Thursday, August 13, 2009

Philip K. Dick's "Beyond the Door"

Philip K. Dick's "Beyond the Door" An adaptation of the short story of the same name

~ Did you ever wonder at the lonely life the bird in a cuckoo clock has to lead—that it might possibly love and hate just as easily as a real animal of flesh and blood? Philip Dick used that idea for this brief fantasy tale. We're sure that after reading it you'll give cuckoo clocks more respect. ~

Larry Thomas bought a cuckoo clock for his wife—without knowing the price he would have to pay.

That night at the dinner table he brought it out and set it down beside her plate. Doris stared at it, her hand to her mouth. "My God, what is it?" She looked up at him, bright-eyed.

"Well, open it."

Doris tore the ribbon and paper from the square package with her sharp nails, her bosom rising and falling. Larry stood watching her as she lifted the lid. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall.

"A cuckoo clock!" Doris cried. "A real old cuckoo clock like my mother had." She turned the clock over and over. "Just like my mother had, when Pete was still alive." Her eyes sparkled with tears.

"It's made in Germany," Larry said. After a moment he added, "Carl got it for me wholesale. He knows some guy in the clock business. Otherwise I wouldn't have—" He stopped.

Doris made a funny little sound.

"I mean, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to afford it." He scowled. "What's the matter with you? You've got your clock, haven't you? Isn't that what you want?"

Doris sat holding onto the clock, her fingers pressed against the brown wood.

"Well," Larry said, "what's the matter?"

He watched in amazement as she leaped up and ran from the room, still clutching the clock. He shook his head. "Never satisfied. They're all that way. Never get enough."

He sat down at the table and finished his meal.

The cuckoo clock was not very large. It was hand-made, however, and there were countless frets on it, little indentations and ornaments scored in the soft wood. Doris sat on the bed drying her eyes and winding the clock. She set the hands by her wristwatch. Presently she carefully moved the hands to two minutes of ten. She carried the clock over to the dresser and propped it up.

Then she sat waiting, her hands twisted together in her lap—waiting for the cuckoo to come out, for the hour to strike.

As she sat she thought about Larry and what he had said. And what she had said, too, for that matter—not that she could be blamed for any of it. After all, she couldn't keep listening to him forever without defending herself; you had to blow your own trumpet in the world.

She touched her handkerchief to her eyes suddenly. Why did he have to say that, about getting it wholesale? Why did he have to spoil it all? If he felt that way he needn't have got it in the first place. She clenched her fists. He was so mean, so damn mean.

But she was glad of the little clock sitting there ticking to itself, with its funny grilled edges and the door. Inside the door was the cuckoo, waiting to come out. Was he listening, his head cocked on one side, listening to hear the clock strike so that he would know to come out?

Did he sleep between hours? Well, she would soon see him: she could ask him. And she would show the clock to Bob. He would love it; Bob loved old things, even old stamps and buttons. He liked to go with her to the stores. Of course, it was a little awkward, but Larry had been staying at the office so much, and that helped. If only Larry didn't call up sometimes to—

There was a whirr. The clock shuddered and all at once the door opened. The cuckoo came out, sliding swiftly. He paused and looked around solemnly, scrutinizing her, the room, the furniture.

It was the first time he had seen her, she realized, smiling to herself in pleasure. She stood up, coming toward him shyly. "Go on," she said. "I'm waiting."

The cuckoo opened his bill. He whirred and chirped, quickly, rhythmically. Then, after a moment of contemplation, he retired. And the door snapped shut.

She was delighted. She clapped her hands and spun in a little circle. He was marvelous, perfect! And the way he had looked around, studying her, sizing her up. He liked her; she was certain of it. And she, of course, loved him at once, completely. He was just what she had hoped would come out of the little door.

Doris went to the clock. She bent over the little door, her lips close to the wood. "Do you hear me?" she whispered. "I think you're the most wonderful cuckoo in the world." She paused, embarrassed. "I hope you'll like it here."

