*Buffy in Science Class* -- 14 April 2000 Monday, 6 Dec 1999, Drm: The scene: high school science class. Student seating is black-topped lab desks and chairs like what I had for real for biology and physics (10th and 11th grade). But whereas the real desks were two-person size, these are four-person. The room is seemingly arranged with the student section like in a quadrant around an open corner expanse for instructor demonstration and lecture. My table is in the front at the left side of the quadrant. The three other guys who share that table are already there -- the ones on each end at the table aren’t identifiable. My spot is the next one in from the left side. So, I’m approaching my seat, arriving for class. The guy who sits to my right has his black laptop computer in front of him that is turned on. In real-life, we were in grade school through high school together; he was all popular. The situation of importance is that he and Buffy (Sarah Michelle Gellar) have just recently begun going together. (She is sitting over with the counterpart girls at the table symmetrically opposite ours, the one in the front and farthest to the right. But that part of the room is a sort of peripheral now as I approach my seat.) I look down at the desk and his computer, and I conceive the idea that it would be cool for me to bring in all my Buffy wav’s (as diskettes), and so, refining my statement along the way, I say, “I should bring in half my Buffy wav’s,” while I visualize giving him a handful of Buffy wav diskettes -- for him to use in teasing. So as I’m sitting down, now Buffy is on her way over from their domain on the right -- she has to talk to the teacher, who, although he isn’t seen (near total peripheral), happens to be in front of our desk, off to the left. Buffy is going to have to perform this teacher interface right there in front of us guys, so I make good use of the opportunity. Because of the regulations for this environment, she -- in this situation -- will be required to use a certain military academy form of address. (This is based on the real-life plebeian address to an upperclassman, “Sir, may I make a statement?,” which, depending on the worthiness of the allowed statement, would be accepted or ridiculed accordingly.) So as she approaches right in front of our table, I playfully tease her, by mimicking in exaggerated inflection and just loud enough for all us guys and her to hear, “Sir!, may I make a feeling, and speak?!” Whereupon, Buffy -- message received, we’re all loving it -- goes through her required address form, with no inflection and almost as if with a role of the eyes, too, saying, "Sir, may I make a feeling and speak?” (She knew that genuine military effect wasn’t required, but she *did* have to stand straight and respectfully use that form of address.) It was funny, but although she was momentarily discomfited in the scene, also she liked being teased, for it *was* because she was so cute and all. [end] So, why is she chosen? From *Buffy* on WB, Buffy_ChosenOne_8M22z.wav (8-bit mono, 22Khz) Runtime is 2:12. File size = 2.85 Mb (1.69 Mb zipped) It’s found at . . . http://roswell.fortunecity.com/milkyway/416/summer/summer.html Five minutes after waking, I connected the dream to one Sarah -- “feeling” is the operative word. It goes back to the summer before my senior year of high school. Sarah recollection: it’s one very brief time in my life, just a few scenes in particular. This is the summer of 1972, at the fishing and camping ranch in Colorado where my family always vacationed. A girl arrives, really cute -- with “McGovern ’72” button, but I don’t care and I like her. In the first conversation at an evening cookout event, for some reason she tells that her little brother is a chess whiz. (And her father is a professor at MIT.) So, I say I should play him in chess, and that is what happens in the evening. I’m really just wanting to be around Sarah, of course, and impress her. As she watches, I actually win (-- and it’s the last game of chess I ever played, maybe later starting one, but finding I wasn’t at all interested). So I ask her if she wants to go for a walk or something, and she has to ask her mom. So, Sarah and I go for a walk under the clear summer night sky of the Colorado Rocky Mountains. We walk the mile down the gravel road to near Moraine Campground, and on to a spot in the pine trees overlooking where the south fork of the Colorado River -- Arapaho Creek -- flows into Lake Granby (This view overlooked the scene in the vision reported below.) And then we walk back to her family’s cabin. This evening