handled it with his usual savoir-faire, pointing out that in spite of such a tragic event – we should remember all the people who gave instead of took. Afterwards the news crew packed up their equipment and departed. So I figured that was it.

            Again I couldn’t have been more wrong!

            Next morning I was called to the Lodge Desk where I found an older man and his young daughter waiting for me. Seems they had seen the news segment about my loss and the daughter had a guitar she wanted to donate to me – seems that she had tried to learn to play a couple of years back but gave it up and the guitar had been just sitting around unused.  The guitar was a near pristine Jasmine guitar made by Takemine. I was touched by their generosity and thanked them for the gift. I was quite surprised and thankful that there seemed to still be people in the world that would demonstrate such generosity.

            Then, not much later the same day – I was again called to the Lodge Desk where I found the Salvation Armys PR person and a man with a guitar. Seems he too had seen the news piece and had a guitar he wanted to give me. He shook my hand and told me had this guitar sitting in his closet for the past eight years or so and he wanted me to have it. When I bent down and opened the case I found I was looking at a pristine Takemine guitar – worth almost $900. I was floored.

            Over the next couple of days more folks came to donate their guitars – both families & individuals. All of the guitars were nearly new and if not name brands – at least good enough to play.

I was beginning to feel a bit swamped – after all, I could only play one guitar! I had no need for such largess and I was being to view the growing collection with more than a bit of wonder. God moves in mysterious ways to be sure!

Again – the local news station arrived to do another piece on me and my growing collection of instruments - during filming on location at the Walmart where the theft took place, one of the local radio stations dropped by to give me a brand new Yamaha guitar. I must admit that I was feeling a little overwhelmed by such kindness.

            I had been thinking about just what I was going to do with all these guitars – I now had several and I really didn’t need more than one. It was Captain Zach who suggested that I donate them to the Center Of Hopes School of Music – an idea which I though was excellent. This way the guitars would be played by students trying to learn the guitar and they would always be used. I promptly donated them all – keeping only the Takemine that I had been taken with.

            So now armed again with a guitar I went back to my bell ringing job, only this time I found quite a few people had seen the news segment and would stop to chat with me – asking how many guitars I had gotten and was the guitar I was playing one of them?  I found that I was answering folks queries so often that it was becoming difficult to get any playing done. But, I also noticed that folks were not forgetting to donate money to the kettle, adding their change and bills as they talked to me and listened to me play.

            I felt truly blessed.

            Then – a local police officer approached me, having heard about the theft and said that if I made out a report, he would investigate the theft and perhaps catch the thief. A long shot to be sure – but I made out the report and he went off to view whatever video Walmart had.

            As it turned out the theft was indeed recorded by the camera inside the front door and more importantly,  he recognized the guitar thief! He drove off and less than an hour later returned with both my guitar ( a little worse for wear) and the thief locked up in the back of his police car. Seems my old guitar had been stolen by a sixty-three year old meth addict! So my guitar was delivered back into my hands and the thief was delivered to jail.

            So the season ended on a high note – with blessings all the way around - except for the poor soul who stole my guitar. I got a new guitar to play (the old one really was worse for wear from it’s ordeal having suffered a crack in the neck that occurred during the theft., the Salvation Army got some much needed instruments for its’ School Of Music, I entertained hundreds of people with my Christmas songs and helped raise money for the Salvation Armys many needs – for that money that is placed in all those kettles goes to funding many  Salvation Army programs – disaster relief, assisting needy families with utilities, food and clothing, the Angle Tree program which helps give out gifts for children at Christmas time, the Center Of Hope which provides shelther & feeds the homeless – just to name a few.

            But, the greatest gift I got was finding out that the spirit of giving has not gone the way of the dodo – that there are still caring hearts and helping hands out there in what seems a cold, cruel world at times.

            The world looks a lot less cold and cruel to me now – and I, well, I feel truly blessed!

2009 ..Troy.. L. Axtens

Have just finished reading a book Orbit by some guy named John J. Nance. I happened upon the book in the dark depths of a bookstore. For some strange reason the nanobots hadn't happened upon it and disassembled it to use in their reproduction. It seemed in fairly good condition, except for a few watermarks. They apparently had done that to every book in the place except for this one – and of course they ate the glass in the windows and every scrap of electronics and metal in the place.

             But, they didn't touch the book. Maybe it had been wet when they happened upon it and that's why it still exists.

            I hadn't seen an intact book in; oh I don't know – four years perhaps? So to happen upon a source of reading material at this late date was a godsend. There's not a lot of entertainment left to me since the contamination – every piece of electronics, metal, or organic matter has long since been Converted. Leaving me with very little to occupy my time.

            What I wouldn't do for a deck of cards!

            Once I ran across the book, I looked around quickly to see if any others had escaped, but no – nothing remained of the interior of the bookstore but dust. All that remains of an object after the nanobots are through with Converting it.

            Manhattan is full of a lot of such piles of dust these days.

            I stuffed my precious find into my ragged lumberjack shirt and hurriedly exited the bookstore. Making my way through the wet and dark streets towards Central Park. I wanted to get back to my raft before daylight. The rain in the night had driven the 'bots into whatever hiding places they hide in, if it didn't kill them outright. I don't know why water affects them so, but I am surely glad of it – otherwise I would have been Converted along with most of the inhabitants of Manhattan four years ago – when the Black Scourge first appeared. I think it was four years ago – I have lost track of time in this limbo. It might be two, I am not sure.

            I took my small treasure back to the inflatable raft I now call home just off the shore in the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir and once safely aboard began to read as the streaming daylight that would soon bathe the skeleton buildings around me in ruddy light began to emerge

            Along with the nanobots.

            It turned out to be a pretty excellent book – more than excellent – I don't think I had ever read anything like it before. It basically revolved around a central character, Kip Dawson, who had won a trip on a commercial space vehicle.  All is going just great until a micrometeorite takes out the only pilot and Kip is left to his own devices. Needless to say, Kip realizes right off that he is in a lot of trouble.

            At one point, I looked up from the book at the roiling mass of nanobots moving like living black sand on the shore and wondered if the Space Program was still going? Had the Black Scourge spread beyond Manhattan? I think it got at least as far as New York as I have yet to see any movement in the city. But I have seen jet contrails far up in the sky on some clear days – so I know at least that some parts of the world weren't affected. Perhaps the Quarantine worked. Without a radio, I doubt if I'll ever know….

            But the book was a good diversion for me – taking my mind off my troubles and transporting me back to a world where the Black Scourge didn't exist. A world where there were still such things as cell phones and computers, TV shows and other people.

Other people….

            God, how I would like to see another person instead of the voracious little beasts that make up the Scourge! Just to talk to another living human being….

            I tried to talk the other day and I hadn't spoken in so long the words sounded foreign in my mouth. My vocal cords are husky from not having been used in almost five years. In the beginning – after most of Manhattan was empty of people and I had started living on the raft – I screamed a lot at the black 'bots that make up the Scourge.

            They didn't care – if they heard me they gave no sign. Just kept on with whatever it is they are doing – looking for more stuff to Convert I suppose.

            I wish I could kill them all. I wish I had a tanker of water that I could use to hose all of their tiny black bodies down with, or a flamethrower, or some EMP device that would stop them dead in their tracks. But I don't. I don't even know if an EMP device would work – I think the military tried something like that, but things were so confused during that week I don't really recall everything very clearly except for the panic.

            But, I digress – the book was great. Actually a superb piece of writing because Kip, while he is orbiting the Earth trapped aboard the crippled spacecraft, finds that the accident has not only killed the pilot, it also damaged the radios and engine. Meaning that he can't talk to the ground and he can't maneuver the ship to break out of orbit. He takes to writing down what he is going through and thinking about during his crisis on a laptop he finds on board – not realizing that every word he types is being sent by downlink to earth!

            He writes about his dilemma, his troubles with his wife, his kids, his life and the apparent soon end of it. And the whole world soon begins to hang on every typed word.

            I feel a certain camaraderie with the guy. Sooner or later, I will be facing somewhat the same thing – I have been lucky so far in finding food that hasn't been Converted by the nanobots into more of their fellows. Of course, most of the cans I have run across have been partly Converted. I found some MREs left behind by the military early on and stocked as many as I could on my large rubber raft and in garbage bags that I attached to the bow.  But at some point soon – it's going to run out and then I shall have to make a choice.  To try for New York or Jersey, perhaps  – hoping that the Scourge isn't as prevalent there as here in Manhattan.

            Or die from starvation.

            But back to the book – Kips writings end up being read by practically everyone on Earth and attempts are mounted to rescue him. The Space Agency, the Russians and the Chinese all start their own countdowns to save him from orbit. But like with most of what people do – there are those that oppose it. And so it is with Kips rescuers.

            And his writings have a big impact on everyone – including his family. His words cause people all around the globe to reexamine their own lives in the light of his own personal revelations.

            I am thinking of doing the same thing – but nobody's going to be reading any of my scribblings anytime soon, I think.

            Well, not having too much else to do – I think I'll read the book again. It is that good. Wonder if the writer is still around and still writing? I will never know. But I have resolved something.

            The next time it rains – driving the nanobots off the streets – I'm going to make a try to get off of Manhattan into New York or Jersey. I am going to take the raft and attempt to find civilization and other people or die trying. After my read of Orbit, I figure it is best to at least go out trying something, rather than sit here and wait for death to claim me.

            I shall not go meekly into the dark……………..the hero of Orbit, Kip, has taught me that much………

I Know That It's Not……...

9/16/2008 By Troy L. Axtens

Where is the world when you need it the most?

