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BRA-BRILL’s Audience with NUT-PI

11 Wednesday Mar 2026

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, psychology, Veritas

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{Translator’s Note}: Among the ROI, the Z-LOTZ and the Veritas, swear words, as best we can tell, refer to religion, excretion or procreation. At least among the tribes that I’ve studied, no-one swears by referring to ingestion, coagulation, thinking, moving muscles, or other functional aspects of life. However, it appears that the different tribes varied in their preferred choice of swear words; I will not bother to translate these directly into their English counterparts; instead, I’ll use a more “polite” word but you will know doubt be able to tell what was really meant. These tribes all seemed to have shared another odd trait. They actually used both crude and polite forms of cursing. It was considered more powerful and more satisfying to use the “polite” forms. It showed, so the reasoning went, that you were fully aware of the fact that you were cursing; that you were still in charge of your faculties.

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One of BRA-BRILL’s lieutenants rushed up to BRA-BRILL. “Sire, we must slow down a bit. The women and children are having trouble keeping up. There may be further Veritas about who would capture our women and children for their own purposes. For that matter, so might the wolves. Might we take a short break so everyone can catch up?” 

BRA-BRILL turned his lifeless eyes to his lieutenant. “Oh, thank you so much my fine lieutenant for bringing this to my attention! I did not realize that there were Veritas about. I did not realize that our entire procreating village has been destroyed! Thank a diety we have brilliant people about such as you to set me straight! You are nearly as valuable as an obstruction to a defecation! Come here. Come closer. Attaboy! Now, hand me your sword, you diety-forsaken ever-procreating excretion. Come on. Do it.”

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The soldier realized he should have sent one of his own lackeys to make a suggestion. What the hell had he been thinking, making a suggestion himself? Maybe it was the shock of being awakened to an alarm and soon after being caught in a forest fire. Still…

BRA-BRILL took the sword and smiled, “Thank you. This is indeed a fine blade.” BRA-BRILL turned it in his hand and made a couple of sweeps with the sword through the air. “A fine weapon.” Suddenly, BRA-BRILL twirled the blade and struck the messenger across his thigh causing a substantial gash. The soldier fell heavily to the ground. 

“Oops. My hand slipped. No matter. Now, you can serve some useful purpose. You there! And you! Come take this wounded soldier and tie him fast to yonder tree. Make sure he cannot escape. He will draw any wolves or lions off our trail and perhaps the Veritas may find him and torture him for some truth. Well, come to think of it, best to cut out his tongue as well.”

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The soldier lay on the ground with his hand pressed to his thigh, trying to slow the escaping rivulet of blood. “NO, SIRE! No, please!”  

BRA-BRILL loved it when he had a chance to mock others.  In a fair imitation of a small child’s squeaky voice, he repeated, “No, sire. No, please!” 

“You disgust me, bodily function, now go serve some useful purpose. I’m just following your advice, after all.” With this, he curtly motioned to the two guards to take him away and cut out his tongue. As the bleeding soldier was carried off to be set as wolf bait, he turned to see some of his people had stopped and stared. “Get back to marching! ALL of you! Unless you procreating anatomy-parts want to join procreating visage as procreating wolf bait!” 

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BRA-BRILL’s mood had improved considerably after this incident, but he knew that tough times lay ahead. NUT-PI was every bit as … focused … as he himself was. The truth was that BRA-BRILL was about to stop anyway, not so others could catch up but because he was exhausted. All the fine food he had had access to as well as the servants that did his bidding meant that he was now considerably overweight and walking any distance tired him quickly. “Procreating horses!” he muttered to no-one in particular. “How the mythical and horrid afterlife did all those procreating horses get away? Procreate!!” 

BRA-BRILL liked swearing. It made him feel powerful. In this case, though, he had another purpose. He wanted to be all “sworn out” by the time they reached the city of the Z-LOTZ. They were all an odd lot and some of them objected to a person simply expressing themselves in the most natural way. He didn’t need that kind of trouble. He strongly suspected that NUT-PI believed none of the malarkey that the Z-LOTZ believed, or at least professed to believe. But that didn’t mean some jealous priest or other wouldn’t call BRA-BRILL out if he used profanity within the walls of their “Sacred City.” 

“Sacred City. Hah!” BRA-BRILL sneered aloud at the idea. Just more horse manure for the weak-minded, he mused. “You there! Yes, YOU! Bring me some meat and bread and wine.” 

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The hapless youth who had been pointed at was not sure who, if anyone, had brought such provisions. This was not, after all, a planned and organized march. Usually, the ROI would have spent weeks planning a trip to see the Z-LOTZ. He had just witnessed the wrath of BRA-BRILL when irked. He would try to find something pleasing among the people and if he failed, he would sneak away into the woods and try his luck with the wolves rather than risk displeasing BRA-BRILL. “Yes, sire! I’ll be back soon!” He scampered off and began querying the ROI about provisions, making sure everyone knew that they were not for him but for their leader. 

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A few day’s march brought the numerous throng of ROI to the city gates of the Z-LOTZ. They were hungry, thirsty, and exhausted, but all were ordered to remain outside. Word came that NUT-PI would see BRA-BRILL who must arrive unarmed and alone. When BRA-BRILL heard this, he began to sweat. He carefully slowed his breathing, but his bone dry mouth still tasted of metal. He muttered under his breath, “Procreating waste!” There was little for it though. He would have to comply. Though he had taken much more than his “fair share” of the provisions found among the ROI, he also felt hunger and thirst. So, he thrust his new sword into the ground and marched off to see NUT-PI, surrounded by four guards. Each sported a long pike and wore leather armor studded with metal. 

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Soon, he stood in a courtyard before NUT-PI who sat upon a high chair. He tried to lick his lips and took a deep breath. “Well met, oh great NUT-PI! I bring you…” 

“Silence,” NUT-PI said in little more than a bored whisper. “Speak to me again before I give you leave to do so and I will cut out your tongue as you did with your lieutenant.” 

BRA-BRILL almost spoke again. Instead, he slammed his mouth shut, wondering how the painful afterlife NUT-PI found out about the lieutenant. 

Again NUT-PI spoke softly. He hissed as he spoke, almost like a snake. “Come forward now and kneel before me.” 

BRA-BRILL shambled forward and knelt in the sharp gravel in front of NUT-PI. NUT-PI regarded him coldly with unlit eyes. “Did you bring the required number of women and children as slaves?” 

BRA-BRILL tried to swallow but couldn’t. “Close but also vital information, Sire.” 

“Close?” NUT-PI snickered. “I asked you a simple question. Surely, even you have the intelligence to answer my question. I will say it slowly for you. Did. You. Bring. The. Required. Number. Of. Women. And. Children. As. Slaves? Yes or no?” 

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BRA-BRILL tried to think but found it difficult when his knees hurt and his mouth was so dry. He decided that trying to be clever would be too risky. “No, Sire.” 

“So you failed in the only task I asked you to accomplish. Is that right? You failed. Did you fail?” 

“Yes, Sire. I failed.” BRA-BRILL looked down. He began to fantasize about cutting NUT-PI to pieces but shook it out of his mind. 

NUT-PI smiled. “Well, it’s not your fault, after all. You have no real ability, do you?” 

BRA-BRILL gritted his teeth together. “No, Sire. I do not.” 

NUT-PI continued. “No, you do not. And now, not only have you failed to bring me the required number of slaves. You have allowed your village to be burned down. And, now you bring your entire people here…for what purpose? I suspect you wish to beg for food and water for them?” 

BRA-BRILL saw a possible opening and decided to chance taking it. “Oh, Sire, no. It is true that we are hungry and thirsty but we ask for none of that. What we can do is offer up valuable information about a tribe that call themselves The Veritas. They came in great hordes to attack our village and burn it down. They destroyed many of our weapons and stole our horses as well. But we come to offer to help you hunt them down and destroy them. If you will accept our humble gift.” 

NUT-PI sneered at BRA-BRILL with open contempt. NUT-PI began to drum his fingers on the arm of his large chair. He was in no hurry. After all, NUT-PI was not the one kneeling in sharp gravel. He gestured to one of his slaves and she brought over some grapes and bread. NUT-PI began slowly and sensually taking tiny bites of the food. He arranged his face into a large smile as he ate, chewing each bite over and over. 

BRA-BRILL saw the world shrink and grow dark. Just as he was about to pass out, NUT-PI spoke again. “Guards, take this pathetic man back to his people, such as they are. Bring me the inadequate number of slaves here for me to take first picks. I will see whether any are capable of pleasing me. If there are, I will consider his entreaty for food and water. If not, well, if not, just take the slaves and use the rest of the ROI for target practice.” 

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BRA-BRILL tried to rise on his own, but he couldn’t make his legs move properly. He put his hands on the ground and pushed off with his hands, staggering to his feet. He was marched out of the presence of NUT-PI. 

BRA-BRILL felt as though he had won a great victory. After all, he had escaped with his life, at least for now. He would find a way to oust NUT-PI and make him pay! He swore to himself that he would do that no matter what it took. For now, he would have to play a waiting game. 

The guards unceremoniously threw BRA-BRILL to the ground and began rounding up the slaves to be taken before NUT-PI. Preparing slaves provided one of the most fun aspects of their jobs. They would oversee the cleaning and dressing of the slaves. Occasionally, they were rewarded with one to share. 

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Where Does Your Loyalty Lie?

Finger-Pointing among the ROI

05 Thursday Mar 2026

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, management, psychology, Veritas

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blame, chaos, crisis, Dictatorship, fantasy, fiction, fire, governance, greed, leadership, legend, management, myth, religion, ROI, story, war, writing

Among the ROI, it was common for each person to become a specialist in one or two of the tasks of the tribe. One such person, named Jaccim Nohan, specialized in capturing children. Indeed, he had been one of those who had attacked the Veritas at high feast and had carried off Tu-Swift on the back of his horse. Between slave-gathering raids, he worked with the horses and when all the horses of the ROI had begun to run off, it fell to him and two others to attempt to recapture them. Most of the horses had run far south, but a few, perhaps attempting to reconnect with their foals, had instead galloped about the village adding to the general confusion. 