was *perfect*. The next night, we guys are playing cards and drinking 3.2 Coors -- Sarah’s with us -- and they have to inform her what a Nixonian activist I am. She is incredulous . . . At vacation’s end, I wanted to stay in touch with her, but she says, “You’ll go back to Nebraska to all your girlfriends, and within a week you’ll forget all about me,” -- to which I demurred. Sarah is the most beautiful girl I ever kissed with. I hold absolute affection for the remembrance of the whole event set . . . under all those resolute stars, with the gold Star necklace at the top of her chest. I have dreamed of that place in Colorado a small number of times, usually with some distortion of the actual scene. But I have never dreamed of Sarah. Monday, 1 Nov 1999, Vision -- Like Morgan le Fay as a nine-year-old girl, blonde softly curled hair over her shoulders, sitting at the end of the dinner table -- a long rectangular white table cloth formal-looking set-up. The viewpoint is from above the center of the table, in front of her. She’s in a full, fluffy cotton-like dress, covered with a white apron. The dress shoulders are flounced and gathered smooth again at the upper arm (poufy shoulders, but gathered under a smooth strip at the upper arm, anyway). Its color is like maybe a pale blue, or blue and white broad plaid. (I’m thinking it’s Alice.) She is reaching out with her right hand, drawing toward herself a large glass of milk, out above the table arrangement. The smooth cylindrical clear glass is almost as wide as it is tall, and quite full; it barely fits her hand. The girl’s arm is trembling, and although the milk is shaking about, none is spilling out. Her countenance is in accord with her action, quite wrought-up. Thu, 30 Dec 1999 19:49:14 -0800, Vortex Future (subject: cards and chess pieces) to alt.dreams wrote: > I had a dream last night which I can't seem to interpret. I was >on a chess board and I think I was a pawn. Then a bunch of the >pieces came after me. They led me right off the board and into a >house made of playing cards. The cards collapsed on me, and the only >things I could see were spades and diamonds. Then, my friend says I >started yelling out God! God! Then I woke up, and fell back to sleep >instantly. Weird, huh? *Who Stole the Tarts?* . . . Alice watched the White Rabbit as he fumbled over the list, feeling very curious to see what the next witness would be like, “--for they haven’t got much evidence *yet*,” she said to herself. Imagine her surprise, when the White Rabbit read out, at the top of his shrill little voice, the name “Alice!” *Alice’s Evidence* “Here!” cried Alice, quite forgetting in the flurry of the moment how large she had grown in the last few minutes, and she jumped up in such a hurry that she tipped over the jury-box with the edge of her skirt, . . . . . . Alice looked at the jury-box, and saw that, in her haste, she had put the Lizard in head downwards, and the poor little thing was waving its tail about in a melancholy way, being quite unable to move. She soon got it out again, and put it right; “not that it signifies much,” she said to herself; “I should think it would be *quite* as much use in the trial one way up as the other.” . . . The King turned pale and shut his notebook hastily. “Consider your verdict,” he said to the jury, in a low trembling voice. “There’s more evidence to come yet, please your Majesty,” said the White Rabbit, . . . . . . “If there’s no meaning in it,” said the King, “that saves a world of trouble, you know, as we needn’t try to find any. And yet I don’t know,” he went on, spreading out the verses on his knee, and looking at them with one eye; “I seem to see some meaning in them, after all. ‘--*said I could not swim*--’ you can’t swim, can you?” he added, turning to the Knave. The Knave shook his head sadly. “Do I look like it?” he said. (Which he certainly did *not*, being made entirely of cardboard.) . . . “Off with her head!” the Queen shouted at the top of her voice. Nobody moved. “Who cares for you?” said Alice (she had grown to her full size by this time). “You’re nothing but a pack of cards!” At this the whole pack rose up into the air, and came flying down upon her; she gave a little scream, half of fright and half of anger, and tried to beat them off, and found herself lying on the bank, with her head in the lap of her sister, . . . 