Many times today I have thought about something I heard while sleeping last night and I thought about writing about it but only now did I decide to make a note about it.
I am watching again tonight the DVD for the severely criminal racketeering production the 1994 United States television miniseries "The Stand" and just at one scene did I suddenly start thinking that was relevant somehow to when I was asleep.
The details aren't really important. It is just that I seemed to experience, what I would later in the day categorize, an auditory hallucination. The experience is similar, I think now as I write this sentence, to a lucid dream. I startled awake and I was certain at first that I had not even been asleep. Then I thought about how I could vaguely hear myself snoring during that time in question. Or I *thought* I could hear myself snoring and there was really no way to know for certain (unless I walk over to that al-Qaida house nearby where they are secretly listening and recording the sounds in my apartment twenty four-seven because al-Qaida always has to know what I am doing so they can know when I am onto their criminal activities because they know they will not succeed if I become aware of their plans and if I have the means to stop them and their co-conspirators that control King County Washington State).
So only just now, watching this scene did it remind me of what I had written once about "Stu Redman" escaping from the plague center where he was imprisoned. That scene has already happened as I watch it tonight but only now, in this later scene, did I decide there was some kind of relevance to what I heard last night.
The sound I heard was somebody's voice, perhaps mine, I really don't know. I heard "I'm not afraid." During the day today I have wondered if maybe I forgot the precise words. Maybe I heard "I am not scared." I really don't recall now.
But I remember clearly being startled awake and watching that scene of "Stu Redman" startling awake is what made me think of that experience last night.
Why is this important? I don't know for certain.
I still feel that the details I witness in such works represent information being stolen from me after I become a time-traveler who is traveling backwards through time.
The self-fulfilling prophecy of the criminals who steal my information.
A perfect example is in the scene where "Nick" meets "Tom Cullen" for the first time. The details about Oklahoma and the stalks of corn are plain to see and of "Nick" being injured crashing his bike. But the version of the book I have, compared to the video on the DVD for the 1994 television miniseries, doesn't have anything about the mannequins when they first meet. There isn't even mention of the word 'mannequin' until some time after they had been traveling after leaving "Tom Cullen's" hometown of "May, Oklahoma."
So what's going to happen is that after I start time-traveling backwards through time I am going to remember all this stuff I am writing about now and I am going to have 100 per cent proof positive that I have been right all along. That notion doubled in strength even as I thought about more specific details for this note. And then tripled; I hadn't even discovered "Dream House" when I wrote the first sentence and the second sentence in this, my so-called paragraph. And then quadrupled; only at the very last did the details progress to the point where I referenced Fouke. As I wrote before, the information I post it not created contiguously in my postings.
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 43
There was a dead man lying in the middle of Main Street in May, Oklahoma.
Nick wasn’t surprised. He had seen a lot of corpses since leaving Shoyo, and he suspected he hadn’t seen a thousandth of all the dead people he must have passed. In places, the rich smell of death on the air was enough to make you feel like swooning. One more dead man, more or less, wasn’t going to make any difference.
But when the dead man sat up, such an explosion of terror rose in him that he again lost control of his bike. It wavered, then wobbled, then crashed, spilling Nick violently onto the pavement of Oklahoma Route 3. He cut his hands and scraped his forehead.
“Holy gee, mister, but you took a tumble,” the corpse said, coming toward Nick at a pace best described as an amiable stagger. “Didn’t you just? My laws!”
Nick got none of this. He was looking at a spot on the pavement between his hands where drops of blood from his cut forehead were falling, and wondering how badly he had been cut. When the hand touched him on the shoulder he remembered the corpse and scrambled away on the palms of his hands and the soles of his shoes, the eye not covered with the patch bright with terror.
“Don’t you take on so,” the corpse said, and Nick saw he wasn’t a corpse at all but a young man who was looking happily at him. He had most of a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and now Nick understood. Not a corpse but a man who had gotten drunk and had passed out in the middle of the road.