Nohan ran after them to little avail. The noise made by the ROI themselves added to the terror of the horses. As one of them ran by, Nohan noticed that a fair length of frayed rope still trailed behind one of the chestnut mares. He thought to grab the rope and quickly wind it around a strong post. In this way he hoped to stop at least one horse from dangerously galloping to and fro among the villagers and soldiers. 

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At first, his plan seemed to be working well. He grabbed the rope and the horse turned toward Nohan. The rope slackened and Nohan spotted a sturdy nearby post. He quickly grabbed the rope and began tying it in loops around the post. The horse reared up, spooked, and turned away in a panic. The horse broke the post in two and the loops of rope entangled around Nohan’s forearm. Suddenly, he found himself being dragged through the village. He tried several times to disentangle himself from the rope, all the while cursing himself and the horse. 

Nohan’s clothing and then his skin disintegrated from the friction. The horse dragged him near the paddock and into a large pile of fresh manure that Tu-Swift and Day-Nah had constructed only a few days ago. The horse felt the tug and turned back to regard the situation. Nohan managed to free himself of his bonds before losing consciousness. The last thing he recalled was the chestnut mare pawing the air over him. 

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The ROI soldiers imagined that they were under attack from a large army and immediately sped to the place where their bows and arrows were kept. As each arrived, they looked in disbelief to see that all of their bows were gone! A few went inside the armory to retrieve swords and clubs. Inside they found a few bows in working order as well as some arrows. As hastily as a group of disorganized men who are used to being told what to do in a very organized fashion can, they gathered their weapons and headed to the barn to get atop horses to fight the enemy they thought numerous. But there were no horses to be had! 

The head magistrate for the ROI, BRILL-BRA had been sound asleep after a long wine-filled orgy with several young slaves when the chaos began. He shook his head. That, he decided, was a mistake for a massive headache ensued. He threw on a robe and stumbled out into the square and saw the chaos. He wobbled unsteadily over to a large hunk of resonant metal which was suspended near a central dais and struck it hard. A few people nearby heard it and stopped their running uselessly about and came to the circle of benches near the large platform which BRILL-BRA had surmounted. He continued to ring the gong whose sound penetrated through the general din. More and more people began to stop their craziness and remember their discipline. Eventually, almost all the uninjured came to hear their leader’s orders. 

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BRILL-BRA had no more idea what was happening than anyone else. But he recognized an opportunity to consolidate his power and so he took it. He “called on” various members of the ROI to explain what had happened, shushing anyone who was not “called on.” As the various members of the tribe spoke up, he began to piece together a picture of what had happened. The ROI had made many mistakes. The biggest blunder? Raiding the Veritas in the first place which had yielded only one potential slave. That slave had apparently managed to escape, taking another boy with him. Now, the ROI were short in their agreed upon number of slaves that they owed the Z-Lotz. Well, that was easily solved. He’ll find a scapegoat or two from among the ROI and take their children to make up the shortfall. More of that later, he thought. Apparently, there were no horses available right now, so he realized if they had any hope of recaptured the slave boys, he would have to send out a raiding party soon. 

He asked for volunteers and was heartened to see that all the young men of sound body volunteered. Inwardly, he snickered yet again at how easily manipulated they all were. Outwardly though, he arranged his face as appropriate to moods of fear, and hatred, and occasionally belittling the enemy encouraging his own people to think that the Veritas had used witchcraft and magic to multiply the effectiveness of their vastly superior numbers. It would be in no-one’s interest, he rationalized, to let them know what he suspected — that a mere handful had thrown their village into such disarray. That handful would be tracked down and killed before long. Better yet, perhaps a few could be captured alive and tortured to death for the entertainment of his followers. 

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Painting by Pierce Morgan.

BRILL-BRA chose a party of a dozen men whom he knew to be fast runners and good archers. The rest would be posted as guards around the village. This move solidified the atmosphere of fear and hate that he wished to prolong as long as possible. His people, he knew, proved much easier to manipulate and lie to when he kept them in a near constant state of anxiety and anger. The attack group soon set off toward the Veritas central place. BRILL-BRA thought it likely the Veritas would choose the most direct path back toward their home. For his part, BRILL-BRA spent a few more minutes rousing his audience to fear and righteous indignation about an enemy who would use dark magic to overcome the obviously superior ROI people. He promised revenge and then, told the people to go and repair the village while he, BRILL-BRA would undertake the most difficult task of all — which was to determine who among them had been derelict in duty. Of course, this also had the desired effect of putting everyone on edge. For they knew that anyone could be so accused and the penalty would be severe, if not fatal. 

Except for the dozen in the raiding party, the ROI worked to restore their village and to try to capture the escaped horses. For his part, BRILL-BRA spent a pleasant day interviewing candidates for his wrath. He had learned from NUT-PI, now the leader of the Z-LOTZ, the trick of making the suspects kneel on sharp gravel while he grilled them. Torturing his own people always put a smile on his face. With them kneeling before him, he always felt superior. And after all, he thought, I am superior. After all, they are the ones in pain and I am the one in charge. He smirked as they struggled to try to keep their composure and swear their loyalty to him while he pretended to consider what they said. After a long day of this, he finally feasted heartily and ordered some more slave children to be brought for his pleasure. This too, he enjoyed, not so much for the sex, per se, though that indeed was pleasurable, but more for the joy of knowing he had complete control over someone else’s body.   

He woke in the morning to the glorious glow of sunrise, a sunrise unusually vivid and red. He ordered one of his personal guards to bring him the three daughters of L-SIDNEY. They were a bit on the young side, but he fancied them. He decided to blame L-SIDNEY for the fiasco, mainly because he wanted his three daughters. The choice was also easy to rationalize because L-SIDNEY had been one of the three men who had been responsible for training up the two male captives to help with the horses. Since the horses had escaped along with the two kids, it seemed only fitting to make him pay by giving him his daughters. It wasn’t strictly necessary to come up with an explanation like that, but it helped. It gave the ROI people the semblance of a rationale so that they would be more comfortable with what would otherwise merely seem like random cruelty.  

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Guernica by Picasso

BRILL-BRA also planned to take the daughters with him (once he tired of them) to help fill his quota for the Z-LOTZ. L-SIDNEY himself — BRILL-BRA toyed with various torture deaths. Slow burning was nice. Stoning was okay too, provided that people were only allowed small stones. NUT-PI had some wonderful ideas along these lines, many of which BRILL-BRA had never seen in person but was eager to try. As he nibbled on his food and fantasized about torturing L-SIDNEY, he vaguely noticed something odd about this morning’s sunrise. The crimson sky seemed to grow in intensity rather than diminish over time. And, then, there was that odd noise in the distance. It drew nearer. Well, he thought, someone else will take care of that. He laughed as he contemplated trying out the torture of growing bamboo shoots through the body.

His pleasant reverie was shattered by a shouting guard outside his cabin. He vowed to torture the guard as well. He stepped outside to find out who his second victim would be and then saw that the entire sky was red. At the southern edge of the village he could see flames devouring the fir trees. “CRAP!” he shouted. The guard screamed “FIRE!” and did not wait to take his leave. BRILL-BRA screamed more profanity and ran back inside to grab his small bag of precious stones and metals. The roar of the fire grew deafening and he could actually feel the heat. The ROI were running everywhere. They were too panicked to stop. BRILL-BRA ran too. 

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Meanwhile, Jaccim Nohan awoke in great pain and confusion. He ached everywhere and his ample though shredded flesh ached. He crawled out of the large pile of horse manure and saw that the entire sky glowed red. Though still at some distance, he could feel the heat of the fire. He did not feel strong enough to make his broken body run. Into his mind flashed an image of the fruit cellar that lay beneath one corner of the large lodge used for dining and for storing weapons. It lay only forty yards upwind of the barn. He crawled as fast as he could just as the flames began to emerge from the fir forest. Adrenaline managed to help his broken body traverse the distance and crawl into the landing. From there, he sat on the stairway and used his hands to lower himself, step by step, into the fruit cellar. He did not know whether he could survive but he hoped so. In one corner was a cistern of water used to soften dried fruit and he wet some cloths and pulled them around himself and awaited his fate as the flames roared and cracked outside. Nohan’s pain so overwhelmed him that he felt unsure whether he wished the flames would spare him or consume him. 

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Where Does Your Loyalty Lie?

My Cousin Bobby

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Absolute is not Just a Vodka

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The Alliance of the ROI & the Z-Lotz

26 Thursday Feb 2026

Posted by petersironwood in America, psychology, Uncategorized, Veritas

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Eagle Eyes chatted quietly with Easy Tears, and their conversation drifted as a dancing summer breeze among many topics. Suddenly Eagle Eyes stopped in her tracks. Her eyes spun to something sparkling among the rocks. She thought that perhaps it was merely a piece of shiny rock but as she drew nearer, she realized it was not a rock, or at least nothing like any rock she had seen before. Soon, the others drew near and stared down with her. Even the pups busied themselves sniffing its edges.

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A hand-sized ornament had drawn the attention of Eagle Eyes. It consisted of a perfect full-moon shape within which were inscribed three smaller circles. Every member of the search party found the ornamented piece intriguing. Apart from the pups, Shadow Walker touched it first. “It is of the same — or at least very much like — the circles of cold rock at the bottom of the wall door we moved.”

In turn, the others touched the cool circle of rock. 

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Easy Tears said, “Whatever this is, it gives me chills. It feels like touching…death, actually.” Lion Slayer picked up and turned it in his hands. “I see one. Long ago. My father’s father called it, ‘Tree Quarto’ or something like that.”

Hudah Salah whispered something into the ear of Lion Slayer. He nodded and said to the group, “Yes, Hudah remind me that this is a symbol used by the Z-Lotz. Grandfather showed us one when he tell us the Legend of the Unholy Alliance. I dream about it night before dawn, but then forgot when I … when I awoke.” He glanced at Shadow Walker. 

Shadow Walker smiled, “When I woke you up. Sorry. What can you tell us of that legend?” 

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Lion Slayer frowned as he began. “The Legend of the Unholy Alliance” has been told in our tribes for at least six generations. I am not storyteller, but this symbol is supposed to represent the world – the larger full moon shape; and the three smaller full moon shapes represent body, mind, and spirit.” 