20 Jan 1988 -- By total coincidence, on the fifth floor of the library at the school from where I’ve been expelled and banished, I meet the girl -- one Morgan le Fay, who, at this time, is the only one I have ever told (in a letter mailed very early 20 Dec 1987) about the evidence for an establishing of space-time nodal structure and clustering, with inferences therefrom. But this day I had to inconspicuously go talk with a history teacher, . . and so there she is and I walk up to her, and I say hi, and . . looking off at the floor ahead of us as we walk to where she was working on stuff, she says, “That was *weird* . . . That was **weird** . . .” (her teeth like pretty much together, repeating it three times). 21 Jan 1988, Vis: A finned missile with two shorter straight-sided ones on each side, cream color , . . . Then a red finned one, the height of the other side ones, appeared in front of the tall one. (then,) Vis: A map grid, over islands. (and soon after,) Vis: A cigar, lit end toward viewpoint; then sideways, with a coned end of ash -- with -- (a god saying,) “Don’t ask.” (then,) Vis: A clear like-Arapaho Creek, before it runs into Lake Granby, only it ran in the opposite direction from the real place, I felt. (Of course, I right away thought of Sarah.) At the military academy, the disciplinary result for not meeting expectations was punishment tours on the area -- i.e., first an inspection (requires preparation and offers more opportunity to be found lacking), and then, whether Friday after class (2 hr) or Saturday afternoon (3 hr), walking (with decorum) back and forth between the gray stone buildings, with rifle, and thinking about stuff. In my cadet career, (my contemporaneous understanding is) I endured a total of 69 tour-hours on the area; . . lots of thinking about stuff. I have tried, but I can’t remember *having* a dream the sixteen months I was a cadet. My last day as a West Point cadet, after 16 months, was 12 November 1974. Within 24 hours by the end of 13 November 1974 -- the date of my discharge -- events occurred eventuating into two motion pictures; for one, a genre actually, with sequels. In the quiet town of Amityville, Long Island, a young man killed his parents and two sisters and two brothers while they slept in their beds. The New York Times, 14 Nov 1974, p. 2 -- . . . Neighbors said the family had been very religious and attended church regularly. . . [I]n the front yard is a statue of the Virgin Mary. The New York Times, 15 Nov 1974, p. 49 -- . . . Last Year the DeFeos installed a statue of St. Joseph holding the infant Jesus on their front lawn. The statue had a fountain and spotlights. Mr. Defeo also distributed statuettes of St. Joseph to his co-workers, saying, “Nothing can happen to you as long as you wear this.” The people who bought the house, George and Kathy Lutz, were able to stand the place for only 27 days -- even with the help of a dedicated priest and a young girl-medium. The Lutzes moved into 112 Ocean Avenue at 1:00 the afternoon of 18 December 1975. On 5 February 1976, New York’s Channel Five reported that the Catholic Church was involved in investigating the phenomena with the house, stating that two emissaries from the Vatican had arrived in Amityville in December, and were reported to have told the Lutzes to leave their home immediately. “Now the Church’s Council of Miracles is studying the case, and its report is that indeed 112 Ocean Avenue is possessed of some spirits beyond current human knowledge.” December 27 -- The Lutzes returned home from the wedding at three A.M. It had been a very long night. . . . Before the wedding ceremony, George, the other ushers, and the bridegroom had taken Communion in a little church near the Manor. During the ritual, George became violently nauseated. When Father Santini, the pastor of Our Lady of Martyrs Roman Catholic Church, gave George the chalice of wine to drink, George started to sway dizzily in front of the priest. Jimmy reached out a hand to his brother-in-law, but George brushed it off and dashed toward the men’s room at the rear of the church. After he had thrown up and returned to the hotel, George told Kathy he had actually become queasy the moment he had entered Our Lady of Martyrs. . . . That night, Kathy had a dream of Louise DeFeo and a man making love in the very same room she was lying in. . . . [In the morning] somehow Kathy knew that the man was not Louise’s husband. [Several weeks after they left the house] she learned from an attorney close to the DeFeos that Louise actually did have a lover, an artist who lived with the family for a while. . . . The Lutz family sped away from the house in their van, never to return, at 7:00 the morning of 14 January 1976. According to an experienced paranormal researcher, [T]he hooded figure and ‘Jodie the pig’ seem to