Nick nodded at him and made a circle with his thumb and forefinger. Just then a drop of blood oozed warmly into the eye that Ray Booth had worked over, making it smart. He raised the eyepatch and swiped his forearm across it. He had a little more vision on that side today, but when he closed his good eye, the world still retreated to something which was little more than a colorful blur. He replaced the patch and then walked slowly to the curb and sat beside a Plymouth with Kansas plates which was slowly settling on its tires. He could see the gash on his forehead reflected in the Plymouth’s bumper. It looked ugly but not deep. He would find the local drugstore, disinfect it, and slap a Band-Aid over it. He thought he still must have enough penicillin in his system to fight off almost anything, but his close call from the bullet-scrape on his leg had given him a horror of infection. He picked scraps of gravel out of his palms, wincing.
The man with the bottle of whiskey had been watching all of this with no expression at all. If Nick had looked up, it would have struck him as queer immediately. When he had turned away to examine his wound in the bumper’s reflection, the animation had leaked out of the man’s face. It became empty and clean and unlined. He was wearing bib-alls that were clean but faded and heavy workshoes. He stood about five-nine, and his hair was so blond it was nearly white. His eyes were a bright, empty blue, and with the cornsilk hair, his Swedish or Norwegian descent was unmistakable. He looked no more than twenty-three, but Nick found out later he had to be forty-five or close to it because he could remember the end of the Korean War, and how his daddy had come home in uniform a month later. There was no question that he might have made that up. Invention was not Tom Cullen’s long suit.
http://www.script-o-rama.com/movie_scripts/t/time-machine-script-transcript-wells.html
The Time Machine
Dear Mrs. Watchett...
...always able to suggest a tie...
...but never wearing
anything more stylish...
...than what she's worn for years.
Yet I was traveling very slowly.
What if I went faster?
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 ]
Nick glanced around, looking for the stomach medicines, trying to remember if Pepto-Bismol went over in the heat. Well, the label would say. His eyes slipped past a mannequin and two rows to the right he saw what he wanted. He had taken two steps that way when he realized that he had never before seen a mannequin in a drugstore.
http://www.script-o-rama.com/movie_scripts/t/time-machine-script-transcript-wells.html
The Time Machine
I began to grow very fond
of that mannequin.
Maybe because, like me,
she didn't age.
From 7/16/1963 ( my biological brother Thomas Reagan's wife Phoebe Cates ) To 10/26/1984 ( RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 - premiere US film "The Terminator" ) is 7773 days
From 11/2/1965 ( my birth date in Antlers Oklahoma USA and my birthdate as the known official Deputy United States Marshal Kerry Wayne Burgess and active duty United States Marine Corps officer ) To 2/13/1987 ( RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 - premiere US film "Mannequin" ) is 7773 days
From 8/17/1960 ( premiere US film "The Time Machine" ) To 11/28/1981 ( premiere US TV movie "Dream House" ) is 7773 days
From 11/2/1965 ( my birth date in Antlers Oklahoma USA and my birthdate as the known official Deputy United States Marshal Kerry Wayne Burgess and active duty United States Marine Corps officer ) To 2/13/1987 ( RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 - premiere US film "Mannequin" ) is 7773 days
From 8/17/1960 ( the Soviet Union trial of the United States Central Intelligence Agency pilot Gary Powers begins in Moscow Russia Soviet Union ) To 11/28/1981 ( premiere US TV movie "Dream House" ) is 7773 days
From 11/2/1965 ( my birth date in Antlers Oklahoma USA and my birthdate as the known official Deputy United States Marshal Kerry Wayne Burgess and active duty United States Marine Corps officer ) To 2/13/1987 ( RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 - premiere US film "Mannequin" ) is 7773 days
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0093493/releaseinfo
IMDb
The Internet Movie Database
Release dates for
Mannequin (1987)
Country Date
USA 13 February 1987
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0102975/quotes
IMDb
The Internet Movie Database
Memorable quotes for
Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country (1991) [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
Captain Spock: What you want is irrelevant, what you have chosen is at hand.