Then she went downstairs again, slowly, her head high.

Larry and the cuckoo clock really never got along well from the start. Doris said it was because he didn't wind it right, and it didn't like being only half-wound all the time. Larry turned the job of winding over to her; the cuckoo came out every quarter hour and ran the spring down without remorse, and someone had to be ever after it, winding it up again.

Doris did her best, but she forgot a good deal of the time. Then Larry would throw his newspaper down with an elaborate weary motion and stand up. He would go into the dining-room where the clock was mounted on the wall over the fireplace. He would take the clock down and making sure that he had his thumb over the little door, he would wind it up.

"Why do you put your thumb over the door?" Doris asked once.

"You're supposed to."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? I wonder if it isn't that you don't want him to come out while you're standing so close."

"Why not?"

"Maybe you're afraid of him."

Larry laughed. He put the clock back on the wall and gingerly removed his thumb. When Doris wasn't looking he examined his thumb.

There was still a trace of the nick cut out of the soft part of it. Who—or what—had pecked at him?

One Saturday morning, when Larry was down at the office working over some important special accounts, Bob Chambers came to the front porch and rang the bell.

Doris was taking a quick shower. She dried herself and slipped into her robe. When she opened the door Bob stepped inside, grinning.

"Hi," he said, looking around.

"It's all right. Larry's at the office."

"Fine." Bob gazed at her slim legs below the hem of the robe. "How nice you look today."

She laughed. "Be careful! Maybe I shouldn't let you in after all."

They looked at one another, half amused half frightened. Presently Bob said, "If you want, I'll—"

"No, for God's sake." She caught hold of his sleeve. "Just get out of the doorway so I can close it. Mrs. Peters across the street, you know."

She closed the door. "And I want to show you something," she said. "You haven't seen it."

He was interested. "An antique? Or what?"

She took his arm, leading him toward the dining-room. "You'll love it, Bobby." She stopped, wide-eyed. "I hope you will. You must; you must love it. It means so much to me—he means so much."

"He?" Bob frowned. "Who is he?"

Doris laughed. "You're jealous! Come on." A moment later they stood before the clock, looking up at it. "He'll come out in a few minutes. Wait until you see him. I know you two will get along just fine."

"What does Larry think of him?"

"They don't like each other. Sometimes when Larry's here he won't come out. Larry gets mad if he doesn't come out on time. He says—"

"Says what?"

Doris looked down. "He always says he's been robbed, even if he did get it wholesale." She brightened. "But I know he won't come out because he doesn't like Larry. When I'm here alone he comes right out for me, every fifteen minutes, even though he really only has to come out on the hour."

She gazed up at the clock. "He comes out for me because he wants to. We talk; I tell him things. Of course, I'd like to have him upstairs in my room, but it wouldn't be right."

There was the sound of footsteps on the front porch. They looked at each other, horrified.

Larry pushed the front door open, grunting. He set his briefcase down and took off his hat. Then he saw Bob for the first time.

"Chambers. I'll be damned." His eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?" He came into the dining-room. Doris drew her robe about her helplessly, backing away.

"I—" Bob began. "That is, we—" He broke off, glancing at Doris. Suddenly the clock began to whirr. The cuckoo came rushing out, bursting into sound. Larry moved toward him.

"Shut that din off," he said. He raised his fist toward the clock. The cuckoo snapped into silence and retreated. The door closed. "That's better." Larry studied Doris and Bob, standing mutely together.

"I came over to look at the clock," Bob said. "Doris told me that it's a rare antique and that—"

"Nuts. I bought it myself." Larry walked up to him. "Get out of here." He turned to Doris. "You too. And take that damn clock with you."

He paused, rubbing his chin. "No. Leave the clock here. It's mine; I bought it and paid for it."

