REM-Cycle-May08

140508_0003C

Diesel Dark
Urban Assault 
Collaborative Project
Mike Conlon—Metal Magister
Mary L Marion—Style Consultant
Richard E Marion—Vehicular Manifestation
 Alive. Evolving.

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REM–Story–May07

140204_0002D

Chapter Three
Orange Sky Black Jet
Richard E Marion

Phillip K tried to focus. Darkness. Did he materialize BLIND? The dominant species upon the Land employed 5 Dimensional Frequencies for navigation and communicating. Hadn’t he chosen an Earthly Body Of Divinity from their native historical registry?

He [an arbitrary term] wondered if this WAS Land, after all! Deep inside their OTHER Land called Sea; dwelt Polychaete, Bristle Worms with sightless eyes who ate plant bits only to be consumed by larger Sea Brethren. Was Creation INVERTED here on Earth?

Adjustments > Invert Colors – Ctrl+Shift+I, pinged on an Electromagnetic Channel. Phillip K dutifully imagined SLEEPING. Counter-intuitive; but what had he to lose? Then bang! Light patterns came alive. Evidently Earth Folks were telepathic after all.

Already contacted by their Divinities! Found him, spoke him, saved him. Phillip K intuitively replied Thank You using the same EM Wavelength. To the Earth Intranet he internally verbalized, in the manner of Earth People, that he was inside the Black Jet. That was their word cloud for his partner Jet. Similar to tiny Sea Annelids, the Jet called Black had features made up of more obscurities …cuticle dorsal ventral vessels intersegments…

But the two of them were not an ACTUAL Sea Worm, fortunately. Through a transparent port he witnessed a very long tunnel of fluorescent green waves dotted with vanilla colored doors, forty-nine deep. At the very end was another large perpendicular vehicle bay like this one. Black Jet and Phillip K must be guests of honor. Indubitably. Or both ends contained parties in quarantine. Fifty-one was likely a Sacred Number on the Land.

There came another message: ‘Runnin’ Bear loved Little White Dove… With a love big as the sky… With a love that couldn’t die.’ Dirt People’s tribal primitive chanting! Yet… This second coded entry was ANNOTATED: 1960 Johnny Preston YouTube Sign In.

This whole show wasn’t flying according to Beta Phase Documentation. Phillip K parsed their Linear and Orthogonal Time. His Avatar: Philip K. Dick, an Under-Employed Word Magister, lectured about Linears and Orthogonals to the Earth Ones. It was called Water Off Duck’s Back. Except for a few… Saints? Earth Linguistics were simulated gems, multifaceted, cryptic, untrustworthy. So concluded two-L-letter Phillip K.

OK said Phillip K aloud to Black Jet. We will RESCUE their One reviled as Devil Dirt and praised White Cloud Supreme… simultaneously. He, PKD, is the individual we came to claim as Our Own. We theorize he is undercover; [the radar it is called] OR likely run off with the White Dove Woman of Johnny Preston. Any ideas, asked Phillip K? Black Jet attenuated his awareness.

BANG! Jet and Phillip K were assaulted by an incorrigible thought torrent… So many obscurities… How to record and filter and solve their puzzling web of chaos… Bummer! No instructions… Next a third packet was only two mysterious words long: Marilyn Manson. They were obliged to leave no stone unturned. This Black Jet Ship was Of Fools the Earth People believed. Huh!

Marilyn Monroe: Lovely Child-Woman into dust. [what was dust?] Marilyn Manson Eponymous: accused Archon. [doubtful.] Another Manson… Manson Skelter. [irrelevant]. Jet/Phillip were overloading, shorting out; it obviously happened a lot on the Earth Land.

Jet/Phillip looked down the Hallway Of Green and Vanilla. Approaching came three Earth-Entities. Seemingly of flesh, although they may also act as transmission beacons of Phillip K and Black Jet’s incipient mental torture after a mere 24 Terrestrial Hours!