Shadow Walker waited while Lion Slayer gathered his thoughts. Easy Tears broke in. “So, this is a symbol that the ROI like?” 

“No, Easy Tears. It is a symbol of the Z-Lotz. That is where the unholy alliance comes. Far beyond our lands, the Z-Lotz ruled but they often fought with the ROI. At last, so the legend goes, the greatest leader of the Z-Lotz and the leader of the ROI had a parley. They agreed to stop fighting. The ROI care nothing for the spirit world, nor really for much of anything except to get more and more as fast as possible. They make deal. Z-Lotz agree to leave the ROI alone and not try to make them believe all the impossible things that the Z-Lotz believed. 

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“But in return, the ROI, promise to pretend to believe and wear the symbols of the Z-Lotz. In return, the Z-Lotz would not only leave the ROI alone; they would pretend that anything that the ROI did was commanded by Giant Sky Bear himself, which the Z-Lotz pretended to be able to talk to. In this way, the ROI were able to conquer many people’s by force and then teach these conquered people that it was their lot in life to be slaves because it was commanded by Giant Sky Bear. The ROI never believed it, of course, for they cared nothing for such things, but these lies proved helpful in convincing the slaves that there was no point in resisting because they would be struck down by the powerful claws of the Giant Sky Bear. The ROI gave the Z-Lotz many material gifts as well. Though the Z-Lotz pretended not to care about material gifts, they never refused any such gifts.”

Fleet of Foot thought perhaps Lion Slayer was finished so asked a question. “And, did the Z-Lotz actually believe this Great Bear in the Sky would really do that? Or, did the ROI? I am confused.” 

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“Fleet of Foot, you ask good question, but we do not know. We do not know what they truly believe. I have never even met ROI or Z-Lotz. But when our legends are tested, they are generally accurate. I suppose that beliefs actually vary quite a bit among the ROI and among the Z-Lotz, but they all steadfastly pretend to believe such things and this allows them to manipulate people. At least that is what legend says. So, if our supposition is correct that ROI were stealers of children, and they are wearing this symbol of Z-Lotz, that would tend to be in alignment with legend. It does not prove it, of course. But it seems consistent.” 

Eagle Eyes asked, “But do your legends say that the ROI make or use these cold, smooth, hard rocks?” 

Lion Slayer glanced at his wife, and she shook her head. “Not that we recall. No. I am sure I would have remembered such a tale. Such a soul-sucking object, I would have recalled. Neither of us has heard of such before.” 

Shadow Walker dropped the ornament into his knapsack and the six continued swiftly on their journey. 

———————————————————-

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The Myths of the Z-Lotz

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Essays on America: Labelism

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Math Class: Who are you?

 

 

 

 

Myths of the Veritas: The Fifth Ring of Empathy

25 Sunday Jan 2026

Posted by petersironwood in America, management, psychology, Uncategorized, Veritas

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The day after the Prophesy Dream of She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives dawned clear and clean. The air smelled as sweet as ever and sweeter still to the shaman who had dreamt of a world of dirty air. The clear morning sun rainbowed on raindrops on every bush. Trees sported their first leaves of spring which are as various in colors as those of autumn but because the leaves are yet babies, She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives could see much more deeply into the land about her. It filled her heart with gladness even more deeply on this spring morn. She decided that she would share her dream with all of the Veritas, but only after she took the time to craft the telling so that each would receive the gift as she had — the gift of great gratitude. For she well knew that experiencing that dead white world as she had made her redouble her appreciation for the real world but that simply telling others about her dream would not be enough to gift them the same great gratitude. It would take time to decide how best to share her gift. 

Meanwhile, She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives walked to the main village to see who among “The Six Who See Through Animal Eyes” was already at work on their various tasks. The eyes of the shaman, though old, remained clear and her mind remained retentive so that as she passed through the village greeting this person and that person from among the Veritas, she observed many things both small and large. And, among the small things she noticed were a number of crushed ants. She looked around for Pond Mud but he was nowhere near. On a hunch, she decided to visit the place where she had shown Pond Mud the strength of ants. As always among the Veritas, and as she had been trained all her life, her footsteps were as silent as those of bobcat. Before she reached the clearing with the broken cabin, she could hear the angry voice of Pond Mud. And though the eyes of She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives were as clear as ever, she well knew that her hearing was not so good as that of a youth such as Pond Mud. As she approached, she could hear the tone of voice of Pond Mud become sweet and she greatly suspected that he had heard her coming despite her silent way of walking. 

He met her at the entrance to the clearing and spoke first, “Ah, She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives, it is good to see you. I am headed back to the village. I was just trying to learn more about ants though I well understand that I am no longer in contention for another ring of empathy. Such learning is still a good thing. Anyone can see that.” 

“I am glad to hear you say that. The statement is correct. Anyone can see that. Though some choose not to see. I hear that you have become still better friends with Alt-R. Is this so?” 

“Yes, She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives, we have been training together to become still better hunters. And, that skill, as you well know, also requires seeing through the eyes of animals. May I accompany you back to the village and I will tell you something of what I have learned?”

She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives wished to examine the clearing but decided it could be better done later while Pond Mud busied himself with other tasks. So, she returned to the village still feeling great gratitude for the fullness of the life around her. 

During this day, she observed the Six-Who-See-With-Animal-Eyes at their various tasks as well as much more. When Alt-R and Pond Mud, along with several other hunters, went to practice spear throwing, she returned to the clearing. Alas, her hunch had been correct. Pond Mud had not simply been observing ants; he had been systematically killing them. Even more disturbing, many had been tortured. And, even more disturbing than those actions, had been the dissembling of Pond Mud. He had known what she would like to have heard — that he had taken her lessons to heart. Her mood soured for this was the sort of deception that could destroy a village or indeed an entire tribe. It would have to be curbed very soon and most likely shared with the entire tribe. She held out some hope however, that the heart of Pond Mud could yet be turned to good. For if not, he would certainly be exiled, a rare and severe punishment which invariably lead to  a short and lonely life. 

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As the delicate beginnings of spring gave way to the fullness of another summer, the tasks of the Six-Who-See-With-Animal-Eyes gave way from planning to building. Soon, the time came for all to recount their learning. When She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives saw that this was so, she called each of The Six to her as one. She asked each pair in turn to describe their experiences for she wanted to judge not only the maker but also the mentor as well as how they recalled events differently, as people do, and how such differences were resolved. The shaman also knew that each of The Six could learn from all these experiments in trying to use the way of how-to of another.

The first to report on their experience together were the hammock-builder, Fleet-of-Foot and his mentor, Trunk-of-Tree. According to Trunk-of-Tree, he first tried to show Fleet-of-Foot how he would make a hammock with great thought as to its longevity and strength so that it would last against time and some misuse. Fleet-of-Foot had resisted such advice and had immediately begin building the hammock. Six such hammocks had Fleet-of-Foot constructed over three days time and each such hammock had collapsed.

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Fleet-of-Foot admitted that these hammocks had broken but he claimed it was because Trunk-of-Tree had given him faulty materials and bad advice. At long last, in frustration, Fleet-of-Foot had challenged Trunk-of-Tree to show him how he would build a hammock and instead, Trunk-of-Tree had spent an entire morning making tools, and laying things out, and not even starting on the hammock. Fleet-of-Foot grew impatient because obviously, Trunk-of-Tree had had no intention of showing Fleet-of-Foot how to build a hammock. When Fleet-of-Foot came back a few hours later, the hammock was finished. This they agreed upon, and as to its sturdiness, but Fleet-of-Foot was sure that Trunk-of-Tree had cheated by getting others to help him make his hammock. Otherwise, argued Fleet-of-Foot, how could slow Trunk-of-Tree make a hammock in a day when fast Fleet-of-Foot finished no hammocks in three days? 

She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives had much to say about this experiment, but she held her tongue and first asked the others from among The Six what they thought. After some long silence, Shade Walker said this, “I have known both all my life and have never known Trunk-of-Tree to cheat or lie. Fleet-of-Foot is fast; of this, there is no question. But he also sometimes rushes into things so quickly that he ends up taking more time. I have myself only made three hammocks so I am not so expert as Trunk-of-Tree and perhaps mine are not quite so sturdy but they were all finished in one day.” 

She-of-Many-Paths spoke next. “I have never made a hammock. But I have been listening to many expert craftsman in our village and every such has cautioned me to take the time to plan the work carefully. Whether it is making spears, making spearheads, making pottery, or baking bread, it is critical to ensure that you have a good plan; that you have chosen your materials well; that you have prepared and tested at each step along the way. So, I can well believe that Too-Fleet-of-Foot could charge off along the wrong path six times in three days while Trunk-of-Tree could take a more deliberate path to create a hammock in one day.” 

Easy Tears knew it was his turn to speak but did not wish to offend anyone. “I cannot really tell because I was not a witness to these recounted events. I believe that each told us of their own experiences as they now recall them. And, ultimately, both were successful because now there is a hammock that was not there before and Trunk-of-Tree served as mentor and judge.” 

She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives nodded to Eyes-of-Eagle who spoke carefully, molding the shape of her argument and the shape of each sentence and each word. “I find that trying to create something in the way of another how-to is a difficult task. So, it was with Trunk-of-Tree and Fleet-of-Foot. Fleet-of-Foot grew too quickly impatient and rather than trying to build in the way of Trunk-of-Tree instead built in his own way of how-to which was not sufficient to the task. Rather than learn another, more careful way from someone who knows and uses the careful way, he insisted on sticking with his own way though that way did not work. However, Trunk-of-Tree, though he took his time with the hammock, was likewise impatient with Fleet-of-Foot and ended up building the hammock himself which was not his assigned task.”   

{Translator’s Note}: In the original, these recountings, have apparently been preserved in great detail. Though scholars differ, I tend to believe the details are correct despite their being passed down orally because the Veritas developed many methods to ensure the accuracy of their traditional learning stories and because the details of their skills were vital to their survival. Since most modern readers have little little experience weaving baskets or making a hide tent, I omit much of those details in my summaries. Instead, I focus on the lessons learned and the decisions of She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives. 