You're walking the streets thinking how you're alone…

I wish there was something I could say

That could make you change your ways

But you say it's alright………

Where is the love that you used to know?

It's lost in the past that vanished like smoke…

They're just pictures beginning to fade

That you carry 'round with you everyplace

And you say it's alright

When I know that it's not

I can tell by your eyes

All the pain there that you try to hide

I know that it's not

It's not all okay

I can tell by your walk by the words that you say

I know that it's not

It's not all alright

I can hear you cry in the middle of night

I know that it's not

It's not alright

Tell me the truth you don't have to lie

You know that I love you

Don't push me away

I know that it's not

Not all okay………….

So where did you go to hide yourself today?

Was it down at the pub or the mall or arcade?

I wish you didn't feel the way you do

All caught up in hurt and confused

And you say it's alright…

I watched you sitting by yourself on the steps

You say it'll get better but it hasn't happened yet…..

And when I ask you what's going on

You try to act so brave and strong

And say it's alright..

When I know that it's not

I can tell by your eyes

All the pain there that you try to hide

I know that it's not

It's not all okay

I can tell by your walk by the words that you say

I know thats it's not

It's not all alright

I can hear  you cry in the middle of night

I know that it's not

It's not alright

Tell me the truth you don't have to lie

You know that I love you

Don't push me away

I know that its not

Not all okay………….

Thoughts on the basic mechanism behind Human behavior and development

                                                 By Troy L Axtens

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Preface

                In all things we must remember that once it was believed as fact that the world was flat, that travel into space was impossible, that once upon reaching adulthood a human would have all the neurons he would ever have - neurons did not replace themselves.

                We now know that the world is round, that space flight is possible and new neurons are indeed formed after adulthood.

                We must beware of the illusion of knowledge, and always try to view the world with a unbiased mind.

                I will not presume to repeat what one already knows - so I will not rehash here what you can find in any college medical text.

                Let us say we agree that currently, for the most part emotions are viewed as a part of personality and that REM sleep is involved some ways with memory and learning.

In any study of the human mind, one must remember that the human animal is not separate from nature.  Many avenues of psychiatry fail to take that into account.  From Freud to Jung we are lead to believe that intangible things, such as Freud's ego and superego, control man.

                But it seems to me that it is human nature to make complex what is simple, and the simple answer is that we are basically survival machines, genetically programmed to optimize survival.

                To emphasize this point -- let us look at evolution as a whole.  All animals have instincts, which aid their survival -- instincts such as reproduction, defense of family, satisfying hunger, just to name the few.  But we do not acknowledge overtly the presence of these instincts in man, which I think is a mistake.

                One must realize that we share the same biology is as many mammals, so is it safe to assume that we also share many of the same instinctual drives?

                Let us look it the birth of the human child to perhaps put this into context.  Before birth the human nervous system is not fully developed, however the so-called primitive areas of brain such as the midbrain thalamus etc. are reasonably well developed and functioning at birth.  It is the midbrain, which controls behavior in newborns, dictating their actions up until the age of five or six.  The higher brain areas are undeveloped until this time.  So the only thing running the show is the primitive areas of the brain.  What does this mean?  More importantly, why is this so?

                The other thing, which is not taken into account, is REM sleep.  Newborns and infants display a great deal of REM activity.

What purpose does this serve?  What is the purpose of REM sleep?

                I've come to the conclusion that the brain is basically engineered for survival and that's what Nature geared  towards.  Higher consciousness was just an God given byproduct of that development.               

               Most human actions are really geared towards individual or species survival.  Whether overtly or inadvertently these actions as a whole lead to a greater probability of survival for the species.  And these actions are evident at birth. As an example of this look at the rooting reflex- this is where a newborn displays a reflexive action in searching for a breast or nipple.  This is not a learned action -- this is one that is hardwired.  After a period of time this reflex goes away.  A newborn will also bond with their parents, recognizing them by voice alone.

                The big question is how does the brain go about hard wiring behavior?

Before we begin - I would like to present three events for consideration - afterwords I shall explain the theory, and how it seems to explain what is going on. This theory may be applied almost any behavior except for those caused by disease or accident.

1.  John Calhoun's population experiments with Norway rats in the 1970's.

2. The current status of a Baboon troop that has been observed by researchers.

3. Post Traumatic Stress syndrome.

                In the 1970's John Calhoun began a study of overpopulation using Norway rats. The rats had plenty of everything except, perhaps, more room. The rats, true to any right thinking animal mate and multiplied.

                As the experiment progressed however, the rats began to display odd behaviors, some just staying in one place, others engaged in other acts persistently and mothers would abandon their young. Others displayed violent behavior, suddenly racing across the room to attack another rats with no apparent motivation or cause. Over time, more of the animals showed more of the same type of behaviors.

                Seven years after John Calhoun started the experiment, he stopped it as it was no longer viable. It seemed that over population had an effect. But no theory put forth really seems to fit the results of the experiment.

                Recently a group of researchers whom had been studying a particular Baboon troop for 25 years in the wild observed and reported that things had changed.

                It seems that this troop was afflicted with members whose violent, overtly aggressive behavior had dominated the troop over generations. In each generation there were born young who developed similar behaviors. This greatly affected the troop to be sure – many of them showed signs of stress and ill health but then contaminated meat was dumped at a nearby landfill which the troop used as a food source - the current crop of overtly aggressive baboons claimed it as their own, ate.....and died.

                Now peace seeming reigns in the troop, newcomers are discouraged from similar behavior and the current babies show no such behavior.

                Last - we all know Post Traumatic stress syndrome. This condition occurs when an individual goes through a traumatic, life-threatening event. As demonstrated by so many veterans of combat, this affliction has a lasting effect on an individual. A person with the disorder may fall to the ground, ducking for cover, or imagine enemies where none exists.

A Theory on how the brain develops behavior.

Basic precepts.

Most animals on earth share the same basic biology, we all breathe oxygen and our bodies process nutrients much the same way.

Nerve impulses in animals function much the same way, and the neurological structures are comparatively similar in most mammals.

                It has been shown by studies both in the lab with chimps taught sign language and animals in the wild that most species seem to have (to varying degrees..) some sort of emotive sense.

                Animals have instinctual drives - these are necessary for the survival of the species. Witness the example of the salmon, flinging itself mightily up river for the chance to breed or the plight of the lemmings – driving themselves en masse over cliffs to die in the sea as a form of population control.

Designed by nature and thousands of years of environmental changes, certain behaviors become hard wired in to the developing brain structures, or were taught from birth by the examples of the parents.

Rule  1

There are two ways behaviors are passed on to succeeding generations -

Instinctual behavior - hard wired into the nervous system to generate a response when certain criteria are met environmentally.

Cultural behavior - behaviors that are taught or shown by example to the developing organism by parents or social observation.

                What does this mean when we apply this to the human animal?

                Common knowledge holds that Man is the only creature with emotions.  And that because we are self aware, this somehow leaves us out of the natural scheme of things.

                I put it to you, my fellow human beings, that this is the purest arrogance and very dangerous on mankind's part to entertain the notion that we are somehow immune to the touch of natures hand - aloof and apart from the demands of Nature.

                Lets examine the logic of this, shall we??

                We will start off with the fact that the chemical reactions in a squirrel are much the same as ours - no this doesn't mean we should be climbing trees and storing nuts. It just means that we share these things in common. We also share in common that same brain structure commonly referred to as the primal brain.

                Given that - it is likely to assume that the processes that go through that squirrels' neurons are much akin to ours. They can feel pain just as we do….

                Pain is a survival mechanism - hard wired into almost every organism on the planet is some system for making the organism aware of and respond to structural damage. If the organism does not respond to pain – it dies and its' genes are not passed on.

                According to Darwin's theory. Scientific observation has born his theory out. So the reason these structures existed is because they worked at enabling the organism to survive.

And survival is what Nature is all about. The thing that is running the show in animals is what is commonly referred to as the primal brain, those structures that we inherited through the evolutionary process. This structure exists in slightly different forms in so many creatures for a good reason. It works pretty well at enabling an organism to survive, up to a point. But it could not readily adapt when drastic changes in the environment required different behaviors in response to new threats to the organisms survival. Except by the evolutionary process, which was great for the species, but didn't help the individual organism to survive. The main function of the mid-brain or limbic system is emotions, and the lower brain stem or Autonomic Nervous System is sensation.

                After a child is born, the process of brain formation begins; primary sensory connections are formed before birth from the cerebral cortex to specific sites that generate emotions. Neural connections are made and new cells created as the child grows but the child has no real concept of "I". That's because the connections and basic behaviors have not been formed in the cerebral cortex. When a parent nurtures a child there is a lot of touching, sounds and sights going on. By being touched the stimulus prompts increased activity in the neural pathway that takes through the brain, this causes new connections to form or further cellular growth in the cerebral cortex, (the neurons are active and the resultant impulses cause further neural connections to be made or created.) sounds and moment in the field of vision prompt further development.

 Feeding is pleasurable, as is the feeling of being warm because these connections are made during development in the womb. These are things basic to survive, and the neural connections to the receptors that generate those feelings are formed in the womb.

                The development of the cerebral cortex was due to the fact that it worked real well at enhancing survival - it enabled the primary structures to do something more, and that is to create triggers which activate the behavioral responses and to change those responses to life threatening or enhancing events "on the fly".   It could also create a array of different behaviors that could be applied if the situation seemed to warrant such modification.

The mechanism of R.E.M. behavioral conditioning

                There are two chemical states of the human brain. One state when we are awake. And another when we sleep.  And during those two states, different areas of the brain are active. Awake, most activity is in the cerebral cortex. Asleep,  it seems to be those primal areas of the brain showing activity with some additional neuron activity in the cortex.