Jet took the initiative: The three phantoms Marilyn Marilyn Manson Manson; these are called ‘Wild Cards’… A distraction, Phillip K Stupid! They have Demons on this Earth, too! The Demons randomly generate white noise. They are worthless witless idiots. Irritants nobody knows why they do it. Some say for the Hell Of It. Ignore!

You see… THESE THREE coming toward us on feet are more solid, CORPOREAL… Not Mind-Phantoms, you Phillip K Dumb Yak Turd! They likely are from their government here to help us. Help to find one-L-letter Philip. Wherever he may be.

This is why we came here! Remember?

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REM–Story–Apr22

140204_0002DChapter Two
Orange Sky Black Jet
Richard E Marion

Michael W Matheson operated a Repair Restoration Rodding Shop on US Route 1A at the tallest place of the Atlantic Shore in New Hampshire. His latest build was a 1966 Chevelle SS (Super Sport), F117A Stealth Fighter Black, 502 CID Crate Motor, and TCI 4L80E Automatic. A Price No Object Machine. Completed, he gave it to Randall Dee.

Randall’s Turnkey Supercar pulled into The Arielle Facility discreetly as 600 HP could. Randall Dee downloaded his Synthetic Twin’s evening log of the night’s activities beneath a spectacular star sky. Simultaneously Randall’s Double absorbed Dee’s cumulative daily consciousness journal of asceticism, eclectic study, work, and time with Louise Dee.

Synthetic Dee’s Neurons parallel parsed the eidetic text and Randall’s subjective interpretation of an eBook PDF ‘With Mystics And Magicians In Tibet’ circa 1930 by Alexandra David-Neel. Synthetic asked when was the ’30s? Before your kind said Dee.

Synthetic Dee was puzzled by YOUR KIND Randall called him. Immediately he decided this was a supremacist categorization. He challenged Randall Dee.

Did not the Higher Lamas, the Tibet People; conjure beings sentient alive, as Tulpa? Apparently, Dee agreed. Does YOUR KIND already manifest thoughts? The Children’s innocuous imaginary friends? A Spiritualist’s ethereal apparition? Suffering Lost Soul’s demon infestation? Randall had lost the debate right at the start. My kind, mentioned The Double, have long lived among the stars. We arrived as a courtesy. You invited us.

Randall remembered Michael Matheson mentioning the Synthetics had fewer empty spaces between their atomic structure than their corresponding human forms. Synthetic DNA, rather than being about 90 percent under-utilized was about 90 percent filled. Matheson wondered would this increase their operating frequencies? Were the Synthetics actually superior to their ill-informed hosts?

Synthetic Dee was a gracious winner. This made Randall doubly grateful as his likeness in addition to being better neurally connected, actually weighed more than Dee yet remained equally lean and sinewy. There was something else bothering Randall Dee however…

Randall gazed into his guileless brother’s eyes. Identical green gold brown irises revealed serenity. No victory nor egotism. Empathy? Yes. A sadness. The Synthetic waited. Still.

Then it occurred to Dee. The Synthetic patiently abided while this slower human likeness caught up and assimilated the full evening’s downloaded psychic dialog. A Black Jet silhouetted by the Sodium Vapor Horizon had arrived this very night, just before dawn.

Matheson nodded knowingly. Louise, a Psychic Medium, knew too. Randall Dee was the last to find out. He wasn’t accustomed to be the last at anything.

Synthetic Dee had been communicating with the Black Jet on its Intranet. Non-Psychic earth people not allowed; ‘members only’. The Black Jet fabricated of materials from star systems that were invisible to all eyes on earth; organic or mechanical or electronic. Randall replied stupidly. Where is it then, the Black Jet?

It shrank. Very small, Duplicate Dee said. That’s why you haven’t seen it. Then it reverted to its original dimensions. It’s sleeping dreaming where your inscrutable objects of interest are stored. Not alongside the Hot Rod Coachwork Cars. But brothers with them.

The Black Jet DOES TALK to your Machines; but garbled, foreignly, incompletely.

Below the ground. At your Level Zero the Black Jet is recovering from its journey.

