Scenes From Unwritten Novels 2.1

In the past, history, storytelling, chronicling was oral, spoken, verbalized for 99% of humanities time here in this realm. Linguistics is a spell

Spell casting works especially via this route.

You get a touch of it through modern means of advertising, and marketing but this is controlled opposition.

True spells work stronger in the personal day to day. In the micro, not the macro.

Govern-ment,  Latin for govern your mind

To start your day, you are “A wake in the mourning.”

Hell-o you greet your family and friends.

To support yourself you go to your “Job” (Hebrew for condemned).

You do this to pay your “mortgage – which translates to death contract.

Undertaking to “urn” a living.

You trade your urning for “Possess-ions.”

To rest from the work, you celebrate your “weak end.”

A coincidence you might say. Yes a co-incident. An incident that was linked together, quantum entanglement- synchronicity.

Your mind is mined


Corporation – Corpus-ration.

Masses- do not describe people as cancer

I have not yet solved why water matters most to those who yield the power and crave control.

Revenue “stream.”

Banks, banks of a river

Liquid assets, Frozen assets

When you are in debt you are “underwater” but if you work hard enough you can keep your head up above water.

Scenes From Unwritten Novels 1.25

At Catholic Mass when I was a child and too small to see past those taller, a question I had, after the Priest raised the host and the wine the bells chimed. I asked my mother where the ringing was coming from.

She looked up and said it was the angels. I looked up too. What confused me further, was a week later, she lifted me up and pointed out the alter boys with the bells and the specific time to ring them.

This left me perplexed, as this did not explain the winged creature with fiery eyes that I saw and who saw me and followed me from that point forth.

Short Story: Numbers

My Father was born when the sequel to the World War was declared.

I was born during black and white TV.

I grew up whilst being raised by the Saturday morning cartoons.

I moved while denouncing the hair and inviting the speed.

My adulthood bloomed during the last death spasm of the newspaper.

I was married during the impetus of the internet café.

My child was conceived before, but was born after our new holy war.

I hate numbers.

Scenes From Unwritten Novels 1.24

When I awoke up from being dead I was met by my Executive Producer Chad.  His “HELLO MY NAME IS” sticker had C#8D. I could not pronounce it when he said it, so I called him Chad.

He let out a loud belly laugh that appeared like he was trying too hard but after the first minute I was convinced he meant it and he had.

“Oh, you so and so, the viewing public prized the monikers you gave to folks. A great number of the fanbase actually named themselves after the nicknames and formed groups. There was some violence but we can discuss that later. It is an honour for you to name me.”

I was sent along the way to the “Life to Post-Life” transfer station via an internal rail system. I had a whole train car to myself. Chad along with a phalanx of assistants were catering to my every need and preparing for the info dump. I was a star and I am dead.

Chad was a talker and it appears he let out more then he should have. His assistants also broke protocol and wanted my signature. Apparently licking a 2 x 2 clear plastic sheet with my image on it was a signature here.

We are not a simulation but it is close. We are programming, entertainment. We do have free will but Executive Producers for each person can influence certain choices. Though the fans don’t appreciate too much meddling these days. They want it natural.

Chad started prattling on about the breaths taken. They don’t call them ratings or views but breaths. Apparently, I was a reliable manufacturer of content. Though I lived a pretty predictable standard life, something about me caught on.

“Breaths for extraordinary people tapped out. There is no realism to the spectators, they can only see someone do boundless things so many times. The crowd loves normal unsuccessful broken people they can relate too. Like you.” Explained my guardian angel.

“Um, thanks, I think.” I said.

Chad stared at me, kneeled down in front of me at crotch level, put his hands on my knees. I was already uncomfortable and he mentioned my wife. “We have to talk about Sarah’s Executive Producers and her fanbase.”

“The biggest breaths for both your shows was the affairs you had, you naughty boy. It was a hit but her fanbase was a tad upset, some would say incensed. In fact, 1 or 2 of our group here are security. Her fans know you’ve arrived and they are upset but we have a plan. A few interviews with a Sarah friendly host or two will fix that all up.”

“They know about the affairs?”

“We… all… do. You’re a star.” He said, slowly and awkwardly.

“I’ve watched them on reruns a few times. Honestly, I’m impressed. Those ladies were way out of your league and you sealed the deal. Nice work.”

Scenes From Unwritten Novels 1.23

Mr. Lim appeared befuddled as he opened his door to a very thin gentleman. Nearly skeletal, gaunt and unnourished, Wednesday walked in sporting a three-piece wool suit and a fedora circa the 1940s.

The already seated Thursday and Tuesday with their combined mix of pink and blue hair and low-cut dresses, locked eyes, grabbed each other’s hand under the table, grinned, smirked and snickered at his fashion choice.