Now, as was her way, She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives asked Fleet-of-Foot and Trunk-of-Tree whether they had found any further learning while listening to the comments of his compatriots. 

Fleet-of-Foot immediately began, “Wonderful comments. I learned much. However, the important thing is that I was asked to produce a hammock in the way of how-to of Trunk-of-Tree and such a hammock was indeed constructed. I caused that to happen by my actions so I believe I completed my task. Fast is good. But sometimes, the fastest way to accomplish something is to have someone else who is even faster do the job. Either way, faster is better.” 

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She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives stared at Fleet-of-Foot and sighed. Still, she did not speak. Instead, she turned to Trunk-of-Tree. The latter’s face flushed as he said, “Fleet-of-Foot is indeed impatient, but so was I. My job was to mentor Fleet-of-Foot in the way of how-to for strength and longevity yet after three days, I gave up and made the hammock myself. I believed that if I demonstrated to him that I could make the hammock more quickly by being careful and planning each step that Fleet-of-Foot would learn the lesson. I made this judgement based on my own way of how-to. I would have learned the lesson this way. But this is not the way of learning of Fleet-of-Foot. He is too impatient to learn in this way. He left even before I finished; in fact, barely after I had made preparations for the work. He believes I encouraged or cajoled others to help me, which I did not do, because I failed to teach him the slow and methodical way of how-to. So, I too failed in my task.” 

She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives again turned to “Fleet of Foot” and prompted, “And…?” Fleet-of-Foot answered thusly, “Trunk-of-Tree may have failed but I did not. We should see who else besides me deserves the next ring of empathy.” 

She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives chuckled. “I have dreamed of such a one as you, Fleet-of-Foot, and when the time comes, I will indeed, shrink our group as is befitting, as well as sharing my dream. I would now observe, however, that Trunk-of-Tree has shared a great learning for all of us. What would have sufficed for him to have learned the lesson of patience did not work for you. On the other hand, you have shown no learning whatever. The tree of your learning has not added a single branch or leaf so far as I can see. Fleet-of-Foot, you wished to win a race; lost the race; then showed no interest in discovering how you could have won the race. This is the way of “Fast-at-First-and-Slow-at-Last.” 

So, in turn, did each of the pairs recount their experiences and learnings. 

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Trunk-of-Tree made a basket very slowly and carefully. Yet, no-one wanted to trade very much for such a basket; not nearly enough to satisfy Trunk-of-Tree’s desire for compensation for so much time spent. Easy-Tears had been quite content to watch the strong hands of Trunk-of-Tree working the reeds over and under and through. It had been quite mesmerizing. She had said almost nothing during the making, but when Trunk-of-Tree found no-one willing to trade much for his basket, she showed Trunk-of-Tree how the addition of a some brightly colored dyes in a pleasing pattern changed such luck and how such additions made his sturdy basket much more desirable in the eyes of the clan. Trunk-of-Tree had been quite surprised at this common reaction. He had thought the purpose of a basket was to hold things and this goal he had accomplished quite well. However, Easy-Tears had shown him how just a little extra work, though not making the basket stronger or more functional, could greatly increase how badly others wanted such a useful basket. 

Shade-Walker and Eagle-Eyes recounted their adventures in jug making. At first, Shade Walker had mainly loved the feel of the wet clay spinning through his hands. With the hands of Eagle Eyes guiding his, however, he learned to enjoy the sight of the evolving shape as well. In the end, both had gone on to make a series of beautiful jugs. Eagle Eyes had ended up loving the feel of the wet clay, although what she had loved the most was the feel of Shade Walker’s fingers, she admitted. 

Eyes-of-Eagle explained that she found if very difficult to make a dream catcher under the tutelage of Fleet-of-Foot since she herself had wanted the end result to be beautiful and Fleet-of-Foot kept encouraging her to proceed more and more quickly. However, as Fleet-of-Foot at last perceived that his constant encouragement toward ever more speed made Eyes-of-Eagle both more error prone and more testy with him, he instead encouraged her by telling her that she was amazingly fast. Everyone could see that Fleet-of-Foot was again interested in speed; however, in this case, his interest had been more in speed of becoming more intimate with Eyes-of-Eagle than in the speed of making a dream catcher. 

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She-of-Many-Paths told of how she had wanted to make a tent for Shade Walker. Shade Walker had liked watching her and had asked if she were enjoying the process of making the tent. She had blushed — and had said that she was very much enjoying herself. After they get over their awkwardness, they had talked about the various ways of how-to and had decided together that being grounded and having a satisfying process are very much akin. Though these are different ways of how-to, one helps provide the other, they had surmised. This they shared with The Six and the shaman and all had agreed. 

Upon recounting and subsequent questioning, all learned that Easy-Tears had wanted the travois to be popular and had difficulty even understanding what She-of-Many-Paths meant by constructing a travois so that it encouraged a “grounded” view of life. Easy-Tears had been watching She-of-Many-Paths and Shade-Walker for some time however, and decided that what She-of-Many-Paths really wanted was Shade-Walker. Easy-Tears suggested that if She-of-Many-Paths wanted Shade-Walker, it would be best for everyone to be done quickly with the travois project so that She-of-Many-Paths could spend more time with Shade-Walker who had lately been spending much time with Eagle-Eyes, their long fingers inter-twined with those in the wet clay which they shaped together. In return, Easy-Tears had promised to teach She-of-Many-Paths the path to popularity and thereby to further increase the interest with which Shade-Walker would view She-of-Many-Paths. 

At the end of day, after every such recounting and dialogue, She-Who-Saves-Many-Lives quietly took out a small, folded deerskin. This deerskin held a number of rings of hemp woven into a complex, repeating, yet ever-changing pattern. “The time has come,” she began, “to chose which among all the Veritas is ready to take on the next challenge. All of you have done well and should now be more of a contributor than ever to the Veritas. I have challenged you in many ways to see and feel as others do. In this, you have all shown much skill in the ways of empathy.”

“As you know, each of us is a small leaf on the very large Tree of Life, a tree that has been growing and expanding through all of earth. We are all connected: the people who are the Veritas, other people, other animals, every bird, every plant. We are all connected. With empathy, you may be able to tune in to the tree itself. As you have observed, when we sing and play music and dance, the self-same beat is in everyone and every drum vibrates. If two strings are of the same length, and one is plucked the other may also vibrate. The life in all is in all.

“Learning to tune in to the music, to the beat of another person, or to the great Tree of Life is a great gift to be greatly encouraged. However, you must understand that this is the Tree of Life itself that you are tuning into in order to understand others. When you do such tuning in, you must do so for the good of others, for this great Tree of Life. If instead, you tune in only to serve your own ends, you are using the Tree of Life in a way that destroys the tree itself. Empathy is a way to make us whole. It should never be used to divide us. 

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“Fleet-of-Foot, you had some ability to understand the way of Trunk-of-Tree. This knowledge you used to subvert the task at hand. You therefore emerged from the womb of this great opportunity for you to have learned patient working instead unchanged. You also used your understanding of Eyes-of-Eagle, not to help her learn other ways, but to flatter her to try to get her to become closer to you. Ultimately, this way of using empathy always pushes others away. Some may understand quickly and some may take years. But ultimately, tuning in to the Tree of Life in order to bend it to your own purpose will fail for you. It may also, as shown in my dream, cause the Tree of Life itself to fail. 

“Easy-Tears, you were honest and helpful in your work with Trunk-of-Tree. You helped him to understand in a deep way that the surface beauty of something, while it may not be of much value to him, is nonetheless of value to others. In this, you did well. However, you tried to use your knowledge of the affection that She-of-Many-Paths has for Shade-Walker to try to get her to accept your lack of being able to understand the way of how-to of grounding every action. She-of-Many-Paths saw through this ruse and told us honestly of what happened. Yours was also a misuse of empathy. You were not primarily interested in helping She-of-Many-Paths as you claimed, but were more interested in getting your task finished. Moreover, if you really understood deeply Trunk-of-Tree and She-of-Many-Paths, you would see that a surface popularity is not what draws them together. Rather, they are being drawn together by the Tree of Life itself; e.g., their own future children.

“Please understand. Your own ways of how-to are each valuable. And you are all skilled in empathy. For now, I bestow the Fourth and Fifth Rings of Empathy on only those who tune in to the great Tree of Life to help the great Tree of Life. If I become convinced at some future time that others have also learned this great lesson, they too may receive the Fourth and Fifth Rings. For now, please come to me to receive your rings for you have earned them.”

Trunk-of-Tree, Shade-Walker, Eyes-of-Eagles, and She-of-Many-Paths each came in turn, knelt before the shaman and received their double rings. Each such person had much to think about and they walked back to their lodgings in silence.  

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  ——————————————————

Author Page on Amazon

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Imagine All the People

The Dance of Billions

The Orange Man

Pattern Language Summary

At Least He’s Our Monster

The First Ring of Empathy

The Second Ring of Empathy

The Third Ring of Empathy

The Fourth Ring of Empathy

Travels with Sadie Teamwork

The Walkabout Diaries How Beautiful and Green

Somewhere a Bird Cries

Corn on the Cob

The Self-Made Man

Math Class: Who Are you?

Tools of Thought: Theory of Mind

19 Friday Dec 2025

Posted by petersironwood in America, management, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

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"Theory of Mind", AI, cooperation, Design, education, empathy, life, mental-health, poetry, politics, psychology, religion, sports, teamwork, truth, writing

Theory of Mind. 

“Theory of Mind” refers to the ability of most humans to imagine, at least to a degree, what another person is likely to do based on their knowledge of what the other person knows. Here is a simple test used to determine whether someone has this ability. 

You are the “subject” being tested and you are in a room with me (the “experimenter”). Your friend Vlad is in the room too. In full view of you and Vlad, I hide a giant luscious chocolate chip cookie (such as you might purchase from Panera, but won’t because you realize that if you buy it there is no way you aren’t going to eat it!). I “hide” this cookie in the top drawer of my desk. Now, Vlad walks out of the room. He’s well out of sight. Now, I take the cookie out of my drawer, and using great self-control, do not eat the cookie myself but instead put it in my pocket. 