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MLM–Paint–Apr08

140408_0001BOrange Sky Black Jet–Acrylics
Mary L Marion

Rich had a concept for a story based on what he had seen while at work one morning.

At 4 AM one morning while checking the perimeter of the building he was doing guard duty and he looked up in the sky and noticed it was starting to change with the coming of daylight. The dark sky was still above him mostly to the right with gradations into dark blue, dark gray, gray, dark violet and then a streak of orange closest to the horizon. At that moment a jet, probably from one of the airports near the town flew through the orange sky. Because of the time of morning (night) it was black with a green glow from the windows.

This started his creative writer’s mind going. Orange Sky Black Jet could be a story about another group of people traveling to this planet trying to find a better place to live. The story percolated in his brain for a couple of days and he wished he had a picture to put with the story. He looked at the pictures we have taken on our walks at the beach only two miles from our home. He took one and did his magic on it using the computer and a paint/photo program.  But he had the concept and when he explained it to me I could see what he was thinking so I asked him if I could do a concept painting of what he was thinking.

We worked on the concept together on plain paper then I got my canvas and paints out and created the painting. Total time was about three hours from start to finish. I consulted with him about an industrial spotlight shining up toward the sky and about the stars.

The next day after the painting had cured for twenty-four hours I put a protective coat of varnish on it. This painting is my concept of his concept of what he saw that early morning.

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REM — Story — Apr07

140204_0002DOrange Sky Black Jet
Richard E Marion

Randall Dee awoke before dawn. Eleven LED night-lights brightened their home base edging the Atlantic Sea. Louise Dee didn’t like the dark. An incoming tide masked subsonic and ethereal frequencies heralding the inbound Sea Sprites: migrant tribes from another galaxy needing a rest. They delicately entered Skyhaven’s vacated seasonal establishments.

Along Ocean Drive and Greenbridge Street the Intra-Dimensionals packed the emptied motels hotels and eateries. Smaller cliques insinuated the crumbling yet inviting tiny cottages erected on alphabetically named connecting lanes. Sea Sprites were a respectful bunch. The entire cosmos was their home, even though they had managed to become lost inside it. They did no harm. They were not Demons.

Soon it would again be tourist time for the New Englanders. The Sprites would head South to Louisiana which is 50% water and the temperature steaming. The Sprites originated from a Super-Nova Star; that they knew. Less corporeal than Earth-People, they enjoyed the heat. Besides, the Evangelists the Cajuns the Vodun were very laid-back and cordial.

Louise fed Randall Dee and herself. Packed a small lunch and bottled water. Thursday Morning 0400 on their way to Michael’s Laboratory and Prototyping Shop next to the highway of Giant Trucks and Hot-Rodders collected by Police Pursuit Hemi Chargers.

He dressed. Gleaming Raven. Magnum Duty Boots, BDUs polyester black blue stripe, shirt dual pockets. A badge, shield; of lovely exotic metal fabricated by Michael. Black bomber jacket, American Flag and Insignia. Luxuriant warm gloves Kevlar. Blaze Orange knit cap for visibility. Big Maglite; modded specially for huge dark nights and creatures.

She dressed. It didn’t take fancy to make Louise Dee look good. She always looked good.

Randall Dee would chat with the local Police Force who were friendly and knew him. They assumed he was from a local agency. The complex, one-quarter mile walkabout housed a Medical Services, Auto Parts Place, one vacant unit, and Michael’s Lab. A shining beacon of light with clean windows revealing tidy Electronic Gear and mysterious Test Equipment.

A small staff of Synthetics: night shift. They accurately recorded data, which was the foundation for mystical projects occurring at Level Zero. The place was presumably built on slab construction; being next to the ocean with a high water table. Nobody was aware of Level Zero except the two Dees and Michael Matheson.

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REM–Bicycle–Apr01

140331_0004ABicycle Brake Pads

Photo By Richard E Marion
Using:
Paint.Net V4.0
Pantech P2030 Cell Phone

Two nights back, the Pilot took the Bicycle out in terrible weather. The aesthetics and asceticism of Cycling: wind chill, winter ice, and crashing potholes must be elevated to the next level of achievement. Springtime Storm-time.

