The City's True Name 10; Surf the Sky

            Surf The Sky

            After awhile Sogwa stretched and rose to her feet. She had places to go and people to meet. But first, she had to check the Web.

            She held up a paw and said, “Access web.” One claw on her paw gleamed bright; she whipped her paw around in a circle; this left behind a glowing circle in the air, which flickered one, twice, then blazed blue. The portal sounded a chime, and it said,

            “Welcome to the Web.”

            Sogwa clicked on link after link. The Web was working again, she was surfing again, the biggest library in the world was at her fingertips again. It was like coming home.

            In just a few minutes, Sogwa found these headlines:

                        Gop in custody at St. Helena Penitentiary.

                        Gop  impeached  for attempted arson, other charges to follow

                        Bomb expert calls bandolier ‘a joke’

                        Dissidents released, allege torture

                        Senate and House call for Constitutional Convention

                        Garbage strike ends - Union victory

                        Akasic Library reopens

                        Common cold cure confirmed

                        Chicago Cubs win World Series!

            She also found live pictures of Earth from space; also photos of canyons on Mars and methane rivers on Titan.

            Next she found a news clip. It was a video of Gop doing the perp walk past a jeering crowd. He was dressed  in an orange jumpsuit.

            Sogwa checked the blogs.  Miss Liberty’s blog made an interesting point. Libby wrote;

            “Remember how, at the end, he said he’ll ‘philosophize with a hammer’? Well, how do you do that? Simple; just approach some idol, tap it very gently with that hammer, and listen to the sound. Toonk! You hear that?  It’s hollow!”

            Sogwa clicked on Comments, but everybody there was talking about her, so to be cool about it, she said nothing.

           

            Then she clicked on psi-mail. “Two psi-mails for you,” the Web told her. “First message title: Make Money At Home By Selling SPAM!”

            Sogwa said, “Delete!”

            “Message deleted. Second message title: Hey, it’s me, Mischief.”

            Sogwa’s heart went pit-a-pat. She said, “Play!”

                                                                                   

            Mischief’s psi-mail went:

            Dear sweet Sogwa:

            Did I mention how cool you are? Sorry I forgot to, in all the confusion, but still... dissing the old fraud, right to his face? Like, wow.

            Yeah, I did my part too. But it turns out that only three of the bombs in that bandolier were ours, the other twenty had been corrupted by other people! Couldn’t Gop do anything right? Not even his hell-bombs worked!

            I hear you’re going topside. Give my regards to the kid. As for me, I’ll hang out down here. Look me up tomorrow night, we’ll go places, do stuff, it’ll be fun.

            You’re fun. Smart and cute too.

            See you later, love Mischief

            Sogwa clicked on Reply, and she composed this psi-mail:

            Dear sweet Mischief:

            How modest you are. You corrupted “only” three of his hell-bombs? As for the other twenty, LOL. Looks like the whole town had gotten sick of Gop!

            Notice that Chaim didn’t sound the alarm? We were saved, but not by kings! Just people, just us, just citizens of the republic of the sky, just doing the right thing.

            Like you.

            So when I come back, why yes of course I’ll look you up, my brave and clever, best worst bad-boy boyfriend!

            XOXOXOX

            love, Sogwa

            Sogwa clicked on Send. Off went the psi-mail; and from far away echoed the sound of Sogwa’s parents hollering,

            “Ohhhh Noooo...”

            Sogwa told herself, “All right, enough fun, now to business.” She clicked on Users, then References, then Address Book. She asked the Address Book about Grandma Marge.

            It said, “Grandma Marge may be found at Plot Number 10782 / 2,  in Mount Auburn.”

            Sogwa clicked on System, then Tools, then Damons, then Clock Damon.

            The portal opened halfway; from within glittered brass gears, whirling and clattering. The Clock Damon said, “State your destination.”

            Sogwa said, “Plot Number 10782 / 2,  in Mount Auburn.”