[ 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 ]
JOURNAL ARCHIVE: 01/12/08 8:03 AM
Just I woke up just now, I seemed to have been dreaming of a house in Charleston, SC. I seemed to have just bought the house and I was getting it ready for Phoebe's arrival. I was talking to her on the telephone and I was eagerly anticipating her arrival. I vaguely recall from the dream of showing her the house, which was very nice and I hoped she liked it. The house was downtown Charleston and I vaguely remember a lot of detail in the dream. It seemed that I had the whole summer off and she and I would spend that summer together in the house. It seems I was stationed there in Charleston at the USN base. There was a lot more to the dream that I don't remember now. I do remember a lot of details from my artificial memory about downtown Charleston, though, and none of those seem related to this dream. I "remember" that Tracey
and I used to park in my 1978 Ford Explorer pickup down on The Battery, there at the water's edge, and sit there for a long time at night.
JOURNAL ARCHIVE: 01/12/08 8:22 AM
I was also thinking I had bought a weekend house for us over across the bay on that one island I cannot now remember the name of.
JOURNAL ARCHIVE: 01/12/08 8:24 AM
I have a lot of artificial memory about that island, too. Something, in the context of my artificial memory, of hoping to find romance when I was over there, but nothing interesting ever happened. I met a lot of girls in Charleston, in the context of my artificial memory, but there was also something else I was looking for. I was looking for Miss Right, it seems.
JOURNAL ARCHIVE: 01/12/08 8:28 AM
I am not certain how it relates to those other details in those dreams a few minutes earlier, as I do not recognize any details that associate the settings, but there was something about a fresh water pipe. I was standing on a beach, either ocean or lake, I am not certain, and some other person was showing me a fresh water pipe that had become exposed along the beach front. The setting is vaguely familiar, in the context of other dreams I have had in the past, I just began to think. The other person was talking to me about the cost of repairing that fresh water pipe, but I am not certain what it all means. I can remember clearly from the dream of looking at the pipe and I was examining that corrison of the metal and thinking or talking to the other person about how badly the pipe was corroded and about how it was likely to fail at some point. I don't know what that all means.
[ JOURNAL ARCHIVE 12 January 2008 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 ]
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 ]
“You wheeled that all the way out here?” Stu asked.
“I wheeled it until I saw something I wanted to paint. I go different ways on different days. It’s good exercise. If you’re going east, why don’t you come back to Woodsville and spend the night at my house? We can take turns wheeling the barrow, and I’ve got yet another six-pack of beer cooling in yonder stream. That ought to get us home in style.”
“I accept,” Stu said.
“Good man. I’ll probably talk all the way home. You are in the arms of the Garrulous Professor, East Texas. When I bore you, just tell me to shut up. I won’t be offended.”
“I like to listen,” Stu said.
“Then you are one of God’s chosen. Let’s go.”
So they walked on down 302, one of them wheeling the barrow while the other drank a beer. No matter which was which, Bateman talked, an endless monologue that jumped from topic to topic with hardly a pause. Kojak bounced alongside. Stu would listen for a while, then his thoughts would trail off for a while, following their own tangents, and then his mind would come back. He was disquieted by Bateman’s picture of a hundred little enclaves of people, some of them militaristic, living in a country where thousands of doomsday weapons had been left around like a child’s set of blocks. But oddly, the thing his mind kept returning to was Glen Bateman’s dream, the man with no face on top of the high building—or the cliff-edge—the man with the red eyes, his back to the setting sun, looking restlessly to the east.
He woke up sometime before midnight, bathed in sweat, afraid he had screamed. But in the next room, Glen Bateman’s breathing was slow and regular, undisturbed, and in the hallway he could see Kojak sleeping with his head on his paws. Everything was picked out in moonlight so bright it was surreal.
When he woke, Stu had been up on his elbows, and now he lowered himself back to the damp sheet and put an arm over his eyes, not wanting to remember the dream but helpless to avoid it.
He had been in Stovington again. Elder was dead. Everyone was dead. The place was an echoing tomb. He was the only one alive, and he couldn’t find the way out. At first he tried to control his panic. Walk, don’t run, he told himself over and over, but soon he would have to run. His stride was becoming quicker and quicker, and the urge to look back over his shoulder and make sure that it was only the echoes behind him was becoming insuperable.