One quick pass crossing NH Route 101E to the Pilot’s favorite roadway, NH Route 1A alongside the Atlantic Sea.

Wolven winds howled, masked the rushing tides. That was fine… Not so fine, (and no pun) a slurry of busted asphalt, sea-sand, and gravel chunks aplenty covered the machine and operator. Applications of the V Brakes quickly evoked sickening sounds from the rear rim being eaten by amalgamated debris and; it turns out, particles and shreds of Aluminum.

Aluminum from a very nice rear rim. The front rim stayed mysteriously gratefully silent.

‘Photo Exhibit A’; the two rear pads, are Avid brand and in fairness had taken a lot of miles and been cleaned up many times over and over. The little ‘devil horns’ above the black pads are actually the retainer clips for a size reference. Most of the debris was small and didn’t photograph well. The biggest most obvious piece of liberated rim material is plain to see on the right-side pad halfway down.

In contrast, the front brake pads are Kool Stop brand and relatively new. Installed by personal friend and Supreme Technician Mike Conlon. These pads are extremely nice and stop on a dime. As it turns out, TRP Brake Arms, front and rear have been already scheduled for Bicycle Diesel Dark with; you guessed it, black Kool Stops.

Until then, the Pilot has resurfaced and planed down flat the decimated rear pads using a double-cut flat file (paranoid about GRIT: I.E. any form of embedded abrasive) and will be careful until the entire braking system is refreshed and better than new.

Meanwhile, one set of ‘Salmon Kool Stops’ (a color descriptor… not the fish) are on the way at the local bike shop due Thursday for experimenting while waiting for the new braking system total tune and tolerances. Much good is said (search it you’ll see) about Salmon Kool Stops, TRP Brake Arms, Paul Component Engineering Brake Levers.

Obviously the Pilot has a lot to learn about extreme weather bicycling and maintenance.

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REM – Bike – 140327A

140325_0002C

Photo by Richard E Marion
Using:
Paint.Net V4.0
Pantech P2030 Cell Phone

Update for Bicycle Diesel Dark:

The Machine was purchased Year 2012 at a generic local bicycle shop and masqueraded as a Felt Cafe’ 7. It soon became obvious that Diesel Dark was a Mystical Being.

The Pilot, going by many names including Randall Dee, hadn’t been on a bicycle since 1973. He quickly realized a Soul was inside its frame of Aluminum.

Mike Conlon is a Certified Technician, Bicycle Shaman and Metal Magister. He keeps a low profile but is willing to connect those who comprehend there are SOME Machines with Souls… Why this is not all machines? Nobody knows. Status of work in progress:

–Flat Bars shortened to 21 Inches. Paul Component Engineering Brake Levers.
–Brake Arms soon to be TRP Cyclocross. Black of course.
–Shimano 9-Speed Thumb Shifter connecting to SRAM 11-34 Mountain Cassette.
–Raceface Crankset 32 teeth & Outer Guard. Inner Chain Guard BBG Superlight.
–Shimano Rear Hub. Alex Rims Rear, Front T.B.D. Continental Touring 42-MM Tires.
–Low-Mileage pre-owned Shimano Deore Derailleur. Works perfect.
–Prosaic ‘Planet Bike’ Rear Rack. The steel braces will be Re-Designed in Aluminum.
–There was a Bottle Cage but it was removed because street clothing (pants) caught on it!
–The OEM Seat, too heavy. The OEM Fork, too heavy. The low-end Pedals, inelegant.
–Frame to have unused attachment points filled over. Powder-Coated, Stealth Gray.

The Machine is EVOLVING into a true Hot-Rod Bicycle. It’s not a Racer. The Pilot is not a Racer. They crank serious miles in the Hampton NH area. It has been ridden up steeper hills than found on the coast. It can carry stuff, dodge potholes and run over bad things.

It’s Alive.

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