                And then there is what is commonly referred to as R.E.M. sleep.

                In order to create or modify a stimulus trigger and resultant behavior for it's hard wired instincts, I believe the primal brain found in the creation of the cerebral cortex a way to store the memory of a stimulus trigger, the behavior that led to the organisms survival and play it back into the cerebral cortex as if the event were reoccurring.  This causes the neurons being used to enhance their connections, and if needed add more nerve cells to accommodate the needed response. And it enables the primal brain to assign a trigger to its hard-wired instincts and to modify the behavior to the trigger.

                As an example, let use take the example of a child learning to walk.

                The child after much coaxing on the part of its parents finally succeeds in taking its first step. The parents are pleased and the baby is really thrilled at all the attention and success - he feels intense pleasure.

                The intense pleasure is triggered and the primal brain sits up and goes to work, because anything that triggers a emotional responses when the cerebral cortex is awake and active is it's cue.

                It begins to save the experience, along with what happened just before the event began. It saves the experiences of walking, wobbling, what is heard, seen and felt. It does so because the trigger for pleasure was activated and thinks that the resultant actions will be useful for survival.

                When the feeling subsides, the primal brain shuts the recording off and goes back to waiting.

                Then when the child goes to sleep, the primal brain goes about its real job - insuring survival of the organism. The chemical states of the brain change and the cerebral cortex is showing decreased signs of activity due to the switch. Mean while the primal brain gears up - first the cerebral cortex is isolated from sending and receiving nerve impulses from the body. This is so the cerebral cortex is not disturbed by outside impulses and that the body does not receive signals that might cause injury or death to the organism.

                Next it takes that recorded memory and plays it back into the cerebral cortex as if the event were re- occurring along with the same emotion that was felt. And as it does so we see R.E.M. activity.   What this does is create a behavioral response to the stimulus, and attempts to improve upon the response by stimulating those areas of the brain involved to make new connections or create more neurons to handle the task. And it repeats it until it creates a neural pathway to accommodate satisfying that particular instinctual drive.

                So the baby dreams in REM sleep of walking and then is able to improve because of this mechanism. More importantly, he wants to do it again because it makes him feel happy. This in turn starts the process over again until some other trigger/behavioral event occurs or new behaviors are needed.

Rule 2

                It is this REM conditioning mechanism that from birth begins to build the neural network that leads to self-awareness and behavior. Anything that sets off a particular instinctual drive - the trigger is recorded and both the trigger and the response are keyed to that instinct by the REM conditioning.

                As the child grows and explores the world, simulating particular areas of his brain, the neurons send chemical signals to cause new connections or even new neurons to be formed because the ones existing can't handle the new input without help. And triggers and behaviors that the primal brain thinks are needed are reinforced or augmented (when the cerebral cortex identifies a trigger) during repeated REM conditioning.

                This process is akin to laying down a foundation, each brick being new connections that over time lead to the development of self -awareness.

                This is why no one remembers their birth, and the first memories one usually has of being self-aware are not past the ages of two or three. The primal brain has to complete making basic connections and then it fades into the background as the cerebral cortex gains in complexity. This, I think, is also why we dream so much when we are young; there are a lot of connections that have to be made, many basic triggers and their resultant behaviors must be in place before the brain matures. If these neural connections are not made by the time the child begins puberty, breakdown of the mental state occurs. It is likely that this is what causes schizophrenia and its related illnesses.

                Autistic children, I believe will be found, are due to one or more of these causes – failure of the brain to form the basic neural pathways (via mirror neurons) to the emotion generating apparatus before birth, failure of one or more of the basic instinctual response to be triggered, or a failure in the REM conditioning mechanism – it fails to properly record events and create the response or it attempts to do so when the cerebral cortex is active which is fatal for the growing brain/mind.

                I believe that this theory suggests that illnesses where one hears voices or sees hallucinations, this  may be a result of the a failure of the REM conditioning mechanism – it may be attempting to "write" to the brain when it is awake and the consciousness becomes confused and frightened. It maybe also that this event itself is recorded and the resultant attempt to apply the mechanism to such a jumbled set of sensations causes a breakdown of the higher brain processes by the neural connections formed.

Rule 3

                If the stimulus is strong enough, and of sufficient duration the mechanism goes into overdrive and re enforces the resultant reaction into almost a reflex response.  And it is not confined to any age.

R.E.M sleep occurs up to old age and only stops when there is no stimulation of an instinctual response strong enough to trigger the mechanism to record or if there are no handy stem cells left in the relevant area of the brain to convert to nerve cells.

                As an example, let us now look at Post-Traumatic stress syndrome - the soldier in the field is knee deep in a firefight and terrified, convinced that he is about to die. With explosions sounding in his ears, he dives for cover. This goes on for some time until the shooting stops and he can gather his wits.

                Then he sleeps, and the mechanism replays the whole thing back during REM conditioning with such intensity that the soldier wakes up screaming. And this is repeated night after night. Creating a behavioral reflex so strong that every time he hears a sound similar to an explosion, he is compelled to duck for cover or take some action against enemies that aren't there.  It is a condition that stays with him for years and may never go away. Because the reaction is geared to whatever behavior enabled the continued survival, the actions and thought processes during the event are incorporated into the behavioral response. If the soldier took other actions, say attacking the enemy while feeling intense feelings of fear or anger, then when the stimulus trigger is perceived he will feel the same feelings and somewhat the same thoughts.

                I will stop to stress that one point, that it is the perceived stimulus that drives the behavioral response. If the affected soldier went to a local store and while shopping caught sight of some people who resemble the enemies he'd fought, he might perceive them to be a threat, or something to be afraid of - the moment that association is made, the relevant emotion is triggered along with the REM conditioned response. The soldier goes into a fit of rage or dives for cover. Or attacks.

                Anything that generates a excessively strong instinctual (i.e. emotional) reaction causes the primal brain to go into overdrive, burning in the memories of the event during REM sleep repeatedly to better aid survival. If the stimulus is strong enough the behavioral response becomes like an instinctual behavior, one that is difficult, if not impossible to ignore.

                Obsessive-compulsive disorders occur because of this – they are forced to repeat behaviors over and over because this mechanism reinforced that behavior through REM conditioning to such an extent that it becomes impossible for the person affected to ignore or control. Any thought that activates the trigger activates the reflex.

                And in the case of violent and sexual behaviors, perhaps they can cause others to develop similar behaviors.

                In John Calhoun's experiment with Norway rats which ended so badly, what happened was not some genetic response to the overpopulation. It had everything to do with the REM conditioning mechanism and the primal brains failure to deal with the artificial environment.

                First, there were no predators. Yet the rats brains (as our own) is hard wired at birth to accommodate the basic behavioral responses to attack or flee. It expects predators, so with no predators the aggressive, defense instinct has a greater tendency to acquire an incorrect stimulus trigger. And the only other stimuli to supply the trigger were other rats.

                Second, in the natural environment there would not be so many other rats - having all these other rats about when one is trying to raise a brood meant that there were more opportunities for improper triggers to be assigned to behavioral responses during the development of the young rats brains.

                This is why some of the rats displayed homosexual behaviors - at some point in early development the trigger that generated the sexual response became the sight and smell of another rat of the same sex, overriding the hard-wired response. Other animals were terrified enough during development that the response meant that they could not leave their little corner of the habitat, because to attempt to do so triggered the fear response. Others displayed aggressive tendencies - and it is here where we see a difference in the reaction. Some rats were merely aggressive - but others were intensely so - attacking their fellows savagely and also the growing offspring. Doing so for no apparent reason.

                But the reason was there - the rats in question at some point in their development - had an experience so intense that when the rem conditioning was finished the reflex action was so imprinted and so sensitive that anything that the animal perceived as a threat or an attack triggered the primal behavioral response. If the affected rat felt that another rat was a threat in any way, the feeling and action were triggered. And in the case of John Calhoun's rats - the attacks could be brutal.

                And as the next generation was born and encountered this behavior, they generated their own responses.  Or became even more aggressive. Creating what I call hyper-aggressive syndrome - where anything might be percived as an attack, which then generates an immediate violent and almost primal response.  And the behavior is passed on by their actions to younger animals. ( When they are attacked or terrorized and generate rem conditioned responses of their own.)

                Once the process was started, the rat population was doomed unless the hyper aggressive animals were removed from the environment.

                And in the case of the baboon troop - that is exactly what happened.

                At some point is the troops history, one or more of the animals developed Hyper Aggressive syndrome. How does not matter, but because they were members of the troop and not outsiders they were not expelled.  As their behavior developed, and influenced others, more such affected baboons were created.

                In the more advanced cases, Severe Hyper Aggressive syndrome is primal reaction. The animal seemly goes mad with rage, attacking savagely and dominating the group. They also will apparently band together and intimidate the troop, taking over leadership.  This is done, I think, because doing so was a survival trait that increased the odds for the species survival. The behavior is due to the primal brain thinking that the environment required a more primal and reflex like behavior to enable survival.

                So this went on in this baboon group for the past 25 years, until the recently when the aggressive animals died. When they died, the hyper-aggressive syndrome died with them, luckily for the troop. I would imagine they are happier now and the overall health and morale of the troop has improved. And no babies currently show those tendencies.

Rule4

                This mechanism is involved with every instinctual drive - reproduction, survival, protection of the group/family, etc.  And produces behavioral responses whenever the instinctual stimulus is thought to be perceived by the higher brain.

                If the stimulus causes the REM conditioning to go into overdrive, then the resultant behavioral response becomes a reflex. Which is almost impossible for the organism to ignore.