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Now, I turn to you and ask, “When Vlad comes back, where will he look for the cookie?” If you are 2, 3, or 4 years old, you would say, “In your pocket!” I rephrase this a few times to make sure you understand that I am not asking you where the cookie actually is but where Vlad will search. You again insist that Vlad will look in my pocket. At such a young age, kids do not distinguish their state of knowledge from someone else’s. Most adults will have no problem with this task. They have a “theory of mind” that allows them to know that their state of knowledge is not the same as Vlad’s. Some adults diagnosed with autism will have trouble with this task however.

An interesting question arises as to whether other animals have a “theory of mind.” It is not a settled question. My purpose here however, is to explain what the term means and show how it’s useful for humans. Despite the fact that most adult humans have the capacity to do “theory of mind” tasks and that it is useful, they nonetheless often fail to evoke their capacity.

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A closely related concept is “empathy.” Empathy generally refers to being able to feel what another person feels emotionally. I see the distinction as one of perspective or emphasis rather than two different entities. These two concepts (empathy and Theory of Mind) are explored in much greater detail in the “Myths of the Veritas” series in this blog. For now, suffice it to say that you might empathize with another person by relating to their facial expressions, posture, or regarding what they say and how they say it. You might see a picture of a small, terrified four-year old alone in a cage and know that they are terrified without having any verified knowledge or detailed knowledge of what they “know” or “don’t know.” They might or might not know any English. And you might or might not know their language or even what their language is. But you can tell that they are in great distress just by looking at them. If you actually feel what it is like to be a small child separated from your parents and being trapped in a cage in a strange place, that is generally called “empathy.” 

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If I were to ask you what kind of pleading this four year old is likely to make in court, if you have  the capacity for a “Theory of Mind,” you might well ask, “Well…I don’t know. What do they know about courts or proceedings? What could they know? They are only four years old.”  You’d be correct, of course, to question whether it was meaningful to have a four year old acting for themselves in court. This would be particularly true if they had to plead in a court where they were unfamiliar with the culture, the venue, and the language. But even a really smart four year old who had been brought up in America and spoke excellent English would not be capable of really understanding the consequences. This kind of understanding demonstrates a deeper theory of mind than simply knowing that because a specific piece of information is in your own head doesn’t mean it’s in someone else’s head. 

In The Myths of the Veritas, people are given a range of tasks that involve what is called empathy. To me, although one can draw a conceptual distinction between understanding another person’s knowledge and feeling an echo of another person’s feelings, when it comes to many practical situations, it’s more important to put oneself in another person’s shoes, than to correctly label the process. 

Writers must often deal with multi-level theories of mind. There is what the writer knows about the events that are being written about in a story. There are the spheres of knowledge that various characters have. Most often, different characters have critically different states of knowledge. What the reader knows is yet again different. And all of these spheres of knowledge change throughout the course of the narrative. 

In The Myths of the Veritas, for example, the author knows throughout that ALT-R is making POND MUD put his face in the mud purely to humiliate him and keep power over him. ALT-R knows it as well. Over time, most readers will come to the same conclusion but not necessarily at exactly the same place in the narrative. Most of the Veritas tribe initially know nothing about this incident, but She-Of-Many-Paths intuits it and eventually many of the Veritas come to understand it. At first POND MUD is fairly certain ALT-R saved his life by making him do it. But as he observes and interacts with ALT-R and others, he begins to doubt that and then goes about actively seeking information from others that would help clarify ALT-R’s true motives. 

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In Othello, the writer knows from the beginning that Iago is an evil sociopath. The audience knows quite early that Iago is an evil sociopath and learns more about his schemes through speeches that Iago delivers directly to the audience. Othello himself, on the other hand, has his state of “knowledge” manipulated by Iago. The audience knows that Othello is being duped by Iago but Othello himself does not know of it or of Desdemona’s innocence when he murders her though at that point, the writer, the audience, Desdemona, Iago, Cassio and other characters all know that Desdemona is innocent. We have some sympathy for Othello because we realize that he is operating on false information. 

Let’s turn to a happier piece of fiction, The Gift of the Magi by O’Henry (William Sydney Porter). In this story, a couple with financial struggles each gives up their most prized possession to buy a gift for the other. The functional value of the gifts is destroyed by what they gave up. Della knows that Jim’s most prized possession is his gold watch so she sells her beautiful hair to get money to buy him a watch chain. Jim knows that Della’s most prized possession is her beautiful hair so he sells his watch in order to buy her some jeweled combs for her hair. Of course, the real gifts they give are not diminished by their being no longer functional. The real gift is the gift of love. The author obviously knows all this from the beginning. Readers “catch on” to what is happening at various points in the narrative, but Jim and Della are the last to learn of the full irony. 

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Sadly, many people seem not to bother trying to understand the situation and capabilities of others. In one of the simplest cases, people are apparently unable to understand how very basic physical properties of the universe result in various people having various states of knowledge. On the tennis court, in a “friendly game,” the players themselves make the calls and keep track of the score. The server is supposed to announce the score before every serve. Some people actually “announce” the score by saying it so softly that only they can hear it! 

In other cases, novice drivers will follow a semi truck so closely that the truck drive cannot see the car behind them. Another trick of drivers is to turn their blinkers on – but only as they begin making the turn. In another post, I explain how one person’s driving behavior in “stop and go traffic” can influence many other people’s. In particular, if you leave a large space between your car and the one in front of you, it makes it easier for many people around you to drive more smoothly because they have a much more complete view of what is happening in front of them. 

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A more subtle failure in “Theory of Mind” occurs when a person assumes that everyone is motivated in the same way that they are. For example, a person may be so partisan that they will always defend and promote people in their own political party no matter how heinous the crimes of that person. This is an error, but a concomitant error is that such people assume everyone who doesn’t defend the criminal, and certainly anyone who actively resists such a crooked politician is doing so from a purely partisan perspective because that’s what they would do. Sociopaths who cheat may assume that everyone would cheat and the only reason they don’t cheat is because those non-cheaters are not smart enough to get away with it. 

When teamwork is operating at a high level, whether it’s hockey, soccer, tennis doubles, basketball, families, or design teams, people exhibit excellent “Theory of Mind” skills. How are yours? Have you experienced such high functioning teams? How can you improve your skills at “Theory of Mind”? 

One way to improve your “Theory of Mind” skills is to become aware of the kinds of perceptual, memory, and problem solving errors that people are generally prone to. Many of the posts linked to below explore some aspect of human psychology.

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Author Page on Amazon

The Primacy Effect

Labelism

Wednesday

The Update Problem

The Stopping Rule

My Cousin Bobby

Where does your Loyalty Lie?

The Invisibility Cloak of Habit

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Roar, Ocean, Roar

The Iroquois Rule of Six

Happy Talk Lies

The Loud Defense of Untenable Positions

Cancer Always Loses in the End

Who Won the War?

After All

The Last Gleam of Twilight

E-Fishiness Mass General Hospital

Me Too

    

I Can’t Be Bothered

26 Friday Feb 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

afterlife, demon, devil, fiction, heaven, hell, purgatory, religion, Saint, story

“ I CAN’T BE BOTHERED!,” the great voice boomed. 

Then…POOF! … just like that, the golden light blew out and was replaced with a large dark cloud. 

Ted found himself all alone on an island. All about him, the roar and crackle of the storm made it hard to orient himself. The rain, if it could even be called ‘rain’ tore at his skin so hard, it was as though his fancy dress shirt and tailored pants didn’t even exist. “This must be hail,” he muttered to himself. The sound of his words were blown away by the gale before they even reached his ears. 

“Where in God’s green earth am I? How did I get to this forsaken island? I must have fallen and smacked my head. I don’t know where I am or how I got here.” 

Some of the neurons in Ted’s brain whispered that they knew. Some even half-raised their hands, much as a shy third grader in a new class might when he or she was the only one who thought they knew the answer. But Ted had spent a life-time lying to himself. He was pretty damned good at it by now. So, the neurons, just shook their virtual heads, put down their timid hands, avoided looking at any of the other neurons. 

Ted began to shiver violently. He realized he was cold…damned cold! Starting a fire was completely out of the question, but maybe there was shelter somewhere on this Godforesaken isle. At last, he found two rather large rocks and wedged himself between then to wait out the storm. 

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The rain, or hail, or sleet or whatever it was splattered everywhere. His clothes, despite the absurdly high price he had paid, seemed completely useless at holding any warmth. He closed his eyes and tried to understand how the hell he had gotten here. He thought back. It seemed a million years ago.

“Okay. Okay. I was on my yacht. It was actually a sunny day. No sign of a storm. Fairly calm seas. Isn’t there a saying about calm before the storm? But…? I was lying on the deck. And … and what’s her name was beside me. Susie or Sue or Susan or something like that. We had just done it and I was enjoying a martini. Yes. A martini. Nice and cold. And then…? And then I finished my first martini and was going to get a second. Sue or whatever — she asked — no I asked. I’m a nice guy. I asked her if she’d like one. She said, no, but she’d like a glass of red wine. Merlot if I had it. 

I sighed. “We’re drinking martinis.” That should have been obvious to her, but she was too stupid to notice what I wanted I guess. I told her it was cold vodka or nada. I thought that was pretty clever because it kind of rhymed. But she again asked for wine. Now, if the whole crew had been on board, sure. I’d have one of them open a bottle. But it was just the two of us. I said, “I can’t be bothered.” Thing is, I didn’t even know where the damned corkscrew was. My chicks liked hard liquor like I did. 

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Ted frowned. He realized, he didn’t really know what they liked. He just assumed they liked martinis. Who wouldn’t? But then, he tried to recall what had happened? He had gone below to get another martini. He thought back. It was a smooth walk to the freezer. No storm. She yelled something down to him, but he couldn’t remember what it was. Anyhow, it didn’t matter. But there was no storm. Not then. And why didn’t Suzie join him on the island? Where the hell was she? She must have been blown overboard. For that matter, where is my damned yacht? Merde! Talk about a bad day. I lost my lay and my boat. He gritted his teeth in anger. 