            The portal opened all the way, Sogwa stepped through, and it sealed shut behind her.

The City's True Name 9; A Miracle

            A Miracle

            The great and holy miracle was simply this:

            The weed garden’s thistles swayed in the breeze. A few flies buzzed around. A small white moth fluttered over to a dandelion flower. A crow cawed.

            The earth did not shake. The air did not blast. The sky did not fry; nor did it blaze with the light of a thousand suns. It was only as bright and warm as a single sun.

            Sogwa inhaled, exhaled. The air was fresh and cool. It smelled of dirt, water and thistle blossoms. The dirt she sat on was damp, but Sogwa didn’t mind; water was better than fire. She sat cross-legged and got comfortable.

            Meanwhile, interesting things were happening on Channel One. When Gop slapped the big red button on the bandolier over his chest, the hell-bomb did nothing. It only made an electronic noise, a hollow sound, like tapping a vase. It went:

            Toonk!

            And it made the same sound every time Gop slapped that button:

            Toonk!

            Toonk! Toonk!

            Toonk-toonk-toonk!

            ... pause...

             Toonk!

            The expression on Gop’s face was priceless. You had to see it to believe it.

            That’s when two policemen barged in; a good cop and a bad cop.  The Bad Cop tackled Gop, threw him down, twisted his arms behind his back, and slapped on the handcuffs.

            Then the Good Cop read Gop his Rites. The Good Cop said unto Gop the Image, “You have the Rite of remaining silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the Rite of speaking to an attorney, and of having an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, then one will be provided for you at government expense. Do you understand these Rites?”

            But Gop did not answer. Wordless, he wept.

            Sogwa turned off her far-vision, in pity.

            For that was not the real miracle. In the weed garden, a spider sat at the center of her web. A mouse gathered seeds, then scurried away. A millipede crawled right past Sogwa’s foot, for Sogwa, too, was remaining silent. The millipede’s back gleamed purple and green.

            Sogwa looked up. The sky blazed blue and white. She looked around at that abandoned weed-garden. How odd, that something so plain and ugly could be so wild and beautiful.

            The great and holy miracle was that there was no miracle. No miracle was necessary. There was only life as usual.

            Blessed be Life!

Birthday announcement

I interrupt this blogging of “The City’s True Name” for an announcement.

The announcement is:

Today, November 20, 2012, is my 55th birthday. 

That means that, as of today, I have survived:

55*365 days + 14 leap-days  =  20,089 days; 

which equals

20,089 * 24  =  482,136  hours

482,136 * 60  = 28,928,160 minutes

28,928,160* 60 = 1,735,689,600 seconds.

One point seven three gigaseconds old! Time sure flies.

I am having a minimalist birthday today. I figure that I don’t have to do anything to turn 55, other than survive the day, so I’m taking it easy. I’ll have my usual Tuesday lectures and office hours; once home I’ll share a cake with my wife and daughter. No big birthday party; I hate the stress. I’d rather treat a birthday as a milestone rather than as a deadline.

The City's True Name 8; Don't Panic

            Don’t Panic

           

            Sogwa said, “Really, there’s no need to panic.”

            Chaim said, “None at all.”

            Sogwa said “They don’t have to fly away.”

            Chaim said, “Probably not...”

            Overhead, flocks of Mischief’s batty friends were winging out the windows, eeking and squeaking. They flapped through three quirky turns and a fourth, and vanished into hyperspace.

            Chaim said, “...but they’re being prudent. They’re fleeing for their lives, just in case.”

            For on Channel One, Gop the Image was blasting out one heck of a rant; and this time he meant business. He’d cursed his staff, his friends, his allies and all of Hellen, and he was working up to cursing the entire world.

            Gop was bellowing, “O Not-Yet Humanity! O Homo Demi-Sapiens! O Missing Link! O Ape of Wisdom, how dare you call yourselves Human?”