                One experiment which might prove this theory ( if one is not convinced by this paper or wishes to prove it although I think there is more than enough case histories that one might examine using this theory.), would be to record what areas of the cortex are active when a simian child is repeatedly terrorized by a Hyper-aggressive syndrome affected adult simian enough to trigger the REM Conditioning.

                During the stage of REM sleep - the only active areas should be parts of the primal brain and very localized areas of the cortex in the same areas that were active when the animal was attacked. And the animal should begin to show signs of the syndrome after a few REM sessions are observed.

                To show how this mechanism is involved quite intimately with our every day lives, let us use an example familiar to us all.

                At work the Boss comes over and begins to point out mistakes in your work.  There is a flash of anger, which you try to control, but you really, really have an over powering urge to do something to the guy.

                What happened was the event is perceived as an attack on the self. This perception in turn activates the emotion of anger and signals are put out along the relevant nerve pathway. If the pathway is sensitized enough, you may lash out verbally or physically before you can control the reaction.

                Now, the boss did not come up to you and beginning physically attacking you, he was merely pointing out a mistake on your part, no big deal – but the moment the conscious mind perceived him as a threat, the emotion of anger is generated right on it's heels and the conditioned action is triggered.

Rule 5

                Because this mechanism is present from the moment of birth, the resultant emotions are viewed by the infant mind as part of self. There is no awareness of the primal brain except by the emotional response and REM conditioning it generates.

                Thinking that human beings are separate from nature is folly in the light of this theory.  This primal mechanism was created by millennia of evolution for the sole purpose of survival and that is it's one primary task.

The fact that we are self-aware is just a useful tool to help the primal brain identify those triggers that activate the hard wired instinctual drive and modify behaviors as needed.

                If this theory is applied to human behavior – I believe you will find that it explains many of the behaviors that we have seem thus far in human society.

 Almost every action we human beings make is influenced by this mechanism, and because it is seen as a part of ourselves, we have failed to understand it enough to realize its effect on our culture and development.

                This theory suggests that the reason past civilizations failed is due to this mechanism. It also may be the answer to why despots and tyrants such as Hitler and Saddam rise to power and control whole countries.( Just like we have seen in the baboon troop example – severe hyper aggressive syndrome causes the affected individual to attempt to obey the primal instinctual behavior – they cast about for something to attack, and they tend to band together and control the troop. They are primed for this by the rem conditioning they have undergone and unless they become aware of it, nothing will stop their behavior.).

                And if this theory is proven correct – it means we have to make drastic decisions about how we raise our children, how juvenile offenders are treated, and how mental illness should be viewed.  And how we view ourselves in light of this theory.

                In conclusion

                In this paper, I have tried to put forth my theory in a way that might be easily understood by all, without any confusing medical

                                        Troy Thoughts

If critics were so important - why don't they have a Nobel Prize category??

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Pepper spray is not a very good condiment.

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The big problem I have with wearing my birthday suit is its got wrinkles.

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Questioning Authority would be fine if Authority only understood the questions in the first place.

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If Absolute power corrupts absolutely, what does the opposite do?

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Why is it in this post 9/11 world, we still haven't figured out how to get a bunch of people out of a building real fast?? We know how NOT to do it!

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If people in charge really knew what they were doing – wouldn't we know it by now?

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If you find an honest politician – you are in the wrong country.

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I don't mind illegal immigration – I just wish there was some way we could outsource it.

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Used to be our country was founded on the principals of the Constitution, nowadays it seems to be based on the constitution of a principal.

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It's always someone else's problem until it happens to you.

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Try to always park in one particular section of any parking lot – that way you'll at least have a better idea of where your car is and you won't walk around the whole parking lot looking like an idiot who can't remember where they parked!

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When a politician says exactly what you want to hear, step back – take a good look – and then run like hell!

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If you think you're crazy – you're probably not.

If you think you're not crazy – you probably are….

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If we are so smart – why do we do such stupid things??

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Is there sex after death? Only if you have a kinky mortician…

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Sometimes I think instead of using their brains, some people take them out and play with them.

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It never hurts to help…… unless you are a sadist.

By Troy L. Axtens, Esquire..................

                                  Karma and the Snail

      It was one ordinary Monday morning when I awoke from sleep, rubbed my eyes and crawled out of bed slapping the blaring alarm clock radio into silence. Lying under the covers and staring up at my stucco ceiling, I contemplated taking a shower before breakfast or having breakfast before the shower. My brain still trying to recover from sleep mode – tried to make a choice, found it couldn't and immediately opted for default.

            Breakfast first.

            I put on my bathrobe; a plain thing given to me by a licentious girl who I later found out was a professional shoplifter. She couldn't have been too professional at it; they caught her when she attempted to shoplift a turkey by gripping it with her upper thighs and shuffling out the door with it. The arresting officer could only try to keep from laughing, the corners of his eyes twinkling the way they do when someone really, but really wants to bust out laughing but can't, as he told me they had to run her by the hospital first because parts of her upper legs were badly frostbitten. But, they didn't put her away for the turkey – they put her away because she had stolen over forty five thousand dollars worth of precious jewelry. She's now serving six to ten and I am stuck with several boxes of her possessions along with her Siamese cat. I think his name is Sliver or Silver, but I call him Satan as the cat hates me with a passion and still thinks his mistress is going to come walking in the door any second to take him away from all this.

 Not a chance, buddy, I thought as I passed him in the hall on my way to the kitchen, she's doing time and we are stuck with each other. Satan gives me his usual mean look as only Siamese cats with really bad dispositions can as I pass and for a moment I think he is going to jump forward and bite the hell out of my leg as I go by. But, no, he sits back, deciding to get me another time; after all he's got all day to make my life miserable.

            I get to the kitchen where the smell of fresh brewed coffee filled the air with its intoxicating aroma. Bless those little automatic coffee gadgets; I can't think how civilization got along without them.

            I got my mug – the one that says "Worlds Greatest Dad" and has a cartoon Dad on it looking stupid. I hate the cup, but my daughter gave it to me so I make allowances for the cheesy looking thing. Pour the coffee, add the sugar, sit down at the kitchen table and realize I have to get back up to get the paper.

            By this time, Satan has sashayed in to see if I might be up to something that might involve food or a chance for some mischief. He pretends to lick a front paw while watching me out of the corner of his eye. He is an impressive looking cat, if he didn't have the soul of a demon, I'd like the heck out of him. But you can only stand so long for having your clothes and shoes become some kitty's toilet. He ruined a brand new pair of dress slacks that I had planned to wear at an awards luncheon mere hours before the function; I swear he knew just what he was doing because I couldn't find him for hours afterwards until I had calmed down.

            I head to the front door, part of me alert for sounds of feline movement behind me. Occasionally the cat will stalk me, running up when I least expect it to nip my leg and apply warp speed as he makes his exit. One of these days I'll find his hiding spot, oh yeah.

            Opening the door I find that the paperboys aim has improved. This morning my newspaper is on my front porch as it should be and not on the roof of my car or in the rose bushes or sticking out of the gutter over the front door.

            I bent down to pick the paper up and that was when I saw the snail.

            There was nothing particularly special about the snail. Nothing that leapt out and struck me. It seemed to be just an ordinary garden snail with a slightly large green shell that had made its way up my porch and was now sitting on my newspaper with its little feelers waving about.

            I grabbed the snail between my thumb and forefinger and pitched it gently into the rose bushes boarding the yard.

            I picked up the paper and went back to my coffee, returning to my average morning where I fed the cat, ate breakfast, took a shower and once I felt among the living, spent the next six hours working on a music score for a nature documentary about eagles.

            The next three days were similarly uneventful.

            I awoke on the fourth day feeling dampness in the sheets covering my feet and find that Satan has taken it upon himself to torture me further by urinating on the covers. Of course the cat has hidden himself away and isn't going to come out, but I call to him in sweet tones nonetheless.  I wander from room to room with an open can of the little monsters favorite cat food, but I find no sign of the cat or his hiding spot.

 Giving up on finding the cat and punishing him, I pull the sheets off the bed and stick them in the washer. I think evil thoughts while I measure out the detergent and adjust the wash cycle to heavy duty.

            I made my way to the kitchen, all the while looking for any sign of my feline nemesis. Get the cup, pour the coffee and add the sugar. I set the steaming cup on the table and go to get my paper.

            The paperboys aim is still dead on as I can tell, my newspaper is sitting on my porch neatly folded with its headlines facing inward, rubberband set firmly around its middle.

            And sitting on top of it was a snail.

            Not just any snail, but the same snail I had thrown into the bushes three days ago.

            I bent down to get a better look at the little fellow and that was when I heard the snail talk to me.

In a high, squeaky voice that was faint but understandable the snail said to me, "What the heck did ya do THAT for?".

            The first thought that went through my mind was, this was going to be expensive. There will be doctor's sessions and medication. My ex-wife would have to explain it to my daughter that Daddy's gone off the deep end and hears things. I wondered if they gave shock treatments to people who thought they heard talking snails and how much was it going to cost per jolt?

            The snail, which had aimed his feelers at me, spoke again, interrupting my thoughts, "What's the matter, cat got your tongue? I asked you a question!". The feelers punctuated his words by moving apart and back together as if to emphasize his words.

            I found my lips had gone dry and I had a hard time responding as some part of my brain tried its best to make sense of the situation, found it could not and began flashing error messages across my internal screen.

            From far away I heard myself say to the snail, "Well, you were on my newspaper…..".  

