JOURNAL ARCHIVE: 10/23/2006 2:18 PM
I may have also been tired of remembering all the death and destruction I had lived through. I feel resistance in my mind at writing that last sentence so maybe that is an important clue.
[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 23 October 2006 excerpt ends]
[ Bill Gates-Microsoft-Corbis-Nazi the cowardly International Terrorist Organization violently against the United States of America actively instigate insurrection and subversive activity against the United States of America with all Bill Gates-Microsoft-Corbis-Nazi staff partners contributors employees contractors lawyers managers of any capacity as severely treasonous criminal accomplices and that are active unlawful obstructions, combinations, or assemblages, or rebellion against the authority of the United States that actively make it impracticable to enforce the laws of the United States in the United States and in the Severely Treasonous and Criminally Rebellious State of Washington by the ordinary course of judicial proceedings ]
1996 film "Star Trek: First Contact" DVD video: [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
01:01:36
Starfleet lieutenant commander Data: Tell me, are you using a polymer-based neuro-relay to transmit the organic nerve impulses to the central processor of my positronic net? If that is the case, how have you solved the problem of increased signal degradation inherent to organo-synthetic transmission -
Borg Queen: Do you always talk this much?
Starfleet lieutenant commander Data: Not always, but often.
Borg Queen: Why do you insist on utilizing this primitive linguistic communication? Your android brain is capable of so much more.
Starfleet lieutenant commander Data: Have you forgotten? I am endeavoring to become more human.
Borg Queen: Human. We used to be exactly like them. Flawed, weak, organic. But we evolved to include the synthetic. Now we use both to attain perfection. Your goal should be the same as ours.
Starfleet lieutenant commander Data: Believing oneself to be perfect is often the sign of a delusional mind.
Borg Queen: Small words from a small being trying to attack what he doesn't understand.
Starfleet lieutenant commander Data: I understand that you have no real interest in me, that your goal is to obtain the encryption codes for the Enterprise computer.
Borg Queen: That is one of our goals, one of many. But in order to reach it, I am willing to help you reach yours.
Starfleet lieutenant commander Data: [ beats the crap out of a group of Borg and tries to escape ]
Starfleet lieutenant commander Data: Ow!
Borg Queen: Is it becoming clear to you yet?
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0186449/releaseinfo
IMDb
The Internet Movie Database
Release dates for
Pinocchio in Outer Space (1965)
Country Date
USA 22 December 1965
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1349235/releaseinfo
IMDb
The Internet Movie Database
Release dates for
"The Stand"
The Plague (1994)
Country Date
USA 8 May 1994
UK 10 August 1996
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1349235
IMDb
The Internet Movie Database
The Stand (TV mini-series 1994)
The Plague (#1.1)
Gary Sinise ... Stu Redman
When a deadly virus escapes from a government research facility, few prove to be immune to its effects. With symptoms similar to the flu, those who come into contact with it quickly die. One survivor is Stu Redmond, a gas station attendant from Texas, who suffers no ill effects whatsoever. Kept in a medical research facility in Vermont, doctors try to determine why he is still alive. Others that also survive include Frannie Goldsmith who lives with her dad; Nick Andros, a deaf-mute; a rock musician, Larry Underwood; and Lloyd Henreid, in jail for murder. Survivors begin to have dreams, either about an old Afican-American woman, Mother Abigail, or a much scarier evil man.
Release Date: 8 May 1994 (USA)
http://www.tv.com/shows/stephen-kings-the-stand/the-plague-1178981
tv.com
Stephen King's The Stand
Season 1, Episode 1
The Plague
Air Date
Sunday May 8, 1994
http://www.metrolyrics.com/mexican-radio-lyrics-wall-of-voodoo.html
Mexican Radio
Wall Of Voodoo
I feel a hot wind on my shoulder
And the touch of a world that is older
I turn the switch and check the number
I leave it on when in bed I slumber
I hear the rhythms of the music
I buy the product and never use it
I hear the talking of the DJ
Can't understand just what does he say?
I'm on a Mexican radio
I'm on a Mexican whoa-oh radio
I dial it in and tune the station
They talk about the U.S. inflation
I understand just a little
No comprende, it's a riddle
I'm on a Mexican radio
I'm on a Mexican whoa-oh radio
I wish I was in Tijuana
Eating barbequed iguana
I'd take requests on the telephone
I'm on a wavelength far from home
I feel a hot wind on my shoulder
I dial it in from south of the border
I hear the talking of the DJ
Can't understand just what does he say?
I'm on a Mexican radio
I'm on a Mexican whoa-oh radio
I'm on a Mexican radio
I'm on a Mexican whoa-oh radio
Radio radio...