During the preceding gathering a century ago in Brazil, Wednesday arrived, outfitted as a French noble man. Wednesday continuously has had problems with mankind and their outlandish choices. The rest of them blamed his specific slot in the middle of their cemented pattern. They often found him confused, unable to concentrate.

Mr. Lim, watched this and remained confused. He did not recollect precisely why he rented out his restaurant for the evening. He recognized that boundless profit was involved. He recalled the basics of allowing his staff the night off paid…PAID? He remembered announcing it but he himself could not accept it as true.

A knock on his door took his attention away from his inward fog to the outside.  A leather clad, blonde spikey haired young man came in with outlandish sideburns. All of his fingers were saddled with extravagant large rings that shone bright. Friday had arrived.

He carried 2 books with him as well as a tablet that he was currently head down reading. As he always did, he used these gathering to discuss the arts of the day. Thursday and Tuesday whispered that it was just for show. He probably couldn’t read as they giggled to themselves.

When the days of the week were first beckoned by the boundless influences that control what we are, they arrived to the original meetings, mostly naked and confused. The rawness of these early assemblies had them meet in stark surroundings, forests, jungles, deserts.

As they acclimatized over the centuries to the predicament they were in, Sunday seemed to get unifying authority and was able to interconnect via feel influence and other stimuli to establish a time and place. He suggested his thoughts and messages into the cosmos to the others through intuition, fate and happenstance.

They had met in Prussia, Australia, or the land before it was named in the modern sense, the state of Venice and other locales.

Mr. Lim again tried to focus, but the fog in his head was too much. Monday walked in and chimed in with a sing songy “hellloooooooo!!!!”

She was carrying a large box with personalized gifts for all. With name tags and wrapping that was colour coordinated to suit everyone. Wearing a flowered dress that seemed to rotate slowly even as she stood still. The yellow sun hat seemed to emit a light on her. She was remarkably cheery and joyful.  She took two steps back and did a summersault which briefly showed her unmentionables. Juxtaposed with her caramel skin the purposefully positioned yellow daisy on her underpants stood out.  Thursday and Tuesday both believed that Monday was manufacturing the smile. Making up for the decades long undesirable status that has been burdened on her.

Saturday arrived. He stood tall. 6 foot 10, broad shoulders with a 7-foot wing span. His lengthy hair and beard, had an even grey pattern that flowed. He was dressed in black with a walking cane that he did not need. The cane had a silver wolfs head as the handle, with the teeth on full display.

Saturday asked for attention. “Eyes on me” he yelled at Thursday and Tuesday who were mocking his looks in their usual sardonic manner. He announced and proclaimed that Sunday, would again not be coming.

One and all objected noisily. This had been Sunday’s custom, habit and pattern and most were disappointed.

Scenes From Unwritten Novels 1.22

I paused.  Looked up and stared at her ancient eyes. “I’m sorry. I…. I just don’t understand……. don’t understand what you are saying? I’m confused. I…. “

She put her finger up and placed it on my lips.

“Please, wait let me, summarize…. generalize for you. There are tales. That we wholly recognize are true, even if we have not heard them before, we comprehend them naturally. Inwards.

A common certainty inscribed into our beings. Into our very depths. We observe these stories, we perceive these stories, we identify these stories…

These stories are profound, thoughtful, philosophical.

Though we do not know who is telling us these universal truths. Who is communicating, who is speaking, who is murmuring, mumbling, crooning.

Who is the Whisperer?”

Scenes From Unwritten Novels 1.21

Our rambling/pursuing apparatus had directed us right into a brash and gaudy and most assuredly unlicensed demonstration.

Youths outfitted garishly in 20th century garb equipped with placards and unofficial melodies that most likely had not been approved of. This collection this mob broke 7, possibly 8 audial laws with the lurid dins emanating from their facial apertures.

They have seemingly arrived from the slums of the suburbs to the city centre.

I protected my offspring, who I noticed lost in their own panic, pleading with me to explain this emotional upsurge.

“Maternal Figure, Maternal Figure, who are they?” cried the child. The poor specimen was only 21 and had never dealt with such shock.

I covered the offspring’s ears and tried to turn from one place to another but the disturbance engulfed us and we were swept towards the Peoples Hall.

My hopes raised as I noticed a phalanx of the Peoples Heroes approaching our way. The Peace/Safety/Tax Donation Couriers (PSTDCs) defended the Peoples Hall and might very well help us.

At that moment we were victimized as the rioters shrieked unpleasant words and sentences in the direction of the PSTDPs…..the hate speech, the rough century old mannish sentiment was palpable and I shivered.

“Go suck your mothers d**k” they screamed.