            And Mischief had said, “Well, I think we corrupted his hell-bombs. I mean, we’re pretty sure. But you know, it might be a real good idea to fly a long way away from here, right away!!”

            For Gop was wearing a hell-bomb bandolier. Its detonator button glowed red.

            Sogwa shouted, “Come on, let’s go!”

            Chaim said, “No, I’m staying on watch.”

            “But Chaim!”

            “I can’t leave now,” the watchman said. “This is just when the Messiah might arrive.”

            On Channel One, Gop the Image was shouting, “O so-called Homo Sapiens, I call your bluff!  You, wise? HA! You, human? HA! You have yet to attain wisdom! You have yet to attain humanity!  Someday real human beings will show up, and then your kind will be obsolete!”

            Gop ranted, “You won’t intelligently redesign yourselves; you’re not intelligent enough! You will evolve the old-fashioned way; by natural selection!”

            Mischief squeaked, “Gotta go, now.” He hastily flapped through three quirky turns and a fourth, and vanished into hyperspace.

            Sogwa saw that Chaim truly believed in his job. There was no time to argue, so she said “Goodbye! Good  luck!” and she launched herself out the window at top speed.

            On Channel One, Gop the Image prophesied, afroth at the mouth, “It won’t take long, in cosmic terms; only ten hundred thousand years! Meanwhile you will suffer! Over and over again, century after century, your kind will make the exact same mistakes!”

            Gop roared, “You will spare yourselves nothing! Your far future descendants will earn their true humanity! They will be a better breed than you - because anything less died out!”

           The big red detonator button glowed bright on Gop’s chest.

            Sogwa spiralled kata along the fourth dimension, kata, kata, kata; the Pyramid cube grew bigger and bigger, and suddenly - pop! - she plunged back into Hellen - space.

            She saw a traffic nightmare. Huge crowds of people were clogging Church Way up and down, State Street east and west, and Market Avenue north and south. Traffic was molasses-slow in all three directions, because everybody was trying to fly away, fast.

            On Channel One, Gop the Image proclaimed,

            “And worst of your mistakes, most pitiful of your failures, most comic and tragic of all your follies and crimes, is having the raw nerve - the sheer stupid arrogance - the utter brazen effrontery - to create ME!”

            “ME -  King of the Universe!”

            “ME -  Creator of Heaven and Earth!”

            “ME -  Infinite in Wisdom, Compassion and Power!”

            “ME -  who just so happens to look exactly like YOU!!!”

            Sogwa flew as fast as she could down Church Way; then she met a traffic jam, so she turned east, onto a street. She rushed down the side-street until she met another jam; then she turned north onto an avenue. Sogwa rocketed in a spiral zig-zag, dodging traffic jams, seeking exit from Hellen, but trapped within the city by multitudes of others also seeking escape.

            On Channel One, Gop the Image howled;

            “O vain, proud and foolish race of half-wits, behold ME in truth, if you dare!”

            “ME in truth; the empty Boast!”

            “ME in truth; the unflattering Image!”

            “ME in truth; the Monkey in the Mirror!”

            “Uh, oh,” Sogwa thought. “Now he’s feeling sorry for himself, and here I am, still within city limits. Oh well.” She sighed.

            So Sogwa slowed down, and she approached the nearest cloud. It bore an abandoned lot, full of weeds; as good a place to land as any.

            Sogwa landed in the weed garden, and she sat down. Her heart raced as she awaited the outcome. “Not long now,” she thought.

            For Gop the Image was wrapping up his rant, thus:

            “So now I’m not good enough for you, right? Now you’re too grown up for me! Now you don’t need me! Now you’re philosophers, you dare to DOUBT me!”

            “Starve ME, will you? Deny ME belief? You think I’m weak? You think I’m stupid? You think I’m dead? Well, I’ll show you! I’ll show everybody!”

            “O you doubtful ones, now watch ME philosophize with a HAMMER!”

            And Gop slapped the hell-bomb’s big red detonator button.

            Then a great and holy miracle occurred.