Out of the corner of my eye, I was aware that one of my neighbors, Mrs. Kolchek, was standing on her porch across the street in a hideous green satin housecoat that looked like it was dragged from a Goodwill dumpster watching me.

            The snail waved his feelers as he said out of his tiny mouth, "Well, thanks a lot! It took me three days to get to your door –then you toss me right back where I started from and I had to do it all again! By the way, I'm your Uncle Bobby ". The snail moved around in a small circle and looked up at me.

            "How, how…. how can you be Uncle Bobby? Uncle Bobby died three years ago…. And last I heard he wasn't a snail…", I managed to say.  Mrs. Kolchek was still watching me and I became aware on some level that what I was doing must look pretty odd, a grown man on his hands and knee's conversing with a snail in the early hours of morning.

            I swear the snail shrugged, his shell bobbed up and down as he replied, "Ya never heard of reincarnation, kid?".

            "I've heard of reincarnation, but, a snail?", I asked.

            Again the shrug like movement, " What can I say? It's not like I had a great choice. It was either this or a stint as a paramecium in a dank pond in Africa.", says the snail on my paper.

            "But, what are you doing here?", I asked. A bead of sweat had appeared on the end of my nose and part of my brain wondered if the food they served in mental hospitals was any better than the food in regular ones.

            "I need to talk to you, what do you think?  Pick me up.", he looked up at me. At least that what I think he was doing, the feelers were pointed straight at me.

            "Pick you up?", I was nonplussed.

            "Pick me up! Geeze, what are you deaf and dumb? Pick me up and take me in the house before your neighbors call the men in white coats for ya!", said the snail that was Uncle Bobby.

            For some reason I wiped my fingers on my bathrobe before I picked him up. I grasped his green shell and began to raise him in the air.

            "Careful now! Don't drop me, it took me a month to grow this shell and I don't want anything to happen to it! And don't move too fast, it makes me nauseous!".

            I carried the snail into the house, newspaper forgotten, the snail looking all around as we made our way through my spacious living room into the kitchen and I set my small visitor down on my kitchen table.

            "Nice place you got here, guess the music thing is working out for ya. Charlie always said you had talent.", the snail said briskly.

            I was beginning to remember what I had heard about Uncle Bobby.

I remembered he was the black sheep of the family. He had been in trouble a lot in his youth, stealing cars for joyrides, shoplifting, got in more than a few fights. Dad had told us it was rumored that at some point he'd become a member of the Mob, running numbers and later moving up to become a made man with high standing within the organization.  He wasn't too popular with his real family. At reunions, he mostly kept to himself – not by choice. The only reason he was allowed to be around was because he was family. That's what being the black sheep gets you.

            Then he vanished four years ago and it wasn't until his body was found in Devlin Lake with his feet firmly planted in a bucket of cement that the family knew he was dead for sure and not holed up in Atlantic City chasing cards. At the funeral there had been a group of his associates in somber suits that had kept to themselves and spent a good five minutes viewing the body as if to make certain that Uncle Bobby was really dead.

            Or admiring their handiwork, who's to say?

            The snail, (I was having a hard time thinking of it as Uncle Bobby), had stopped its examination of my kitchen and had now turned to face me.

            "So what's the afterlife like? How did you get to be a snail?", I asked the snail.

            He made that little shrug like movement again and said, "Kid, it's not too bad, if you can get in. Me, I, uh, kind of have to start over so to speak.".

            "How come you can speak? I've never heard of snails being capable of speech, so how is it you can talk?", I inquired of my small guest. I was thinking it wouldn't hurt to indulge myself before they shipped me off to the funny farm where I would play games with other patients with things that had no sharp edges.

            The snail shook his head from side to side as he replied, "I don't know, kid. Maybe snails are capable of speech but they just don't have a lot to say. They do kind of talk to each other, but it's mostly simple stuff like food good or hey, baby, your shell or mine? Other than that, snails don't say much."

            "Hmm", I said," So, Uncle Bobby? What precisely brings you here? Do you need a place to stay or something?".

            "Heck no!", he replied with some feeling, " I carry my house around on my back! I'm a freakin' snail! I can't live in a house! It's too dry and besides, no self respecting snail would be caught dead in a humans house!".

            "Riiight.", I answered," So why are you here?".

            "Well, when I realized that I had been reincarnated with my memories intact, I thought, whoa – I took it pretty hard at first. I mean imagine waking up a baby snail? No hands, legs – you can't even scratch yourself."

            He made a little circle again on the tabletop before continuing, " And the birds! My God! It's like a horror movie out there sometimes, what with the birds and the cats and the dogs and then there are the little kids with the saltshakers! Now there is some pure evil there, pal, little children pouring salt on a poor snail that never did anything. I lost some good friends that way." a tiny tear appeared on one of the top feelers and fell to the ground.

            I had to be crazy; the little voice at the back of my mind spoke up, now you are hallucinating crying snails that talk. They'll write a paper on it. You'll be famous, but not the type of fame that is going to win you a Grammy.

            I shook my head to make the little irritating voice go away or at least shut up for a while. Uncle Bobby the snail had stopped his tirade, mostly because he seemed to be out of breath. His small mouth was wide open and his green sides were heaving in and out. Guess snails don't have big lungs. I also noticed the circle of slime now on my tabletop glistening wetly.

            "Whew!", said Uncle Bobby, " That sure got my blood pressure up, didn't it, Kid? I shouldn't get so upset – but geez Louis, it's a tough ol' world out there for a snail.".

            He seemed to take a deep breath and relax, looking around my kitchen he said, " You got any water? Us snails need a lotta moisture.".

            "Umm," I hesitated before asking, "Do you want it in a glass?".

            "Now does it look like I need it in a glass? You see me with any arms here? Put it in a saucer!", he said adding a sharp look. I didn't know snails could look irritated. Probably part of the hallucination, that voice in the back of my mind whispered to me, you're probably right now trussed up in a straitjacket, drooling like a idiot and being taken to the mental hospital but you're too far gone to notice.

            I told the voice to go away as I went over to the cabinet, got out one of my plain generic saucers and took it over to the sink to run a little cold water into it from the tap.  I felt the breeze from the open window above the sink, the wind was blowing slightly, carrying with it the scent of roses, feeling cool against my face. I turned off the tap and carrying the saucer carefully, I slowly maneuvered back to the table and set it by the waiting snail.

            "Think you could give me a hand and set me on the rim, Terry?", asked Uncle Bobby.

            I found I was a little rocked at the mention of my name, up to now Uncle Bobby called me kid, just as he used to do before he died. I couldn't recall him ever calling me by name. It was always "kid" or "sport".

            I picked up Uncle Bobby and noticed that his shell was not only green, but it had streaks of some other colors as well, all variations on green. Do all snails carry such shells on their backs, I thought, or is it just this one?

            Just the hallucinatory ones, spoke up that voice from the inner recesses of my mind again nastily, Next you'll be seeing pink elephants and thinking you're Napoleon.

            I ignored the voice and placed Uncle Bobby on the rim of the saucer. He got his grip and then began to make his way down to the water saying, "Thanks, Kid. I'm really thirsty, you wouldn't believe what a snail has to go through to quench his thirst!".

            And then the doorbell rang.

            Uncle Bobby stopped his run for the water lying in the bottom of the saucer and looked up at me saying, "You expecting anybody, Terry?".

            "No, don't think so, usually it's pretty quiet around here," I started towards the front door, "You continue and I'll go get rid of who ever it is – won't be a second.".

 I left the kitchen walking at a fast pace so quickly through the living room that I wasn't paying attention and barked my shin sharply on the $1,200 glass table my ex-wife had allowed me to have from the divorce. She knew I hated the thing because it was hard to see where the edges began and I was constantly bashing the hell out of my legs every time I passed the thing. I would have gotten rid of it, but it's a $1,200 table. I did make some attempts to sell it – but no one wanted it. "Whoa, where's the edge, man?", " Nahhh, I've got kids, that thing would be too dangerous" or the one I really liked "Sorry, Terry, my interior decorator says glass tables will ruin my ambiance.". A slightly drunk Wall Street investor who would'nt know what ambiance was if it came up and sat on his lap said this. So I was stuck with the table.  I suspected that my ex-wife had attempted to do the same thing and found that she couldn't get rid of it – so she decided to pass the glass demon on to me so she could make me suffer. Lovely woman, don't know what I saw in her.

            Arriving at the front door, I looked through the peephole and felt a familiar twisting of my gut as I found that the person standing on my doorstep was none other than my dear ex-wife Madeline.

Oy.

            I opened the door, being careful to protect my groin area without looking like I was protecting my family jewels. Which I found was hard to pull off effectively.

            Madeline, at one point had been a gorgeous woman, full brown hair, equally full lips, a young lady full of vine and vigor - when I married her. Somewhere a few years into the marriage she turned slowly into wine and vinegar, becoming the shrill, vindictive woman who was standing on my porch in her smart blue trimmed designer outfit while tapping her foot with an impatient expression on her face.

":I've been waiting out here for three minutes, Terry!", she spit out, "Took you three minutes to hide your girlfriend?". She crossed her arms, looking me straight in the eyes to see my reaction. I noticed she had her hair up in some kind of style that looked like someone tried to make a beehive and gave up halfway through the job.

            "Well, nice to see you too, Madeline, I see you haven't changed a bit since that last time you ripped a few pound of flesh from me.", I answered her back, "To what do I owe this honor? And please be quick, I've got something in the oven.".

            She had opened her purse and brought out a pack of cigarettes, ripping one from the pack and lighting it with an angry flick of her gold lighter. She spat out around the filter, "I am here because you didn't sign your last check – that's why. I had to take the time out of my day to drive all the way out here because you won't answer your phone.".