He walked past closed office doors with names written in black on milky frosted glass. Past an overturned gurney. Past the body of a nurse with her white skirt rucked up to her thighs, her blackened, grimacing face staring at the cold white inverted icecube trays that were the ceiling fluorescents.
At last he began to run.
Faster, faster, the doors slipping by him and gone, his feet pounding on the linoleum. Orange arrows oozing on white cinderblock. Signs. At first they seemed right: RADIOLOGY and CORRIDOR B To LABS and DO NOT PROCEED BEYOND THIS POINT WITHOUT VALID PASS. And then he was in another part of the installation, a part he had never seen and had never been meant to see. The paint on these walls had begun to peel and flake. Some of the fluorescents were out; others buzzed like flies caught in a screen. Some of the frosted glass office windows were shattered, and through the stellated holes he had been able to see wreckage and bodies in terrible positions of pain. There was blood. These people had not died of the flu. These people had been murdered. Their bodies had sustained punctures and gunshot wounds and the grisly traumas which could only have been inflicted by blunt instruments. Their eyes bulged and stared.
He plunged down a stopped escalator and into a long dark tunnel lined with tile. At the other end there were more offices, but now the doors were painted dead black. The arrows were bright red. The fluorescents buzzed and flickered. The signs read THIS WAY TO COBALT URNS and LASER ARMORY and SIDEWINDER MISSILES and PLAGUE ROOM. Then, sobbing with relief, he saw an arrow pointing around a right-angled turn, and the single blessed word above it: EXIT.
He went around the corner and the door was standing open. Beyond it was the sweet, fragrant night. He plunged toward the door and then, stepping into it, blocking his way, was a man in jeans and a denim jacket. Stu skidded to a stop, a scream locked in his throat like rusty iron. As the man stepped into the glow of the flickering fluorescents, Stu saw that there was only a cold black shadow where his face should have been, a blackness punched by two soulless red eyes. No soul, but a sense of humor. There was that; a kind of dancing, lunatic glee.
The dark man put out his hands, and Stu saw that they were dripping blood.
“Heaven and earth,” the dark man whispered from that empty hole where his face should have been. “All of heaven and earth.”
Stu had awakened.
[ 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 ]
JOURNAL ARCHIVE: 02/28/10 5:15 PM
This book was intriquing the first time I "remember" reading it because of the location of the fiction "Arnett" in East Texas and its proximity to Texarkana and Ashdown.
http://my.excite.com/tv/prog.jsp?id=EP001039120001&sid=24533&sn=SYFYP&st=201002281700&cn=59
excite
Stephen King's The Stand (Repeat)
59 SYFYP: Sunday, February 28 5:00 PM
Drama
Earth's few survivors of a catastrophic epidemic battle a satanic being (Jamey Sheridan); with Gary Sinise; Molly Ringwald; Rob Lowe; Laura San Giacomo; Ossie Davis; Ruby Dee; Ray Walston; based on Stephen King's novel.
Cast: Gary Sinise, Molly Ringwald, Laura San Giacomo, Jamey Sheridan, Ossie Davis, Ruby Dee, Rob Lowe, Bill Fagerbakke, Miguel Ferrer, Matt Frewer, Corin Nemec, Adam Storke, Ray Walston Executive Producer(s): Stephen King, Richard P. Rubinstein
Original Air Date: May 08, 1994
JOURNAL ARCHIVE: 02/28/10 5:24 PM
I forgot about the dialog by the hysterical woman about how they were being taken to Vermont.
JOURNAL ARCHIVE: 02/28/10 6:43 PM
The title card for June 27th has Kareem ringing the bell and shouting warning with New York City burning in the background. The next scene has a title card also for June 27 but in Maricopa Arizona, I think it was Maricopa County, and the "Walking Dude" kills a deer standing the highway and then he seems to cause, from a distance, Kareem to fall over with a heart attack.
Then there is a dream sequence with "Stu" and I think that is the day he breaks out of the Vermont disease center to avoid being killed by the one guy.