In the weeks that followed after Doris left, Larry and the cuckoo clock got along even worse than before. For one thing, the cuckoo stayed inside most of the time, sometimes even at twelve o'clock when he should have been busiest. And if he did come out at all he usually spoke only once or twice, never the correct number of times. And there was a sullen, uncooperative note in his voice, a jarring sound that made Larry uneasy and a little angry.

But he kept the clock wound, because the house was very still and quiet and it got on his nerves not to hear someone running around, talking and dropping things. And even the whirring of a clock sounded good to him.

But he didn't like the cuckoo at all. And sometimes he spoke to him.

"Listen," he said late one night to the closed little door. "I know you can hear me. I ought to give you back to the Germans—back to the Black Forest." He paced back and forth. "I wonder what they're doing now, the two of them. That young punk with his books and his antiques. A man shouldn't be interested in antiques; that's for women."

He set his jaw. "Isn't that right?"

The clock said nothing. Larry walked up in front of it. "Isn't that right?" he demanded. "Don't you have anything to say?"

He looked at the face of the clock. It was almost eleven, just a few seconds before the hour. "All right. I'll wait until eleven. Then I want to hear what you have to say. You've been pretty quiet the last few weeks since she left."

He grinned wryly. "Maybe you don't like it here since she's gone." He scowled. "Well, I paid for you, and you're coming out whether you like it or not. You hear me?"

Eleven o'clock came. Far off, at the end of town, the great tower clock boomed sleepily to itself. But the little door remained shut. Nothing moved. The minute hand passed on and the cuckoo did not stir. He was someplace inside the clock, beyond the door, silent and remote.

"All right, if that's the way you feel," Larry murmured, his lips twisting. "But it isn't fair. It's your job to come out. We all have to do things we don't like."

He went unhappily into the kitchen and opened the great gleaming refrigerator. As he poured himself a drink he thought about the clock.

There was no doubt about it—the cuckoo should come out, Doris or no Doris. He had always liked her, from the very start. They had got along well, the two of them. Probably he liked Bob too—probably he had seen enough of Bob to get to know him. They would be quite happy together, Bob and Doris and the cuckoo.

Larry finished his drink. He opened the drawer at the sink and took out the hammer. He carried it carefully into the dining-room. The clock was ticking gently to itself on the wall.

"Look," he said, waving the hammer. "You know what I have here? You know what I'm going to do with it? I'm going to start on you—first." He smiled. "Birds of a feather, that's what you are—the three of you."

The room was silent.

"Are you coming out? Or do I have to come in and get you?"

The clock whirred a little.

"I hear you in there. You've got a lot of talking to do, enough for the last three weeks. As I figure it, you owe me—"

The door opened. The cuckoo came out fast, straight at him. Larry was looking down, his brow wrinkled in thought. He glanced up, and the cuckoo caught him squarely in the eye.

Down he went, hammer and chair and everything, hitting the floor with a tremendous crash. For a moment the cuckoo paused, its small body poised rigidly. Then it went back inside its house. The door snapped tight-shut after it.

The man lay on the floor, stretched out grotesquely, his head bent over to one side. Nothing moved or stirred. The room was completely silent, except, of course, for the ticking of the clock.

"I see," Doris said, her face tight. Bob put his arm around her, steadying her.

"Doctor," Bob said, "can I ask you something?"

"Of course," the doctor said.

"Is it very easy to break your neck, falling from so low a chair? It wasn't very far to fall. I wonder if it might not have been an accident. Is there any chance it might have been—"

"Suicide?" the doctor rubbed his jaw. "I never heard of anyone committing suicide that way. It was an accident; I'm positive."

"I don't mean suicide," Bob murmured under his breath, looking up at the clock on the wall. "I meant something else."

But no one heard him.

Chris Knowles interview on William Henry's Revelations


Could there be a connection between comic book heroes and real aliens, either unconscious or something created in the minds of comic book artists by the aliens themselves? Christopher Knowles points out many instances of comic artists being pop culture prophets, among them the fact that a book was drawn involving a face on Mars in 1959, and in 1971 the concept of the stargate entered our imaginations--out of a comic book.