“Hey hey what do you say…..have you taken your puberty blockers today?” They repeated

“Time to drive your wife’s boyfriend to work.”

It seemed to never end.

Scenes From Unwritten Novels 1.20

Shaken from that vocal burst we all turned and gawked at its intended target.

Josephus had his feet balanced on the bureau in front of him. He stared back at the Major with a smirk. The left side of his sneer was curled and the upper left of his face had a seamless wave of wrinkles to them.

He stood up, stretched his shirt down and readjusted his bomber jacket over his shoulders and raised his cap so you could clearly see his eyes.

“Well Major, I feel we have some form of communication issue. It seems, and please, I don’t mean to be audacious, that you, maybe have, overlooked my present standing?”

“Ha, you’ve embarrassed yourself and your legacy to become GD garbage Merc? Oh no, I will never forget that. I can’t.” the Major replied, while looking down and shuffling his files on his desk and shaking his head.

Josephus sarcastically clutched his chest. “Stinging words sir. I’m a business owner, Entrée-PREN- URR” Josephus stretched that last word, alongside a terrible French accent.

He walked up to the Major and stuck a digit in his face.

“Every time there is an issue that you can’t deal with, I get the call. It is my head on the line when we venture into the big beautiful black for you. You want me to be accountable for my men and yours.”

“Major, you keep telling me I’m number one, but you’re using the wrong finger, baby.”

Scenes From Unwritten Novels 1.19

Can we get this briefing going?  Yes?  So, shut up, sit down and listen.

Thank you. Here we go.  No need for taking notes.  All info is summarized in the files in front of you. Soft copies will also be sent out after this “soiree” we got going here is done.

Boys, and lady. This is big money maniac time. The one we have been waiting for.  Our research team is very confident about the location and reality of this lead.  Score of a lifetime. Can I use more clichés? Yes, I can.

So, I got some hard ass Indian words that I’m about to read and pronounce. This is Indian (red dot, not feathers) so your patience is not only appreciated, but expected.

In a nutshell a few hundred years back, the Hindu King Sri Krishnadevaraya donated in his lifetime 423 diamonds, 30,000 gold coins and 2800 garnets to Lord Sri Venkateshwara in Tirupati. This has been missing or mishandled.  Where is this treasure? We think we know.  Buried in the northwestern Indian Ocean.

An Indian Government’s archaeology group that went into the matter of these gifts made by King Sri Krishnadevaraya to Lord Sri Venkateswara at Tirumala has determined that the present jewelry in the custody of Tirumala Tirupati Devasthanams, this point forward referenced as TTD, did not, I repeat, DID NOT match with those reportedly made by the Vijayanagara Emperor as per the inscriptional evidence.  AKA Fakes.

As per the previously mentioned inscriptions, Sri Krishnadevaraya, a devotee of Lord Sri Venkateswara, visited the shrine seven times during his lifetime, he’s hardcore, he made a variety of donations to this Lord during each visit.

Here’s the juicy part.  Totals of goods targeted are as follows: The Emperor had offered one Ratna Kireetam, studded with precious stones such as garnets (2822), emeralds (160), diamonds (423), rubies (3), sapphires (10), cat eyes (1), agate (1) and pearls (1,339) during his first visit on October 02, 1513. In all, its total weight is recorded at 3,308 tunkhas (each tunkha is equal to 2.5 grams).

Second visit, February 05, 1513, he dropped ‘vidudhara’ (a gold ornament), three pairs of bhujakeerthis, three swords with sheaths, I got dibs on that, called, stampsies no call backs, two sheaths with tassels, a pendent, two pairs of addigalapeta with a gold chain and a kireetam (crown).

Third visit, June 13, 1513, he gave nine kinds of precious stones. Sri Krishnadevaraya performed a ‘Kanakabhishekam’ for the Lord with 30,000 gold coins (varahalu) during his fourth visit on June 7, 1514. One ‘thrisaram’ (three-stringed ornament), a pair of kadiyams were donated along with the gold coins during the visit.

A copper statue of Sri Krishnadevaraya along with his consorts Tirumala Devi and Chinnadevi in the form of paying obeisance to the Lord was given during his sixth visit on October 16, 1518. A ‘peetambaram’ studded with nine kinds of precious stones, was donated in his last visit on February 2, 1521. The description of each antique with the kind of metal and the stones used is detailed in the report on your desk.

Royal Wedding

This will be my final and only statement on this subject:

Due to many unforeseen changes in my schedule, I regret to announce that I cannot attend the upcoming Royal Wedding.

Despite many “media” rumours, my relationship with the Royal Family remains as always, strong and full of respect.

I congratulate and wish continued happiness, love and good fortune to the young couple.

Ⓒ 2018 Giuseppe Morgante. All Rights Reserved.