[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 28 February 2010 excerpt ends]
JOURNAL ARCHIVE: 02/28/10 6:59 PM
It seems that June 27 was the ending of the miniseries episode titled "The Plague." After he paniced, which was more intense in the book, and then falls down on the green grass, I wasn't certain if the voice of "Mother Abagail" was him thinking about a memory of a dream or if he was really hearing her voice. I started thinking the second time it happened, by the expression on his face, that he did hear the voice, but then I think to myself he was just simply concentrating hard or something similar to the memory of the dream and thinking about the details from the dream. The episode ends with him walking barefoot and wearing sweatpants and t-shirt on the street in the dark.
[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 28 February 2010 excerpt ends]
JOURNAL ARCHIVE: 09/23/08 9:47 PM
I have been trying hard to remember the part of the dream that leads up to the point I remember dreaming about but as usual I cannot remember. The first part I remember is that I was steering the pontoon boat along the river and I seemed to be alone but details from later in the dream suggest I was not. On the bank to the right, I saw a group of people and there might have been another river channel leading off in that direction that they were on. I remember a woman saying "How dare you" but I don't know who she was referring to and I cannot actually remember seeing her. One person in the group started swimming in the river and crossed behind the boat towards the other side. Then there was something about a sign posted in the middle of the river channel that cautioned about a buried cable and then something about how people seldom used caution about that particular buried cable or about any other buried cable. I am not certain if the detail I heard from some unseen person was about that particular buried cable or about how people seldom use caution with buried cables in general. I might have cranked up the speed right about then but I am fuzzy on that part.
[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 23 September 2008 excerpt ends]
JOURNAL ARCHIVE: Date: Thu, 6 Apr 2006 14:24:34 -0700 (PDT)
From: "Kerry Burgess"
Subject: Re: Sleep journal 4/6/06
To: "Kerry Burgess"
Kerry Burgess wrote:
Details about my recent sleep are very fuzzy today. Can't remember for sure when I woke up. 3 am maybe. Or maybe shortly after midnight, can't really remember as I usually can. Remember dreaming something about driving my Jeep. Then I returned to it where it was parked in a parking lot after I was traveling through some passageways, hallways in a transit facility maybe. The only part I remember clearly is where a woman, I assume was my imaginary girlfriend asked me out for drinks or something. I told her we needed to keep it really casual though because all I had to wear was sweatpants. Kind of the downside to dating a homeless person I reflect now as I write this. She told me she would wear something with holes in it. I hope that was her in my dream, although the woman in the dream seemed to be someone unfamilar though. But I have noticed that happening with other people I know. They are represented, somehow, by a different person, but I think of them as someone specific. I feel like that is part of the manipulation. I have noticed something similar in real dreams, but I don't think it is the same here. I think they are disquising themselves in my dream for some reason. Anyway, if it really was her, she actually doesn't have to worry about dressing down if we were to go out. Of course, if I have my way, it would be a moot point because why would I want to go out with her when I am in such an ugly situation? At the minimum, I would want to be back to work so that I have regained some independence. And hey, next time you are in my dreams, dear imaginary girlfriend, how about wearing a bikini? Red would be good, or yellow maybe. That would be sweet!
[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 6 April 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 ]
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 21
Stu Redman was frightened.
He looked out the barred window of his new room in Stovington, Vermont, and what he saw was a small town far below, miniature gas station signs, some sort of mill, a main street, a river, the turnpike, and beyond the turnpike the granite backbone of far western New England—the Green Mountains.
He was frightened because this was more like a jail cell than a hospital room. He was frightened because Denninger was gone. He hadn’t seen Denninger since the whole crazy three-ring circus moved from Atlanta to here. Deitz was gone, too. Stu thought that maybe Denninger and Deitz were sick, perhaps dead already.
Somebody had slipped. Either that, or the disease that Charles D. Campion had brought to Arnette was a lot more communicable than anyone had guessed. Either way, the integrity of the Atlanta Plague Center had been breached, and Stu thought that everyone who had been there was now getting a chance to do a little firsthand research on the virus they called A-Prime or the superflu.