Listen to the full interview here at Revelations with William Henry.

Gnostic Media: Bush, Al-Qaeda, and Blow Back - An Interview with John Loftus


Gnostic Media: Bush, Al-Qaeda, and Blow Back - An Interview with John Loftus

www.gnosticmedia.com

Interview with the former top US Justice Dept Prosecutor under the Carter and Reagan administrations about the history of Bush family crimes such as the funding the Nazis, as well as the US involvement in the creation of Al-Qaeda.

The Industry 7-9: Transformation, Rituals, Sex, Magick


The Industry Part 7 Transformation (links under the embedded vids are for eclipptv.com clips for those who can't see the vid cause of copyrights)

Don Omar - Virtual Diva behind the scenes, "The first part showcases his transformation from Don Omar, the human, to Idon, a being totally recreated and influenced by technology. Robot Gloves and claws. T.I. & Justin Timberlake: Dead and Gone ritual. Crossed Arms. Egyptian Sun Worhip. Turning head to cardinal directions. Serpent. Burning piano, burning of music and soul to sell out. Rainman: Demonic spirit that speaks through performers like Jay-Z, Eminem and Rihanna. Hillary Duff transformation. Beyonce at Oscars. Grease (lyrics).


The Industry part 8

Ciara and Super C. Ciara Go: Girl feat. T-Pain (The Mad Hatter) video. Black White Masonic Stargate Symbolism, Robotic Movements, Transformation up & down arrows. Nevermind the nrs. Taking it back to the hood? The Robot Hood? "Recreating her" in 3rd person. Ciara The Evolution cd. Beyonce Evolved magazine cover. Janet Jackson Capstone Pyramid performance. Control. Mind Control. Control of what I say and control of what I do, and this time I'm gonna do it my way, lol, the puppetmaster's way. Masonic Compass and fire stage. Britney Spears Robotic outfits. Metropolis worker. "I'm a slave for you." Miley Cyrus: The Climb. Pyramid with path to the top. Stairs of Masonry. Stargate. Rain water transformation. Sun worship.


The Industry Part 9 Sex Sells & Hollywood Magic Hashemsfilms.com clip

Magic: Sometimes known as Sorcery, magic is a complete conceptual system of thought, belief and knowledge that asserts human ability to control the natural world. So how does one control the natural world or "perform Magic"? It is a quite simple secret really: Manipulation of Emotions.

Emotion: An emotion is a complex pattern, involving experiential, behavioral, and physiological elements, by which an individual attempts tod eal with a personally significant matter of event.
Emotion arises without conscious effort and is either positive or negative. A good magician is a good behaviorist. Behaviorism: A philosophy of psychology based on the proposition that all things which organisms do - including acting, thinking and feeling can and should be regarded as behaviors. So in other words in order to perform "Magic" on a subject, one must control their emotional state and response. And in order to do that one must know their subject's behavior patterns.

So if the Magician studies or knows the subject's behavior patterns, the Magician can then manipulate the subject's environment to produce the desired emotional response. And the "spell" is a success. Magic has never left. Pills replace Potions. Holly-Wood movies replace wands. Media casts the spells (spelling, aaron :p).

The rest of the clip features: South Park Disney clip Jonas Bros & Chastity Rings VS Mickey Mouse. Sex Sells. Katy Perry riding phallic symbol. Britney Spears school outfit. Eyes wide shut clip.

Extra clip:


Justin Timberlake feat. Ciara - Love Sex Magic

Loving Sex Magick!? ;) Big Shades & Animal Prints. Check.