Just as well. If Sally were here she would undoubtedly be blaming me for this hellish weather. It just blew up out of nowhere. “It’s not my fault!” he told the universe firmly. Ted snorted. It felt good to say that so he said again, but louder.

“It’s not my fault! You hear that, universe? Screw you! And put me back on my yacht!”



Ted pictured the yacht in his head. An image came to mind of a safety beacon. He wondered how it worked. He had always let André take care of it. What had André once said? “You really should learn ow zees work.” Ted recalled snorting as he shot back, “I can’t be bothered.” 

“Concentrate you A-hole,” he said to himself and tried to recall what happened next. But it made no sense. I had just opened the fridge to get the vodka. Vavoom! And just like that, the whole frigging boat had … disappeared. Or, at least disappeared for Ted. He opened the door and the refrigerator light must have gone incandescent. Like a giant flashbulb. Maybe a freak storm came up and lightning struck and that explains the bright light. I was shocked. That’s all. Electricity knocked me out. So, I fell down, hit my head and I must have been shipwrecked. And while I was unconscious, I dreamed about some weird dude being there talking to me about my life. He had promised to look into my “case” as he called it in my dream. 

“Concussion” Ted said to himself. “I must have suffered a concussion. It’s that damned Susan’s fault. If she just would have been okay with a martini like me, none of this would have happened.” 

Several of Ted’s neurons cast sidewards glances at each other. None dared speak aloud though. Ted had long ago beaten the crap out of all his truth-teller neurons. He tried to think back to what this imaginary dude had said. The chattering of his teeth made it hard to concentrate. But the dude’s name was some weird made-up rock-and-roll name like ‘Saint Peter.’ 

Photo by Darius Krause on Pexels.com

“Yeah,” muttered Ted. “He said he would look into my case. And then he said: ‘I can’t be bothered.’ What the hell kind of a thing is that to say?” 

The words for some insane reason echoed in his brain. Whenever the crazies at his club had asked why he never wore as mask, he’d always looked at them like they were garden slugs and said, “I can’t be bothered.” 

Ted turned and craned his neck to look out through a small gap in the rocks toward the sky. No sign of clearing. 

It looked to Ted very much as though this storm would last forever.

For once, Ted was right. 

Saint Peter had thought about reviewing his case. But he just couldn’t be bothered. 

Original drawing by Pierce Morgan

——————————————-

As Gold As It Gets

Do Unto Others

What Could be Better? A Horror Story

If Only…

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

That Cold Walk Home

Masklessness is not Manliness

Author page on Amazon

Plans for us; some GRUesome.

11 Saturday Jul 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, health, management, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 59 Comments

Tags

#Cult, Democracy, fiction, GRU, KGB, religion, treason, Trumpism, Trumputinism, USA

group of people in conference room

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Dmitry felt a lump in his throat. His turn was coming next. Even now, after all those months of work, the thumping in his heart might yet make him turn chicken. He couldn’t even hear the idea of his comrade Ilya. 

“Dmitry?” He turned toward the facilitator. It proved difficult, but he swallowed that lump in his throat and lunged forward. “I’ve been studying suicidal death cults.” He could hear the sighs and snickers but continued. “At first, it’s easy to dismiss them as groups of crazy people. But that is not accurate. Only the person in charge is typically crazy, in the usual senses of the word. But the people who follow along — even to the death — fall under his spell.” 

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The Commissar cut him short, “Yes, yes. But what does any of this have to do with … what’s the point of this? How does it help us achieve our objective.”

Dmitry realized that having started, he had the courage to finish. “It’s predictable. It’s controllable. I think we can actually create a death cult.” 

Dmitry smiled appreciatively and nodded at his comrades. “I know it sounds crazy, but let’s look at the data.” Dmitry tapped a few keys on his laptop and a correlation matrix appeared. He talked people through it. He then switched to a causal model with associated strength parameters based on his data. “Then, I applied this same model to two new countries in different societies. It works.” 

The Commissar nodded. “OK, Dmitry. Nice work. But so what? Our enemy already has death cults popping up from time to time. How is our adding one or two more going to help? Are you saying we can make them into suicide bombers?” 

Dmitry saw a chance to ingratiate himself to his Commissar so he took it. “That’s an even better idea but I hadn’t thought of it. What I was talking about was a large scale death cult. There is no theoretical reason to limit a cult to a few score people. The math says that we can … that we can do it with millions. We can get millions of them to commit suicide, but even better, we can get many of them — not quite so many — but likely 100,000 to be suicide fighters. Maybe more. It would take a whole program of historical research to find the relevant instances, Commissar.”

colosseum rome italy

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Olga shook her head. She could stand no more. “This is all theory. How the — it’s ridiculous. Only a few very disturbed people would go along with being in a death cult. You’d have to set up a whole infrastructure, institutions, philosophy. It would take decades to grow it to a million people and all along the way, people not in the cult would point out to them, 

‘Hey, you! You’re getting involved in a death cult! Is that what you really want to do?’
And, most of them would wake up and realize what would happening.”

“You raise good points Olga, but I am not suggesting we grow a death cult from scratch. I am suggesting we turn a large existing institution — which already has power and money — into a death cult. They have the language, the social media presence, the lists, the talking points.”

The Commissar broke in, “What are you talking about? What institution? The KKK?” 

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“No, Commissar, I am talking about the Republican Party.”

Silence crept in on titanic tank treads. Just as it had in Hungary. And East Germany. Before the damned Americans had ruined everything.

The gears were turning in the Commissar’s head. A plan, still vague, but forged with the realism that a half century of trying to destroy the Capitalist Dogs, had rendered in delightful deadly detail of doable mis-deeds. He mumbled under his breath, “Holy Mother of God! This might just work!” 

The room broke out in a general and quite unruly discussion for a few moments before the Commissar banged on the table. “SILENCE!”

The Commissar continued, “Thank you. Now, this may or may not work but it’s the newest damned idea to come out of this unit in years. No-one talks about this once you leave this room. No exceptions. Not even your lover. Not your mother. Not your two month old. Not even your frigging dog! We’re going to develop this idea and then present it to our glorious President Putin.” 

Olga frowned. “But Commissar, forgive me for stating the obvious, but they are not an illiterate people. It’s not like spreading lies used to be in some parts of the Middle East or Southeast Asia. They’re too educated to fall for it.”

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Dmitry glanced at the Commissar who seemed to be signaling that Dmitry was on his own with this answer. “Olga, I’m glad you brought this up. It’s an important issue. But this is the beauty of using the Republican Party. They have already spent decades getting the “base” to listen only to their propaganda channel and only read the sources that are approved. So, for example, many of them go along with a whole raft of lies about climate change. In a way, that’s already a death cult! All I am doing is suggesting how we can speed it up. They already deny reality. They already defend unethical behavior among their own. They accept their media sources and I doubt they will even notice when we start pumping out the propaganda.”

Olga shook her head. “Who would we find to lead such a death cult? Some one so desperate that they would be willing to sell the lives of their own citizens? That doesn’t really sound feasible.”

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Silence again descended upon the room like barrages of heavy artillery — but without the noise, of course.

Then, Ilya spoke up, “Many of them hate their countrymen with black skin or brown skin or red skin or yellow skin. We’ll pick someone with no ethics and no experience as a success. Someone who has failed at nearly everything he’s ever tried. Someone desperate for attention and adulation. And we can give him that. For that, he’ll lead the death cult. We can have the cult first turn their rage toward others. They will learn to follow that lead, killing mindlessly and with encouragement from their social media and television. Then, we just get them to turn all that anger and killing on themselves. I really think it can be done. Somewhere, in that vast land of greed, there has to be someone who’s a big enough loser to swallow the bait. I really think it can be done.”

“I  think so too,” said Dmitry.

“I really think it can be done as well,” said the Commissar.

“I really don’t think we can get millions of Americans to kill themselves,” said Olga.

burial cemetery countryside cross

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

———————————————————

What do you think, fellow citizen of the planet? What do you think? 

This story is actually the first of four chapters. Here are links to the rest of the story.

Chapter 2: Finding the Needle in the Haystack

Chapter 3: https://wordpress.com/post/petersironwood.com/5400

Chapter 4: https://wordpress.com/post/petersironwood.com/5422

—————————————————-

Trumpism is a new religion. 

The Loud Defense of Untenable Positions.

An Utter and Profound Failure.

Essays on America: The Game

Parametric Recipes and American Democracy

Pies on Offer: Mincemeat and Rhubarb

The Temperature Gauge

Corn on the Cob

A Once Baked Potato

Myths of the Veritas: All that Glitters …

08 Wednesday Jul 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, creativity, family, health, politics, psychology, Veritas

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

escape, fiction, hope, innovation, leadership, legend, myth, religion, story, tale, truth, Veritas, Z-Lotz

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Over the next several days, Shadow Walker’s memory and thinking improved. That turned out to be a good thing because otherwise, even though he asked, indeed insisted that Tree Vines tell him in excruciating detail everything he saw from a number of public executions, he himself would have become hopeless. But Veritas were trained from an early age to push away hopelessness and instead to plan. Of course, this did not make them impervious to circumstances. Understanding the reality of one’s circumstances, even if unpleasant, always proved crucial to maximizing one’s chances for survival. 

As Shadow Walker and Tree Vines reviewed the latter’s memories of the killings together, Shadow Walker probed for more and more detail. Veritas early memory training, it became clear to them both, proceeded along similar lines and had similar benefits on both sides of the Twin Peaks. Tree Vines had learned more of the Z-Lotz and ROI languages than Shadow Walker. He explained to Shadow Walker that his friend Eagle Eyes, if she had survived, would likely be in prison not too far away. Rumors were that NUT-PI had planned some sort of giant celebration with lots of torture and killing to take his people’s attention away from a rampant plague that was killing scores of people. Apparently, NUT-PI had at first refused to believe there even was a horrible disease among the Z-Lotz, and then he claimed it was only the impure in spirit or those who were disobedient to him or his interpretations of the Great Sky Bear’s law who had anything to fear. Many from among the most devout of the Z-Lotz had also died. 