They still did tests on him here, but they seemed desultory. The schedule had become slipshod. Results were scrawled down and he had a suspicion that someone looked at them cursorily, shook his head, and dumped them in the nearest shredder.
That wasn’t the worst, though. The worst was the guns. The nurses who came in to take blood or spit or urine were now always accompanied by a soldier in a white-suit, and the soldier had a gun in a plastic Baggie. The Baggie was fastened over the wrist of the soldier’s right gauntlet. The gun was an army-issue .45, and Stu had no doubt that, if he tried any of the games he had tried with Deitz, the .45 would tear the end of the Baggie into smoking, burning shreds and Stu Redman would become a Golden Oldie.
If they were just going through the motions now, then he had become expendable. Being under detention was bad. Being under detention and being expendable… that was very bad.
He watched the six o’clock news very carefully every night now. The men who had attempted the coup in India had been branded “outside agitators” and shot. The police were still looking for the person or persons who had blown a power station in Laramie, Wyoming, yesterday. The Supreme Court had decided 6–3 that known homosexuals could not be fired from civil service jobs. And for the first time, there had been a whisper of other things.
AEC officials in Miller County, Arkansas, had denied there was any chance of a reactor meltdown. The atomic power plant in the small town of Fouke, about thirty miles from the Texas border, had been plagued with minor circuitry problems in the equipment that controlled the pile’s cooling cycle, but there was no cause for alarm. The army units in that area were merely a precautionary measure. Stu wondered what precautions the army could take if the Fouke reactor did indeed go China Syndrome. He thought the army might be in southwestern Arkansas for other reasons altogether. Fouke wasn’t all that far from Arnette.
Another item reported that an East Coast flu epidemic seemed to be in the early stages—the Russian strain, nothing to really worry about except for the very old and the very young. A tired New York City doctor was interviewed in a hallway of Brooklyn’s Mercy Hospital. He said the flu was exceptionally tenacious for Russian-A, and he urged viewers to get flu boosters. Then he suddenly started to say something else, but the sound cut off and you could only see his lips moving. The picture cut back to the newscaster in the studio, who said: “There have been some reported deaths in New York as a result of this latest flu outbreak, but contributing causes such as urban pollution and perhaps even the AIDS virus have been present in many of those fatal cases. Government health officials emphasize that this is Russian-A flu, not the more dangerous Swine flu. In the meantime, old advice is good advice, the doctors say: stay in bed, get lots of rest, drink fluids, and take aspirin for the fever.”
The newscaster smiled reassuringly… and off-camera, someone sneezed.
The sun was touching the horizon now, tinting it a gold that would turn to red and fading orange soon. The nights were the worst. They had flown him to a part of the country that was alien to him, and it was somehow more alien at night. In this early summer season the amount of green he could see from his window seemed abnormal, excessive, a little scary. He had no friends; as far as he knew all the people who had been on the plane with him when it flew from Braintree to Atlanta were now dead. He was surrounded by automatons who took his blood at gunpoint. He was afraid for his life, although he still felt fine and had begun to believe he wasn’t going to catch It, whatever It was.
Thoughtfully, Stu wondered if it would be possible to escape from here.
http://www.script-o-rama.com/movie_scripts/t/time-machine-script-transcript-wells.html
The Time Machine
It was disconcerting to see
the sun arc in less than a minute.
To see a snail race by.
Flowers flinging wide their petals
to embrace the day.
The hours speeding across my sundial.
Flowers closing their eyes
for the night.
It was wonderful!
Changes that normally took hours
took seconds.
Dear Mrs. Watchett...
...always able to suggest a tie...
...but never wearing
anything more stylish...
...than what she's worn for years.
Yet I was traveling very slowly.
What if I went faster?
It became intoxicating.
I pushed the lever on
toward even greater speed.
I gained experience with it.
I could stop for a day, an hour,
or even a second to observe.
Then go ahead a year or two.
I was able to see the changing world
in a series of glimpses.
Good heavens. That's a dress?
This was intriguing.
I wondered just how far women
would permit this to go.
- posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 7:48 PM Pacific Time USA Friday 25 May 2012