What does he say
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0133093/quotes
IMDb
The Internet Movie Database
Memorable quotes for
The Matrix (1999)
Morpheus: The pill you took is part of a trace program. It's designed to disrupt your input/output carrier signal so we can pinpoint your location.
Neo: What does that mean?
http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/80261/King_-_The_Stand.html
Stephen King
The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
Chapter 44
He was cracking up—baby, don’t you just know it?
That was a line from Huey “Piano” Smith, now that he thought of it. Went way back. A blast from the past. Huey “Piano” Smith, remember how that one went? Ah-ah-ah-ah, daaaay-o… gooba-gooba-gooba-gooba… ah-ah-ah-ah. Et cetera. The wit, wisdom, and social commentary of Huey “Piano” Smith.
“Fuck the social commentary,” he said. “Huey Piano Smith was before my time.”
Years later Johnny Rivers had recorded one of Huey’s songs, “Rockin Pneumonia and the Boogie-Woogie Flu.” Larry Underwood could remember that one very clearly, and he thought it very appropriate to the situation. Good old Johnny Rivers. Good old Huey “Piano” Smith.
“Fuck it,” Larry opined once again. He looked terrible—a pale, frail phantom stumbling up a New England highway. “Gimme the sixties.”
Sure, the sixties, those were the days. Mid-sixties, late sixties. Flower Power. Getting clean for Gene. Andy Warhol with his pink-rimmed glasses and his fucking Brillo boxes. Velvet Underground. The Return of the Creature from Yorba Linda. Norman Spinrad, Norman Mailer, Norman Thomas, Norman Rockwell, and good old Norman Bates of the Bates Motel, heh-heh-heh. Dylan broke his neck. Barry McGuire croaked “The Eve of Destruction.” Diana Ross raised the consciousness of every white kid in America. All those wonderful groups, Larry thought dazedly, give me the sixties and cram the eighties up your ass. When it came to rock and roll, the sixties had been the Last Hurrah of the Golden Horde. Cream. Rascals. Spoonful. Airplane with Grace Slick on vocals, Norman Mailer on lead guitar, and good old Norman Bates on drums. Beatles. Who. Dead—
He fell over and hit his head.
The world swam away blackly and then came back in bright fragments. He wiped his hand across his temple and it came away with a thin foam of blood on it. Didn’t even matter. Whafuck, as they used to say back in the bright and glorious mid-sixties. What was falling down and hitting your head when he had spent the last week unable to sleep without waking up from nightmares, and the good nights were the nights when the scream got no farther than the middle of his throat? If you screamed out loud and woke up to that, you scared yourself even worse.
Dreams of being back in the Lincoln Tunnel. There was somebody behind him, only in the dreams it wasn’t Rita. It was the devil, and he was stalking Larry with a lightless grin frozen on his face. The black man wasn’t the walking dead; he was worse than the walking dead. Larry ran with the slow sludgy panic of bad dreams, tripping over unseen corpses, knowing they were staring at him with the glassy eyes of stuffed trophies from the crypts of their cars, which had stalled inside the frozen traffic even though they had some other place to be, he ran, but what good was running when the black devil man, the black magic man, could see in the dark with eyes like snooperscopes? And after a while the dark man would begin to croon to him: Come on, Laarry, come on, we’ll get it togeeeether Laaarry —
He would feel the black man’s breath on his very shoulder and that was when he would struggle up from sleep, escaping sleep, and the scream would be stuck in his throat like a hot bone or actually escaping his lips, loud enough to wake the dead.
Daytimes, the vision of the dark man would recede. The dark man strictly worked the night shift. Daytimes, it was the Big Alone that went to work on him, gnawing its way into his brain with the sharp teeth of some tireless rodent—a rat, or a weasel, maybe. During the days, his thoughts would dwell on Rita. Lovely Rita, meter-maid. Over and over in his mind he would turn her over and over, seeing those slitted eyes, like the eyes of an animal which has died in surprise and pain, that mouth he had kissed now filled with stale green puke. She had died so easy, in the night, in the same fucking sleeping bag, and now he was…
Well, cracking up. That was it, wasn’t it? That was what was happening to him. He was cracking up.
“Cracking,” he moaned. “Oh Jeez, I’m going out of my mind.”
A part of him that still retained a measure of rationality asserted that that might be true, but what he was suffering from right this minute was heat prostration. After what had happened to Rita, he hadn’t been able to ride the motorcycle anymore. He just hadn’t been able to; it was like a mental block. He kept seeing himself smeared all over the highway. So finally he had ditched it. Since then he had been walking—how many days? four? eight? nine? He didn’t know. It had been in the nineties since ten this morning, it was now nearly four, the sun was right behind him, and he wasn’t wearing a hat.