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Food and water were scarce. On the one hand, Shadow Walker felt the need to conserve his energy for an escape attempt that might require every ounce of energy. On the other hand, he also needed to keep his bones and muscles strong. So, he exercised for short periods of time, but very vigorously and he encouraged Tree Vines to do the same. The exercises themselves helped them from slipping into a vague and vacant hopelessness. Shadow Walker encouraged the other prisoners to follow suit. At first, only a few joined in, but when the other saw the obvious improvement in mood, they began to join in. 

Shadow Walker avoided dwelling on those aspects of his current reality that most distressed him but he did need to note them. Most disconcerting of all were the uncertainty about Eagle Eyes and the fact that his pouch containing his six Rings of Empathy was missing. He assumed someone had stolen it when he had been clubbed on the head. Somehow, playing with the rings always made him feel closer to Many Paths. Now, he had to be satisfied with closing his eyes and imagining he had the rings. 

Another disconcerting thing was the weight and discomfort of the large extended collar that hung around his neck and then opened up into a kind of chest covering. It seemed to be made of the same stuff as the strange metal door that he had encountered on his first visit to the Z-Lotz and the sword that he had taken in the burnt forrest. All the prisoners had these strange shiny collars. These collars seemed impossible to remove and each prisoner’s had some of the strange marks that Tu-Swift had begun to decode. Every few hours, Shadow Walker’s mind returned to the idea of somehow using these collars as weapons. They should be useful. They were made of the same strange stuff as the swords … but how could they be used when they were so tightly attached? The puzzle maddened him and Tree Vines shared his intuition about their potential value, but other than trying to smash a guard with the chest plate, they couldn’t work out how to remove the blasted thing in order to use it as an effective weapon.

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On sunny mornings, which predominated in the summer, a bright shaft of light streamed into the otherwise dank and cheerless cell. Tree Vines smiled one morning as he sat in this shaft of light and said to Shadow Walker, “Watch this.” At night, a fair number of rats stole into their cell searching for bits of food the prisoners had dropped or overlooked. The prisoners generally shooed them away. Tree Vines used the sun’s reflection off of his metal shirt to chase the rats away. Shadow Walker chuckled appreciatively. “At least, these damned things are good for something.” 

One morning about a week after Shadow Walker’s capture, everyone in the cell awoke early because of a great commotion and chatter among the guards. The prisoners could also hear the hum of activity outside. Their only window was too high up to see anything except sky, but they could tell that a great many people seemed to be gathering and chatting excitedly about something. Soon, the prisoners themselves were speculating, mostly in Z-Lotz, about what was up. The door to the prison cell slid open and many warriors entered along with the guards. For a moment, Shadow Walker considered trying to run out the open door, but there were too many warriors and they were too concentrated. They had swords and clubs and their demeanor made it clear that they would brook no nonsense. They strung a long chain through a hole at the back of the collar. The guards held the ends of the chain and ushered the group outside. 

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They were greeted by a beautiful summer day. They were led over to a long bench. The prisoners needed to squint against the sun which was now high in the sky behind the throne on which NUT-PI sat in his golden crown. Shadow Walker strained to lean forward so he could better look to the left and right. He could see Eagle Eyes! He tried to catch the eye of Tree Vines but with his neck constrained and three people between them, it proved impossible. Shadow Walker caught a glimpse of the man’s face. A worried smile seemed to play over his features like a summer day with racing shadows from passing clouds. Shadow Walker glanced up. There were no clouds today. Only a circling flock of birds high above. 

Shadow Walker craned his neck forward and backward trying vainly to whisper to Tree Vines. He saw that the female prisoners had all been outfitted as well with the same metal collars which, in the case of the women and girls, covered their ribs and stomachs but not their breasts. Suddenly, a loud gong sounded and reverberated through the stone walls of the Z-Lotz city. A man with a very loud voice stood next to NUT-PI intoning: “SILENCE! You may cheer when the rape and torture begin. First, let us hear from our great leader. If you talk while he talks, you will miss the entertainment. You will become part of the entertainment.” Everyone fell silent.

NUT-PI stood and a thick fake smile spread across his lips as he spoke. “Thank you so much for your attention. Our great city has suffered a plague brought by strangers to our fair land. Luckily, because of my leadership, we have defeated this enemy as we defeat all enemies — with strength of purpose and fierce loyalty to me and the words of the Great Sky Bear told through me! Now, that we have defeated this plague, it is time for some much deserved entertainment. First, on offer, we have three score young women and girls. I don’t want to spoil the surprise ending but for starters, they will all be brought before me and forced to look at me.  I can watch them look at my eyes while they are raped. Then, I can watch the life drain out of them as they are slowly strangled. Or not, as is my fancy. Then, we will do the men as well. But first, they can watch their wives and daughters be raped. Guards, bring them one by one over here for my pleasure. Start with the youngest.”

Despite the threat of death, some of the women began to scream and beg for mercy. One voice rang out above the rest. It was the voice of Eagle Eyes. She was not begging for mercy but singing some weird toneless, loud, and long scream. What was she doing, wondered Shadow Walker. She’ll get herself killed right away! He heard a distant echo of her scream from the … no, it wasn’t really an echo, he realized. The pitch was higher. What — ? Then the motion caught his eyes and they reflexively shot upwards. He saw a score of eagles diving toward NUT-PI. A moment later, he saw them them too. At first, his mouth stood agape, but then, he grabbed his nearby Killing Stick and took aim at them. All at once a host of … bees or butterflies flew around his face. He fired the Killing Stick. So far as Shadow Walker could tell, he missed all the eagles, but several of the nearby Z-Lotz screamed and fell. 

selective photography of flying black falcon

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Shadow Walker shook his head. He couldn’t believe that someone had trained bees or butterflies to … no, no… he realized suddenly that they were not bees or butterflies. Those are reflections, he said to himself. Eagle Eyes and many of the women were adjusting their shiny collars to reflect the sun into the eyes of NUT-PI so that he couldn’t see clearly. Forgetting the guards warnings, he shouted to Tree Vines. “Focus the reflection of your collar and chest plate onto NUT-PI’s face. Tell the others to do the same!” 

At first, a host of reflections scattered around NUT-PI, the gong, and the throne. NUT-PI waved his hands at them as though he were scattering a swarm of bees. Then, a thin and piteous scream emerged from his lips as more and more of the reflections converged on his face. He dropped the Killing Stick as he tore at his eyes and tried to cover his face with his hands. The back of his hands began to burn. The smell of burning flesh seemed to antagonize the eagles who now pecked at the squirming writhing NUT-PI. Blood began to pour from various places. NUT-PI screamed out, “Kill them! Kill them!” 

His guards looked at each other, wondering who it was they were supposed to kill. Prisoners? Eagles? The Z-Lotz? No-one wanted to be responsible for misinterpreting an order. They were still wondering what possible order to follow as NUT-PI collapsed and fell silent. The voice of Eagle Eyes rung out loud and clear. “Your King NUT-PI is King no more. He dead. He defeated by messenger from the Great Sky Bear. Shadow Walker! Guards! Unchain new King. Unchain Shadow Walker! Fulfill the great prophesy of Great Sky Bear! He has used the power of the Great Sky Bear to become new king!” 

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Shadow Walker felt even more confused than when he had been banged on the head and awakened in prison. He squinted and frowned at Eagle Eyes. He vaguely felt the chain being slid out of his collar and the guards did something to unlock it. He had constructed numerous example plans for escape but none of them looked anything like this! Eagle Eyes had her own plan apparently. He walked toward the throne, his mind racing about how to embrace and amplify her plan. A conversation with Cat Eyes sprung into his head. Many of the Z-Lotz did not even believe anything about their religion, but they all acted as though they did. If that were true, maybe he could convince them that he was their new king. No, he corrected himself. He didn’t need to convince them. He only needed to act as though he were king and they would accept it. They had accepted NUT-PI as their ruler — clearly a deranged and cruel leader who cared almost nothing about his own people. He had been a coward at the battle of the three roads and he was a coward in ruling and a coward in death. 

Play the part, Shadow Walker told himself. Play the part. Slowly and with as much dignity as he could summon, he strode to the throne. The birds jumped away for a moment as he neared and he noticed among the wreckage of NUT-PI’s finery, the leather pouch which held his Rings of Empathy. He snatched it up. He looked out at his audience of prisoners, ROI, and Z-Lotz. He could see that many were still sick, swaying feverishly and covered with ugly red dots on their faces and hands. This was NUT-PI’s idea of “conquering” the plague? No time for that. People expected him to be leader, so that’s what he needed to be, at least for now. He glanced at Eagle Eyes and allowed the slightest flicker of a smile to cross his face. 

Shadow Walker turned to face the crowd. He wished he could speak more fluent ROI or Z-Lotz, but he didn’t. So he used sign language to enhance communication. He forced himself to speak in a strong steady voice.

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“Greetings, brave and strong people of the Z-Lotz and ROI. I have bested your king. I am now king. That is your way. Our way. The way of the Great Bear in the Sky. The Great Sky Bear told me to come here. The Great Sky Bear said that the Z-Lotz need new King. Old King did not help you cure your plague. Old King was cruel. Old King hated families. Old King liked killing. Great Sky Bear does not like killing for no reason. Great Bear of the Sky loves you. Great Sky Bear loves all things that swim, fly, and walk. Great Bear of the Sky does not love Killing Sticks. Shadow Walker swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he tried to break the Killing Stick. Perhaps it would kill him first. He considered taking it and throwing it in a lake or burying it, but destroying it immediately would be far more dramatic…and far less safe. He noticed where people had been hurt. The Killing Stick was pointed toward them like a spear or an arrow. So, he made sure that part of the Killing Stick was pointed away from everyone as he smashed it against the stones behind the throne. 

After he did that, he heard a cheer. It was Eagle Eyes. But many joined her cheer. He did not want to lose that energy and have people begin to miss NUT-PI. So, he continued to speak. “I bring you great news from Great Sky Bear. No more are we to steal children. The Great Sky Bear loves families. The Great Sky Bear loves families together, not apart. Release the prisoners! The men had already released themselves, but now the guards released the women and girls as well. It seemed that nearly all prisoners were part of families. Shadow Walker reflected that all of these people had come to the middle of town to watch entertainment, so he’d better provide some and quickly, he reckoned. But what? What?