            Of course I didn't – why ask for more trouble? Because every time Madeline calls me, it's nothing but conflict on the line.

            I held my tongue - resisting the urge to say something biting. The last time I succumbed to that urge was just before we had gone into the divorce court downtown and it cost me more than the words were worth.  I still wonder from what dank depths of Hades she found that ball-busting lawyer she brought into court to shear me like a sheep. I didn't think she was smart enough to find a lawyer that good. Live and learn.

            "I'm sorry, Madeline, I don't know how that happened – I'll sign it now if you have it on you.", I replied.

            She took a big drag off her cigarette and blew a cloud of blue languidly in my face. Her blue eyes, which I had once found so beguiling so many years ago, fixed me with a look that made me want to protect my groin again.

            "You bet you'll sign it! And I want another $30 to pay for the gas I had to use to drive out here!", She punctuated this with a stamp of her tiny feet, which I saw were clad in shoes that were worth at least a few hundred dollars or more. She began to paw through her purse, hunting for the check.

            And then I heard Satan's' low growl coming from the kitchen almost masking Uncle Bobby screaming in his tiny, tinny snail voice, "Terry! Help! Terry! Get yer ass in here!".

            "Madeline," I said quickly, "I'll be right back! The cats into something he shouldn't – I'll be right back!.", I then stepped back and before Madeline could say another castrating word – shut the door in her shocked face and ran like hell for the kitchen.

            Upon entering the kitchen I was confronted with an odd tableau - Satan had jumped up on the table and was hissing at Uncle Bobby in the saucer. I could see that Uncle Bobby the snail had lost some of his color, going almost white as he looked up at the monster cat that loomed over him showing teeth.

            Upon seeing me, Uncle Bobby exclaimed, "Please, Terry, do something about this  frigging cat – I don't want to die just yet! ", he began to retreat into his shell as Satan leaned in closer, hissing. He looked over at me, saying, "Look, Kid, you get rid of this feline and I'll tell you where I buried the money. The whole Million and a half I stole from Big Tommy – that's what I came to do anyway, give you the money – but first, get this cat away from me!".  He retreated further in his shell as Satan took a swipe at him.

            I moved fast, coming up behind Satan while most of his mean attention was fixed upon the snail in the saucer. I then, with as much speed as I could muster, grabbed Satan at the back of his neck, grabbed skin and pulled him up off the table, away from the saucer and the snail now completely in his shell.

            Satan went ballistic, nosily turning his body this way and that, trying to get a grip on me. His frustration level rose as he found he could find nothing for his claws to seize because I held him away from me. His claws ripped the air as I carried him bodily from the kitchen and headed for the garage.

            Behind me I heard Uncle Bobby say, "Thanks, kid. I don't want to go out like I was some cats playtoy – battered to death.".

            I opened up the garage door and pitched the cat inside my garage; he quickly looked at me with an evil sounding hiss and made a beeline for the safety of the parked car. Once under the car he turned and faced me with another evil sounding hiss. I don't know what it meant in the feline language – but it was probably something more than caustic concerning my parentage or lack of it.

            I slammed the door shut before the cat from hell could escape and with a vision of a million and a half tax free dollars floating in my head, headed back down the hall towards the kitchen………..

            Where I happened to catch Madeline with a look of disgust on her face as she pitched Uncle Bobby out my open kitchen window into the backyard.

            I don't know what I screamed, but Madeline turned to me with a look of abject shock on her face.

            I got some control over myself as I asked her with some anger, "What did you do THAT for, Madeline??".

            She looked at me, surprised as all get out, replying -, "Well, it was a snail on your table, Terry! What did you expect? Are you so far gone you have snails in the house now?".

            I must admit, I lost it –from somewhere inside me this bubble of anger formed rose and exploded out my throat, sending Madeline back a few paces, "This is MY HOUSE,  Madeline! Do You Understand That? Its MY HOUSE and I don't care if it's a snail or a frigging two-ton elephant sitting on my table, you don't touch ANYTHING in my house! Dammit!".

I emphasized this last with a wagging finger in her face and I knew I must have flushed with anger, because that's what it sure felt like. I quickly sped out the backdoor, leaving her standing in my kitchen with her mouth wide looking like an open mouth bass about to pounce on a baited hook.

The backyard was an unmitigated disaster. I hadn't been able to afford the weekly visits from the gardener in quite some time so the yard had the appearance of a wild African jungle. Weeds grew up to my knees and the rosebushes in the backyard hadn't seen a lot of tender loving care lately. I called out in a low voice so as not to be heard by Madeline, "Uncle Bobby, Uncle Bobby, where are you??". I was about to step off the back porch when the thought struck me – what if I stepped on him? I looked down at my feet and realized that I could step on a tiny snail in this jungle quite easily.

"Uncle Bobby?", I whispered loudly, "Are you there?". I looked in the plants around my feet intently for any sign of that green shell, but all I saw were green plants. I listened intently, but all I could hear were a few birds and the sounds of a western on TV coming from the house next door.

"Uncle Bobby?, I whispered again, waiting. No response.

I waited a few more minutes, standing there looking at my backyard and trying to think of what to do…. He made it up to my door before, I reasoned, no basis for thinking he couldn't do so again.

Unless a bird got him or he only exists in your head, spoke up the voice again, and then he's never showing up. I dismissed the voice with a mental "Shut UP!"  And slowly made my way back into my sparse kitchen and Madeline.

Where I found an amazing change had come over her. When I entered the kitchen, she turned to me with an expression in her eyes I had not seen since our honeymoon. She moved towards me with a Mona Lisa smile on her face and almost purred out," Terry! My god, I didn't know you could be so FORCEFUL!".

She moved closer to me sultry and I could smell the odor of cigarette smoke as she wrapped her arms around me and worked her body against me. Mr. Happy came awake and began making his presence known in spite of my wishes. It had been a long time since Mr. Happy in my pants had any excitement, he was throbbing to beat the band and ready Freddy to go, go, go!

Madeline became aware of this also and begins to apply an old familiar move of her hips.

"My God, Terry," She whispered into my ear, "If you had only acted like this, stood up for yourself – I never would have divorced you". She then began to really work it and before I was fully aware of it, we had moved on to the bedroom where we spent most of the night setting the bed aflame. I had never seen her like this and the experience was as intoxicating as the finest cognac. We finally drifted off to sleep, spent.

Now, even weeks later, Madeline is a changed woman – she seems more like the woman I had married so long ago and dotes on me hand and foot. She has even taken up cooking, no less, showing a domestic side that I had never known existed.  She also took Satan to the vet to be fixed, now he is as meek as a lamb, preferring to follow her around the house and eat treats as he lays across her lap while she watches American Idol.

And my neighbors remark on how well I tend my yard. I am out bright and early every morning moving bent backed among my rose bushes, weeding and taking care of my charges. Mrs. Kolchek thinks my rose bushes are growing so well because she sees me talking to them, "You must love plants, to talk to them so – and look at how they've grown so well!".

But the neighbors don't see how carefully I step and no one is close enough to hear me whisper as I weed and fertilize,

"Uncle Bobby? Are you there? Uncle Bobby???".

He'll show up one of these days, I'm pretty sure; all I have to do is wait.

In the mean time, life isn't so bad. No, not so bad at all……….

June, 2008

Payne Springs, TX

By Troy L. Axtens

          Recently, always looking for work,  I answered an ad from a production company looking for someone to write a theme for a sitcom they had in production. The production manager answered my inquiry with the following:

The Equation
 
     General Glen Masterson boarded the Air Force jet in a bad mood. His face had the look of a person not about to take any crap from anyone. The lines on his face spoke to his years in the military. The time spent out in the field directing his troops to victory had paid off with promotions and medals. With the loss of three wives, four sons and two daughters.

     He nodded briskly to the flight attendants and made his way through the plane. The flight attendants noticed right away that he carried an aluminum attaché case that was handcuffed to his left wrist. The case bore no markings, other than a complex looking locking mechanism with a few small buttons and a digital readout. He found the bathroom and entered it, locking the door securely behind him and engaged the latch. Just to be sure he took a small vise-like device from the pocket of his military blazer and used this to double-lock the door. He was in no frame of mind to be bothered. He looked at himself in the mirror, noticing he could have done a better job shaving. But, he really didn't care, he had been up for the last eighty-seven hours because of the Chinese crisis and had only been able to sleep in 15 minute shifts every 7 hours or so, if he was lucky.. Lack of sleep tended to make him irritable, more so than usual.
He looked at the ceiling and studied it, looking for any small holes that might indicate the presence of a camera. After he finished with the ceiling, he checked the rest of the bathroom before dropping the lid on the toilet and sitting down.
The General brought the case up on his lap and keyed in the sequence that opened the case. Inside were just three items, a high definition DVD , a sealed white envelope that bore no markings other than a Ultra-Top Secret seal, and a box that contained the explosive charge that would detonate if the incorrect code was entered to unlock the case. There were no second chances; one incorrect number and the explosive would vaporize the contents of the case, along with whoever had been so foolish as to make the attempt without the proper code.

     The lines on the Generals face seem to deepen as he looked at the envelope, he picked it up, lost in thought, flipped it around with his fingers before coming to some sort of decision and placing it back in the case.
He quickly sealed the case, re-keying the lock with a new combination before rising and exiting from the tiny bathroom.