Everything ain’t what it seems
I wave my hands and I got you
And you feel so fly assisting me
But now it’s my turn to watch you

RZA: The Birth


RZA: The Birth
Thanks to Corbeau! I'd have to highlight the entire lyrics to this so I don't! But check out at the end of the first verse he (or his current alter ego Prince Rakeem) rejects his Bobby Digital alter ego (though there is another BD album after this one). On that: "RZA is well known for having multiple aliases, for different lyrical styles and personalities: Prince Rakeem, The Abbot, Bobby Digital, Bobby Steels. During his time with the Gravediggaz, he went by the name the Rzarector, which is for waking up the mentally dead."
and "I had to live in a way that I don't really live ... I got to dip my weed in honey, and I had mad bitches around me. I probably fucked with 50 bitches this year ... women are queens. But if they don't know that themselves, Bobby will prey on them. He'll treat them like bitches if they don't realize that they're queens. I had to get Bobby out of me, or else I'd be emotionally unbalanced. Bobby Digital is just me feeling my nuts. RZA is my heart." I still wonder how far this rabbit hole goes though, he says "I had to" ;).

[Intro: RZA (Daddy-O)]
Yeah, you knowwhatimean?
Cuz yo, this right here
Is called Knowledge of Self
When you apply that to yourself, you know yourself
You understand, yo, it's gonna get your third eye opened
You can see things for what they are, and not what they appear to be
Wanna kick the knowledge and pass this information to you?
Yo, there go the God right there, yo Peace, Born Knowledge
Peace God (Peace what up Bobby?)
Yo, yo... don't even call me Bobby no more, man (What I call you?)
My name is Prince Rakeem (Today's Mathematics?)
I see Today's Mathematics is being wisdom
Let me explain to you this way, God, the way I see it

[Chorus: female singer sample]
Ever since my Birth (no one there!)
I've had no one to care (worried all I know... yeah!)

[RZA]
They say wisdom, is the wise words spoken
By a brother attemptin' to open
The graves, of these mentally dead slaves
Who've been lost on a cross, for decades
And centuries, lookin' for the liberty
But receive nothin', but misery
And hard times, and things of that nature
By the devil in a genocide caper
Little Boy Peep, has lost his sheep
But I found 'em, in a deep long sleep
Nine thousand miles away from home
Livin' the life of a modern-day Flintstone
We the people, supposed to be equal
But the men who wrote that, they was evil
Slave owners, who did not include us
They just used us, and abused us
First they trick you, then mentally kill you
And use technologies, to rebuild you
This whole plan was a perfect scam
See that's why they called it, the Six Million Dollar Man
Six is the limitation of the Devil
In the Million square miles of land that he settles
Put you in a three piece suit, give you loot
Chemicals in your head to make you look cute
They use you as a fool to deceive your own people
And fillin' my children head with pins and needles
But I'll take out the pins you inserted
And I'll avenge all my mothers that you murdered
And brutalized, by this modern form of slavery
To speak the truth it takes bravery
And no man could stop my flow
Because I know what I speak and I speak what I know

[Hook: RZA]
What, becomes of a broken family?
Dreams are crushed and there's no more family

[Chorus 2X with RZA]

[RZA]
Yo, as a life can be slowed down 20 frames per second
Seen through Panavision
The inner light in my mind's eye shines expands the prism
A man of wisdom, victorious and the glorious
Sight beyond sight we stand up as Divine Warriors
Who smite with the mighty right hand of God
Yield the holy sword, swings the holy rod
Then bathe in the pond of Nirvana, escape the realm of Karma
Allow the true grace of God to shine through my persona
And build the reconstructional terms that's constructive
As we destroy the negative germs that's destructive
Productively, sincerely, we uphold the righteous banner
With the gold touch of Midas, mold the righteous hammer
And anvil, to the sound of Man-drill
Ignite to the speed of light cause time to stand still
Rewrite the script of Egypt, who made the Holy Bible
Or Koran, how long ago, who made the Holy Title?
Of I Self Lord And Master, who control the vital
Parts of your heart, who wrote the wise recitals?
Ruler Zig-Zag-Zig Allah, Arm-Leg-Leg-Arm-Head
Still puzzled like the jigsaw

[Chorus to fade]