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—————————————-

The Creation Myth of the Veritas. 

The Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

The Myths of the Veritas: The Forgotten Field

The Myth of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy.

 Author Page on Amazon.

First of several stories about a child sociopath. 

Three poems about a pandemic: 

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

     The Watershed Virus

Trumpism is a new religion. 

 

True Believer

14 Thursday May 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

ethics, fiction, mystery, preacher, religion, short story

church altar

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“Walllll,” began Grandpa; as he always did, with a long pause and a sucking of false teeth as he held that final labial consonant, “yep, there marched time, quicker than you believe, conceive…”  (He had that oh-so-annoying habit: rhyming terminal words). The rain pitter-pattered on the canvas of the huge gray tent. Alabama’s like that: sunny days; drenching night-ways. 

He gobbled another greedy shot of Jack Daniels. Spat. Rolled eyes to skies.  (Oh, Lord, not me too.)

“…when Earth hung lower on firmament’s edge, and all of us’ns believed in the Testament.  AMEN!”

His glory days as child wonder preacher got juiced up with juice. Even in those glory days, that sad, dark, wooden church held a few dozen and that was on special occasions. But it didn’t matter. Because in his mind, he was preachering before the congregation of a magnificent cathedral if not God’s own thrown.

“A-MEN!” he repeated, as though this one AMEN was the one that would put us over the top and headed toward the Promised Land. He said ‘Amen’ as though his life depended on it, and perhaps he really thought it did.

I could see Light, Holy Light, rekindle in his eyes. “We BELIEVED! And, God so loved the World of Alabama that He gave his only begotten Son, who won, the One thing that is Done. AMEN!”  

Well, he foamed in fine form for this night, I thought, shaking my hanging head slowly, perhaps, showily. 

“And, Oh, Dearest God, what have you revealed, concealed from your flock, your true stock?” 

The crowd began to sway and have its say, “AMEN!” came the shout above the rain, explode the brain.

“The Ghost, the HOOOOOOOLY Ghost…will enter you and make Him Yours and He makes you His. Yeah! It’s the Way! Can I hear you say Yeah!?”

Shouts all around. Surrounded in sound, I found myself hoping for a Sign, a Line, a Find of Mind. I die. I see the Lie, but cannot fathom Why. Oh, Why?  

680174EA-5910-4F9B-8C75-C15B3136FB06_1_105_cAuthor Page on Amazon

If Only: short mystery about a chance meeting on Tower Bridge around 1900.

Donnie Plays Bull-Dazzle Man. 

 

A Mere House of Mirror

19 Sunday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, politics, psychology, story, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

bias, Carnival, COVID19, empathy, fiction, Fun House, insight, Mirrors, prejudice, racism, relationships, religion, short story, truth

Chapter One: Mere Mirror

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The hot, humid, cloudless August day offered not the slightest breeze of comfort. The girls had finished their snow cones only three minutes ago, and they already felt the stifling heat. They looked around for some shade. Jean jumped up and down and pointed excitedly at the large wooden structure ahead of them. 

“Jean, I don’t want to go in there. I hate Fun Houses.”

“This one’s cool, Wilm. Totally! Outstanding mirrors.”

The sun shimmered on the Rye Playland sidewalks. Sweat beaded on Willamette’s forehead. “Some old pervert’s always trying to grab at you in there.”  

skate ramp

Photo by Harm Jakob Tolsma on Pexels.com

Jean nodded and then laughed. “Maybe some cute young guys too. Ever think of that? Come on!” 

“I don’t want to be groped by anybody, Jean!”

“No, me either. But, you know we might meet some cute guys. What say, Wilm?” 

Willamette half-smiled in surrender. They sauntered over, trying to time their arrival to coincide with any nearby hunks. Sure enough, a couple cute guys were about to get in line behind them when two white trash hillbillies slid in first. 

Willamette rolled her eyes, knowing that some stupid skeleton would flash in front of her and make her scream and she told herself she wouldn’t but she always did anyway. She wondered why she had let Jean talk her into this.

This time was no different. She screamed when the skeleton jumped out,  just as she knew she would. She cursed at herself for it. Then, she nearly fell flat on her face when they stepped onto the stupid steel rollers. She was about to protest to Jean that she still hated these places. But Jean had disappeared.  Willamette could see the house of mirrors around the corner. At least, she thought, this part won’t be scary.  

Willamette looked in the first mirror. Her eyes Zombied. In the mirror in front of her stared a horrified old man with pasty white skin and unkempt dirty black hair.  What an illusion! She laughed. But the laugh that came out was an old man’s whisky-roughened laugh. Her eyes slowly gazed down at her hands.  

Her hands were gone.  

In their place were the gnarled fingers of an old man, white skin, blue veins, dirty fingernails.  

She screamed. 

And, then she screamed at the gravely sound of her own voice. 

—————————————-

Chapter Two: Mirror, Mere

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“Come on, y’all’ll enjoy it.”

“Sounds stupid. Ain’t been in a ‘Scare Houses’ since I was twelve.”

“This here one’s great!” Jay-Bob snickered and winked at his buddy, Willard. “’Sides, you can cop a feel.”

Willard’s pale skinny finger fluttered toward the facade. “Looks like the same stupid grinnin’ clown and the same ugly witch as back in ‘Bama.’  What’s so special about this’n?”

“These New York dudes got themselves some whiskey cool mirrors.”

“One’s thang’s for danged sure. These here Ryeland tickets costs ’bout ten times our state fair for the same danged rides.”

“Come on, Willard, give it a go.”

“Fine.” Willard spied two teenage girls joining the line, and sidled in behind them. One had tight slacks but the other wore a loose cotton dress. Didn’t she know about that blast of air? Or, maybe she did. Liked, in fact, showing off her panties. Pink? Black? He wondered to himself.

The dark, the pop-ups, the rollers. Willard’s eyes adjusted slowly to the dark. The youngsters eyes adapted much faster and they immediately sped ahead out of groping range. What’s next? Stupid House of Mirrors. Willard turned the corner. Where the hell was Gene?

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“Screw him,” he muttered aloud and wondered whether he’d be a beanpole or a midget.

 He looked in the mirror.

Willard didn’t want anyone else to hear his question so he used a stage whisper — though he had no idea what that term meant. 

“What the — !  Gene, how they do that?” 

But Gene had disappeared.

Willard blinked again at the cute, black teenage girl gaping at him in the

mirror; blinked; stared down to see skinny black hairless arms and the bluely

sparkled fingernails; screamed in that high girly voice; watched the ample

heaving breasts.

Then he screamed even louder at the sound of his thin soprano voice. 

————————————————-

Chapter Three: Mirror, Mirror

IMG_7590

“So, how’d we do, Gene?”

“Mmmm. The conditions were there, but no insight. No change. No enlightenment. Frankly, I think we’re in trouble, Will.”

“Drat.”

“Maybe the thing with human beings is…. I don’t know. If they’re too freaked out, they can’t reflect on their own prejudices. In fact, I don’t think they can reflect on anything. They just become scared bunnies.”

“But if they are too comfortable, they never change. They just sit and — whoa!  — Gene? What was that kind of trumpet blast sort of noise?”

“What do you think? We’re being called into judgment.”

“Already? Where? Over there? It’s so damned bright!”

“God is light. No surprise there. Hey, we gave it our all.”

“Small comfort, Gene, when we both fry to embers. I can’t see a thing.” 

“It’s too bright. There are brilliant lights omnipresently. All places seem to be light, bathed in light, reflecting light. I can’t see where I’m going.”

“All paths lead to the one path.”

“What? Oh, great, we’re about to be fried and you’re waxing philosophical. Not to mention Zen. Wrong religion. What is it about you people?”

“We what people? Black people? Is that what you mean? People of color?”

“Christ, Will, how many millennia have you known me? No, of course I don’t mean because you’re black! I mean, ‘you people’ as in you intuitive types. You have to learn to think things through logically.”

“Excuse me, Gene, but you have to learn to listen to your intuitions! God IS ZEN.” 

“COME HITHER!” trumpeted God.

6D58577A-D98C-4100-8325-EA90BE444CE0_1_201_a

———————————

Chapter Four: Mere, Mere

59F746D3-44C7-4058-AB5B-69DF3980C697_1_105_c

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“You’re the real black.”

“You’re the real whitey.”

“You’re just a youngster.”

“You’re old.”

“You’re a thievin’ female wench. Give me my body back!”

“You pervert dirty old man! Your body disgusts me!”

“You stole my body!”

“Man! What?! Why on God’s green earth would I covet this ancient body? Why? I had my whole life ahead of me. I hate crappy wrinkled fingers — fatty yucky sides!” 

man hands waiting senior

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“Yeah, well I miss my –.  Never mind. I liked bein’ a man.”

monochrome photo of woman smiling

Photo by Avonne Stalling on Pexels.com

They sat on very separate stumps in an unending forest of stumps. Overhead, the sky shone pale blue. No crows cawed in the distance. No planes vapor-trailed. No faraway cars hummed along the Interstate. They stared into the infinite horizon of flat waveless ocean. They sat silent for a long, long time.

Finally, s/he spoke. “Does it really matter? I mean, here, does it matter?”

“Maybe it don’t. You might have a point.”

They sat for a moment looking out silently at the endless sea.

“Did it ever really matter? Really?”

“Dunno. But we need water. Fer sher. Not sea water. Fresh water.”

FDC90856-D493-4828-80DE-853D923627CF_1_105_c

“Check. I’ll search that-away. Yell if you find anything. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Willamette and Willard took ten steps apart; turned back simultaneously, stared, shook their heads in unison and laughed. It can’t be truly said that it was a hearty laugh, or even a pure laugh, but it was a laugh. It was a beginning. 

How to find water? If water reflects sky, might not sky reflect water to those with open eyes and open hearts …when human survival depends upon it?

One may hope. One may hope. 

7551D277-6606-4C1B-9E06-5E4E44C81A64

—————————

Essays on America: Labelism

Pattern for Collaboration: Find and Utilize Diversity

America

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