represent a wholly different class of being. Orthodox demonologists believe that fallen angels can manifest themselves as animals or as awe-inspiring human figures at will. . . . Although George saw the eyes of a pig and hoofprints in the snow, Jodie *spoke* with Missy and thus was no mere animal ghost. And the entity who burned its visage into the fireplace wall and dominated the hallway on that final morning may have simply taken a less frightening shape to converse telepathically with a little girl. And the evening of 13 November 1974, out in the middle of Oklahoma, Karen Silkwood died in a car wreck on her way to tell a New York Times reporter stories about the Cimarron Kerr-McGee plant. The New York Times, 19 Nov 1974, p. 28 -- Death of Plutonium Worker Questioned by Union Official *Special to The New York Times*. WASHINGTON, Nov. 18 -- A high-ranking union official said today that the death last week of a woman who had raised critical safety questions about one of the two commercial plutonium factories in the United States might not have been an accident. The official [called for an] investigation into the death of Karen G. Silkwood, who died last Wednesday when her car crashed into a culvert a few miles south of Crescent, Okla. The crash was described as an accident by the Oklahoma Highway Patrol. . . In his telegram to Attorney General William B. Saxbe, Anthony Mazzocchi, Washington representative of the Oil, Chemical, and Atomic Workers Union, said an investigator hired by the union had found evidence “to suggest that Miss Silkwood’s car was hit from behind by another vehicle, causing her to leave the road and hit the concrete culvert.” . . . . . . Miss Silkwood, who worked in the Cimarron facility of hte[*] Kerr-McGee Corporation near Crescent, was on her way to a meeting with an official of the union and a reporter for The New York Times to discuss safety conditions at the plant. Two weeks ago, she was exposed to a large amount of radiation in an accident at the plant that the A.E.C. is still investigating. . . . The are varying estimates about the potential danger should the allegations of the workers about faulty fuel rods be true, Dr. Ralph Lapp, for many years a leading atomic power expert, said that, as a hypothetical situation, he did not believe faulty rods were much of a problem. . . . Dr. Henry Kendall, a leading nuclear critic and physics professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, disagreed. “These failures could start off an accident which would result in the release of huge amounts of radioactivity,” he said. The day after Miss Silkwood’s white 1973 Honda smashed into the culvert on the left side of the straight road, the Oklahoma Highway Patrol issued a report describing the accident but not offering any explanation for it. The accident , which occurred about 7:30 P.M., . . . In his telegram to Mr. Saxbe, Mr. Mazzocchi said that Miss Slikwood[*], at the time of her death, “was on her way to meet Mr. Steven Wodka, legislative assistant to the O.C.A.W., and David Burnham, a reporter for The New York Times, who were waiting for her in the Holiday Inn N.W. in Oklahoma City, Okla.” “Miss Silkwood,” Mr. Mazzocchi continued, “was bringing information concerning the alleged falsification of records concerning quality of nuclear fuel elements being manufactured at the Cimarron facility.” He said: “We are in possession at this time of sufficient evidence that we believe would lend credibility to Miss Silkwood’s allegations.” . . . [Mr. Mazzocchi said,] “The investigator . . . conducted his investigation on Saturday, Nov. 16, 1974. I spoke with him this morning and he has told me there is evidence to suggest that Miss Silkwood’s car was hit from behind by another vehicle , causing her car to leave the road and hit the concrete culvert.” . . . About the middle of December, 1974, I had my first dream relating with the military academy. Drm: It begins in a Huey (small troop transport chopper) at night over the Hudson River. We’re maybe at 2500 ft, not all that high. I’m at the right side of the chopper compartment, the side panel removed. We are seated on the chopper compartment floor, feet dangling over the edge -- the open spaces out before us. Perhaps there are several collaborators with me in the compartment. My mind is focused on the mission, as well as occupied by the discomfort this sort of circumstance engenders. We are going south. The Huey at one point turning to the east, I’m taking in the whole scene -- just up ahead, like two miles to the south, is the Tappan Zee bridge. Over beyond the east bank, this