     He found his seat in the middle of the plane, where there was a small living room like area. Another man in military uniform was sitting in the seat opposite him, studying a sheaf of papers in minute detail. It wasn't until the man had finished studying the page before he looked up," Well, well, General Masterson! Haven't seen you in a while, but then I don't get 'round to the Pentagon like I used to. So you are heading to Camp David too?".
Masterson leaned back in his seat, he really didn't feel like talking to anyone. Let alone this carping posterior kissing jerk. Ever since he had been appointed a member of the new presidents cabinet he had brought the art of brown nosing to a new level. For a moment Masterson vividly imagined pulling the pin on a grenade and taping it to the little weasels forehead.

     " Yes, I'm going to brief the president.", Masterson replied without elaborating further. He gestured to an attendant who hurried over and took the Generals order. After the attendant had left to get the coffee the General had requested, the other man spoke up again.
    
     "Well, it can't be about that Chinese thing, the Chief of Staff has already briefed him on that. Thank God that petered out, we have the Veep to thank for that I hear."

     "What do you mean?", Masterson asked as the attendant returned with a large, steaming cup of strong coffee, black.

     "Well, as you know it all started with our new President meeting with the head of the Chinese government and then spouting off something to the effect that we were going to help Taiwan, and if the Chinese considered it their territory, well then that was just soggy rice and perhaps they should just give it up. Needless to say, this angered the Chinese quite a bit. To the point where they began that military buildup that put everyone on alert. Our Veep took it upon himself to approach the Chinese Ambassador, I don't know what was said, but I do know that less than twenty minutes later, the Chinese pulled back.", The man's eyes glanced curiously at the attaché case.

     " Hmm, so that's what happened. I wondered why they stopped their buildup so quickly, the vice president must have used his powers of persuasion on the Ambassador.", remarked Masterson as he took another sip of coffee. Inside he fought back the burst of anger he felt as he digested the fact that he had been left completely out of the loop.

     The other man attempted to make small talk, but after a few monosyllable replies from the General, he gave it up and returned to studying the sheaf of papers in his lap. Masterson was glad - he didn't feel like engaging in conversation for the whole flight. He closed his eyes and rested while the drone of the engines murmured in the background.

     Before the plane landed, Masterson stirred and made his way back to the tiny bathroom to shave. He stopped in route to get one of the complimentary razors that were kept on board and a small can of shaving cream from one of the stewards in the galley. This time upon entering the restroom, he did not double lock the door .

     He shaved quickly as he could without scraping half the skin on his face off in the process. His bloodshot eyes looked back at him from the mirror. It was hard shaving with just one hand, but he did not remove the case from his wrist. At last he was satisfied with the result, wiped his face clean and returned to his seat.
After landing, the General was escorted off the plane to a waiting car, which drove off in the direction of Camp David as soon as the door was shut. The young driver seemed to take his job quite -seriously, not attempting to make small talk, keeping his total attention on the road ahead of him. The General was secretly pleased. He always admired a solider that stuck to his job. Seems like nowadays you were lucky if the recruits could even put two words together to make a sentence.

     Masterson could feel the presence of the case besides him, almost like a living thing. He forced himself to look out the window and think of something else. Which, he found, was almost impossible to manage.

     The car soon arrived at the security gates guarding Camp David, after the identities of the occupants by the guard on duty were verified, the car sped to the main entrance and the young solider jumped out and opened the doors for the General.

     "Will you be needing anything else, sir?" the solider asked, snapping off a salute.
     The General Stopped and turned to the young man.
     "As a matter of fact, yes, I will need a helicopter to transport me to Andrews Air Force Base as soon as I am finished speaking with the President." , he pointed to a nearby helicopter pad, " I want it on that pad, ready to go as soon as I have completed my briefing with the President.".

     The soldier whipped off another salute and nodded briskly to the General,
"Yes, Sir! Will you require anything else, sir?"

     "No, I believe that will do it, soldier. Carry on." Masterson replied, returning the young soliders salute and started up the steps towards the main doors where his identification was checked again by two more guards on duty at the entrance.  Hidden machinery scanned him and processed his image against a database, coming up with a positive match.

     A Marine escort lead General Masterson to the doors of the Presidents Camp David office. "The President is expecting you, Sir", the Marine said smartly, saluting in the proper military fashion before taking up his station by the door. Masterson gripped the doorknob with his free hand and opened the door, striding into the room.

     Inside the President of the United States was finishing a phone call as General Masterson closed the door. He walked across the red carpet and took a seat while the President finished his conversation.

     The President acknowledged his presence with a curt nod of his head and continued his conversation. "Well, I'll tell you, Sparky, we don't need that bill to pass and if it does reach my desk you may rest assured that I'm gonna veto it.......I don't care if you don't like it. I don't think it is in the best interests of the country to allow that bill to pass. " The President nodded to Masterson and rolled his eyes as the voice on the other end of the line kept on.

     " Look, Sparky, I've said my piece and that is all I'm going to say on the subject. Now I have business to take care of that is just a bit more pressing than some human rights bill abolishing capitol punishment, so why don't we speak about this when I get back to Washington? Okay Sparky, I'll see you then." And the President hung up the phone angrily.

     " Dang bastards. They want to abolish capitol punishment. Ain't that sumthin' else? What do they want us to do with murdering scum, feed and house them until they die? Well, forget that, in the old days they knew just what to do with scum, hang 'em high! Right , General?" the President leaned back in the well made leather chair and waited for the Generals response.

     "Well, Mr. President, I don't know , I'm just an old war-horse trying to do his job, I try not to get involved in politics." The General carefully replied.

     The President smirked and nodded. "That's a good attitude to take, Hound Dog. Politics isn't for everyone. Hell some days I hate it myself, and I'm the president!" Tthe President reached for a coffee cup on his desk and took a sip while inside Masterson fairly burned with rage. He hated this president's habit of assigning nicknames to people. It was probably because he couldn't remember anyone's name to begin with, so he gave just about everyone some sort of stupid, down home nick name. God!, Masterson thought to himself, Why couldn't that other fellow have won? He may have not been a ball of fire, but he was far more capable of running the Presidency than this jackass.

     "Well, Hound Dog, what have you got for me this morning? My schedule says this is to be some sort of briefing or sumthin', so shall we get on with it? I've got other things to attend to this morning." The President gestured with one hand as if to say , come on Hound Dog, let's get this over with!

     "Of course, Mr. President ", Masterson controlled his anger as he placed the case on his lap and keyed in th combination to open the case.

     He spoke as he removed the DVD from its case, carefully holding it by the edges so his fingerprints wouldn't smudge the disk" You must understand, Mr. President, that what I am about to tell you is Ultra-Top Secret, and may not be discussed with anyone. What I am about to brief you on only a hand full of people has known at any time. It is so secret that there has never been any written record, other than those that exist at Los Alamos." He rose, approached a HR set equipped with a DVD player and inserted the disk in the machine. He pressed play and stepped back to face the president.

     "What you are about to see, sir, is the bomb bay of the Enola Gay, the plane that dropped our first nuclear weapon on Japan.", Masterson explained as on the screen the ultra-top secret seal appeared and then after a space of ten seconds the screen flickered to show the interior of an airplane.

     The picture was a bit jerky and grainy, showing in black and white what appeared to be the bomb bay of a plane. After a few seconds a young man appeared walking towards the bomb bay doors that were set in the floor, he stopped in the middle of the doors and turned to face the camera. He was wearing goggles and a flight suit, nothing else.

     Another man approached him and handed the young man what appeared to be a envelope of some kind. After handing over the envelope, the men saluted each other and the other man left the camera view, leaving the young man standing on the bay doors in the middle of the screen.

     Then the bomb bay doors opened and the young man fell through the opening. The film cut to another camera, apparently situated above the bomb bay doors, showing the man falling to earth.

     The man got smaller, smaller and then there was a bright flash of light.

     The picture stopped.

     The President looked stunned. He looked at General Masterson with a look of puzzlement "What the hell was that?" He asked the General, "What exactly did I just see??". He sat up in his chair and leaned towards the General, his cup of coffee momentarily forgotten.

     Masterson picked up the remote and stopped the dvd.

     "What you just saw, Mr. President, was the actual sequence of events just before the destruction of Hiroshima. We did not drop a bomb, we dropped a man. The truth is, sir, is that there is no atomic bomb. Never was. True the Manhattan Project and the project at Los Alamos were supposed to produce an atomic weapon, and we did develop a weapon of sorts out of those projects. But, the weapon that we actually developed and used was one far more dangerous than an atomic bomb." The General started the dvd again and let it play as he spoke.

     " The truth is, Mr. President, is that during the Los Alamos project to develop a nuclear weapon that we could use in the Second World War it was discovered that we had a weapon far more powerful in our hands." he turned slightly and pointed at the screen, which showed a small group of buildings set in the middle of the desert.

     "As you know, we supposedly exploded the first bomb at a test region we called Trinity. Except Trinity wasn't a test site. It was a lab where we had scientists working on the problem of how to build an atomic bomb. ", he paused while the picture on the screen shifted to a view of a lab where three men were working, two were standing next to some pieces of equipment while the third sat at a desk writing out equations.

     "Due to the high security of the project, we had placed cameras through out the faculty, in order to catch spies or record any pertinent developments. ", at this point Masterson paused the dvd and pointed at the man sitting at his desk.
"This man, a little known physicist named Norman Ogalsby, was working out calculations trying to find an equation that would make our bomb work. We were fortunate that we had the camera's, otherwise we would have never known what exactly happened in the next few moments." The General started the dvd again.

    "What you are about to see, Mr. President has been slowed down so you could see the reaction. " Masterson watched along with the President as the young man sitting at his desk suddenly stiffened and a look came across his face that seemed to say "Of course!"