side of the bridge, are some clusters of city lights nestled in the darkened hills (-- that would be Tarrytown and Sleepy Hollow). It’s time for the mission. Now with the Huey orienting toward the south -- and on to the south-southwest, I jump out parachuting toward the Hudson. I land in the dark river getting swept in the current; only a slight momentary perception of the cold water. Then (dream time-shift) I’m getting out onto the west bank (no feeling of being cold or wet), west of where I landed (no current drift to the south). I stow my gear and properly conceal the parachute and whatever -- as the mission progresses right according to plan -- and carrying my mission stuff in whatever pack I had for that purpose, I trek up from the west bank to Highway 9W. There’s a black Mercedes four-door sedan waiting, pulled off the side of the road (my side, pointed north), idling, headlights on. (An ambient light is sort of glowing up the undeveloped area allowing me to see as I come out of the trees -- they are like pine trees.) Everything is rightly synchronized. I walk up to the back door and get inside. We’re going to travel north. (But I don’t know what the mission *is*.) [end/awake] * * * The night of 2 January 1986, on my way back to Tulsa after the holidays, I was standing outside the bus station next to the Lincoln Journal-Star offices on a short break-stop. It was just before midnight; I considered the future, looking up at the lambent red N on the west side of the stadium. 5 Jan 1986, afternoon nap in Tulsa Drms: In the pool: I’m swimming, backstroke. In the water by the wall, a guy and I talk about stroke technique, and how we did it in college. (Next) we’re up on the pool deck. I offer to share some snack with him. The scene is on a hill where I’m installing an engineering project. I consider sitting down for a break. Thinking better of that, I know I have got to be a bit productive. I’m driving around tract houses, the purpose of which is the showing of them to someone. I notice one house with its roof in stark disrepair. The New York Times, 5 Jan 1986, p. 1 -- WORKER IS KILLED IN NUCLEAR LEAK 70 Hurt in Oklahoma by Acid Cloud of Radioactive Gas *Special to The New York Times*. GORE, Okla., Jan. 4 -- A worker at a nuclear facility here died today after inhaling acid formed when a 14-ton cylinder ruptured, releasing a cloud of radioactive gas. The gas, a form of uranium used at the Kerr-McGee Corporation’s Sequoyah plant to manufacture fuel for nuclear reactors, combined with the air to form the acid, which injured more than 70 other workers and nearby residents, officials said. . . . Winds Dissipate Gas A plume of white smoke shot into the air above the plant as the tank ruptured and the heated gas reacted with the colder air. But winds of nearly 30 miles per hour “dissipated” the gas, said Clyde Wisner, director of the Nuclear Regulatory Commission’s office in Bedford, TEX. In Washington, a spokesman for the commission said the leak did not result in a serious public health hazard. “The real concern here is as a chemical problem, not a radiation problem,” said the spokesman, Joseph Fouchard. The plant was evacuated and closed and a team from the commission was sent to investigate. The nearest houses were about half a mile from the plant, where the company purifies uranium for use as fuel in reactors. In the process, the uranium is temporarily converted into a gas, uranium hexafluoride, the substance that leaked today. The gas formed hydrofluoric acid when it mixes with moisture in the air. [*] The acid’s danger lies not so much in its radioactivity, which is slight, but in its acidic properties. . . . Joan Lowe, who lives a mile south of the plant, said her husband, Herbert, a worker at the plant, called her minutes after the accident and warned her to leave the area. She said the acid “was so strong it burned my throat.” Residents of the area described the cloud of gas as “a penetrating fog” that looked like “smoke from a prairie fire.” Company officials said the leak occurred when a pressurized cylinder containing 14 tons of the uranium hexafluoride ruptured. . . . . . Mr. Stauter, the Kerr-McGee official, said “a thorough radiation survey will be conducted” of the area of the plant which is near Gore, a town of about 500 people about 100 miles southeast of Tulsa. “However,” he said, “a preliminary survey indicated that radioactivity on the public highways in the area is at normal background levels.” (Small map of Oklahoma showing Tulsa, Muskogee, Oklahoma City, and Gore.) * * * * * * Reply to: angel_marvelzombie@yahoo.com