     A beat later a bluish haze formed around the young man and quickly spread to encompass the other objects in the room. The look of surprise on his face now quickly turned to fear, the young scientist turned in his chair and called out to the others in the room, at the same moment all the papers in the room began to move as if caught up in a violent windstorm. Then the screen went white - then black as the cameras cut out.

     The President of the United States of America slowly sat back in his well-tooled handcrafted leather chair, stunned. He ran one hand through his graying hair as his eyes moved slowly from the HR screen to meet General Masterson's eyes.

     "So now, General, just what are you tryin' to tell me?" The puzzlement in the Presidents face was reflected in the tone of his voice.

     General Masterson took his time removing the DVD from the machine before returning to his seat before the president's desk He placed the disk back in the briefcase and removed the envelope.

     "What it means, Mr. President, is this - you know that in quantum mechanics that the very observation of a sub-atomic particle changes the outcome of whatever that particle may do? Well, it seems that this has larger implications - that young man at Los Alamos had caused a nuclear reaction, by just thinking about that equation that he was working on. The thought became the deed, as it were."

     Masterson held up the envelope before the President.

     "This equation, when read and comprehended by someone who knows what it means causes that reaction to happen. Once it is started, it cannot be stopped, unless you kill the man before the process completes. This is one of our most closely guarded secrets, and it is known to only a select few. The Russians don't know, the Chinese don't know, not even our allies the British know.

     "The reason for that is, we fudged the data, to prevent any other world power from discovering the secret. There is an atomic bomb. True. And it works. But at the time of the bombings that stopped Japan - we had no atomic weapons at all. All we had was this equation." Masterson placed the envelope on the desk and continued.

     "No one alive knows what is on that piece of paper; the only people who have ever seen it were specially picked persons with mental disabilities that prevented them from understanding what the equation truly meant. They are the ones who copy it for it to be used. The only others were young physicists that gave their lives to create the reactions and end the war with Japan.

     "Right now there are only two copies in existence, Mr. President. One resides in a High Security room 1500 feet below White Sands and the other is here." Masterson tapped the envelope on the desk as if to punctuate his sentence.

     The president shook his head slowly, as if to clear away some mental cobwebs that had formed in his cerebral cortex in the last few minutes. "An' you're saying that there were no bombs that destroyed those cities in Japan? That it was this, this equation of yours that won the war?" the president gestured to the envelope as he addressed Masterson.

     Masterson nodded his head as he replied "That is correct. Mr. President."

     Masterson watched as the President of the United States of America stood up and turned to look out the window.

     When he turned back to face Masterson, he was livid.

     "What the hell type of  idiot do you take me for?" he shot at Masterson.
Masterson was taken aback for a moment.

     "Sir?" he asked.

     " You must think I'm stupid. Don't you, General? You must think I'm some sort of goat-ropin' fool and that you could come in here with this story. That I'd by it hook, line and sinker and you would go back to the Pentagon and all you military types would have a good laugh at my expense, isn't that right?" with each word the President's face seemed to get redder and there were veins which Masterson hadn't noticed before beginning to show on the face of the Leader of the Free World.

     "Well, General, I ain't stupid. I am the President of the United States and you have just ended your career and the career of anyone else that was in on this little joke. By the time I'm finished with you..." The presidents voice rose in pitch and his face got even redder and the veins more pronounced "YOU'RE GOINIG TO BE PULLIN' LATRINE DUTY IN THE ANTARTIC! I"M GOING TO STOMP ON YOU SO HARD YOU ARE GOING TO WISH THAT YOU HAD NEVER BEEN BORN!" This last was fairly screamed into Masterson's face as the President leaned over his desk to confront the General.
Secret service men rushed into the room at the sound of the Presidents voice, guns drawn. One of them asked the president "Are you all right here, sir?"
"Hell yes, I'm alright, but the General here is leaving." He pointed a shaking finger at General Masterson.

     "Escort the General out." The President said "And, General, I'd start looking for another job. Because as of this moment. You -Are -Fired." The President turned away to look out his window as the secret service men took the General's arms and led him from the room.

     After a few minutes had passed and the president felt his blood pressure come down, he turned and sat back down at his desk. Damn that man! He would see to it that Masterson paid for this little joke. It was bad enough that he had all those "actors" on Saturday Night Live makin' fun of him on a weekly basis, but the military too!

     It's too bad he couldn't have the man shot, he felt sure that it would stop this type of nonsense.

    His eyes traveled up his desk and rested on the envelope that General Masterson left behind. He reached out and picked it up, tearing it open. He opened the single sheet of paper on which were mathematical symbols outlining some sort of equation.

     He pressed the button on the intercom "Mary? Is my science advisor still here?" he asked while continuing to study the piece of paper that he held in his hand.

     "Yes, Mr. President." His secretary answered back, "He is still talking with those gentlemen from the Department of Energy."

     "Well, tell him to get himself in here, I have something I want him to look at.", the Leader of the free world angrily slapped down the phone on his fingers and spent the next few minutes before the advisor arrived cursing a blue streak.

     "Are you all right, General? You look kind of tired." The pilot of the Air Force helicopter asked Masterson, who was sitting beside him in the co-pilots seat. The helicopter had left Camp David behind as it flew onwards through the dusk towards Andrews Air Force Base.

     Masterson shook his head as he answered "I'm fine. Nothing a few hours of sleep won't cure." The briefcase sat in his lap. The copter flew on for a few moments before there was a bright flash as if the sun had suddenly decided to make a surprise inspection behind them and then the chopper rocked as gale force winds buffeted the craft.

     "My God!" The pilot exclaimed, "My God! General, I think someone's bombed Camp David! My God!". As the pilot fought for control of the helicopter, they could see the angry mushroom cloud rising from the spot where Camp David had been in the distance, racing upwards to meet the clouds.

     Masterson nodded and told the pilot, who was stunned "I do believe you are right, nothing we can do but continue on to Andrews as fast as you can, solider." He said as he watched the fireball of the nuclear explosion begin to fade, slowly.
Then as the pilot regained control of his aircraft and resumed towards Andrews Air Force Base. The General let himself fall asleep.

     And the oddest thing, the pilot remarked later at the inquiry, was the strange smile on General Masterson's face as he dozed.

In analyzing climate, there are many variables one must be forced to consider, jet streams, mountain ranges, deserts, oceans and more all play a part in our planets climate.
But, if one steps back and observes the system in totality, one sees that the climate is basically initially driven by the sun.

In 2007 U.S. weather stations broke or tied 263 all-time high temperature records,. England had the warmest April in 348 years of record-keeping passing  the record set in 1865 by more than 1.1 degrees Fahrenheit.
 A tornado struck New York City in August, inspiring the tabloid headline: "This ain't Kansas!"
In the Middle East, an equally rare cyclone spun up in June, hitting Oman and Iran. Major U.S. lakes shrank; Atlanta had to worry about its drinking water supply. South Africa got its first significant snowfall in 25 years. And on Reunion Island, 400 miles east of Africa, nearly 155 inches of rain fell in three days - a world record for the most rain in 72 hours.
the Arctic, the world's refrigerator, dramatically warmed in 2007, shattering records for the amount of melting ice.
On Aug. 10, the town of Portland, Tenn., reached 102 degrees, tying a record for the hottest it ever had been. On Aug. 16, it hit 103 and Portland had a new all-time record. But that record was broken again the next day when the mercury reached 105.

As this system progresses, what might we expect to see in the future?

          The climate system, like any system, will attempt to seek balance. However, it will wildly see-saw before finding that balance – this means we can expect great changes in our weather patterns worldwide.

                      So what's the solution?

            Cutting Greenhouse gases is an admirable task, big problem is any effects from doing so will not hinder or reverse the system for years. Much of the damage has already been done, I fear . Plus the fact that it has shown to be very difficult to get some nations to agree to cutting greenhouse gas emissions.

        The only suitable solution I have found seems a little on the lunatic fringe side, but after careful consideration I found it the only option that will provide immediate effects. I was quite surprised and pleased to find that I was not completely alone in coming up with the idea.

        I, among others, most notably Jerome Pearson, the president of Star Technology and Research, Inc., propose that we create a dust ring in orbit around earth over the tropics.

I believe we should make this ring so that can be affected by magnetism. We make the ring just a little dense at first and after carefully noting its' effects on our climate, the density of the ring could be increased or decreased. By imbuing the particles so that they can be affected by magnetism, we find we can collect the participles quickly if we find we need to do so by using a magnetic field to "scoop" them up or herd them.

Jerome Pearson and his team seem to think (and after careful consideration, so do I), that reducing solar insolation by 1.6 percent should overcome a 1.75 K [3 degrees Fahrenheit] temperature rise.

But, this project has a high pricetag - some $6 to $$200 trillion dollars. That's a lot of Big Macs.

To accomplish the same goal, I think we could make some satellites patterned after the old Echo satellites of 1960. These were just balloons made of 0.127 mm (0.005 inch) thick metallized Mylar polyester film. Enough of these placed in orbit might do the job quite nicely, plus we could move them using attitude jets and deflate them at will.

            Yes,indeed,  it does seem like a loony thought. I've thought about this subject for a long time, tossed a lot of ideas around - but this one is the only one that has any chance of affecting Global Warming to any extent. If we do this we could buy ourselves some time to knock down our greenhouse gas emissions, save worldwide economies and perhaps countless millions who are being affected by Global Warming now and in the future.

            We could really save the planet..........

http://www.livescience.com/technology/050627_warming_solution.html

The record for shrinking sea ice: http://nsidc.org/news/press/2007_seaiceminimum/20071001_pressrelease.html 


 Write your Government , write the U.N., Tell a Friend.............