Shorts

Shorts

I just want to give a brief outline as to why and what I see this subject heading being about. Short stories. That’s it really. Not much of an article it is? Ok here comes the slightly longer version of why and what.

What the subject heading “Short Stories” is about for me is easier to explain. The idea is to write stories that I have floating around in my head and try to “capture them” not as some major pieces of prose but as a story a saga. The whole thing shouldn’t take more than half an hour to read, somewhere between 3000 – 5000 words. Remember the TV show “The tales of the unexpected” by Roland Dahl. It was a half an hour show with a story that always had a twist to them. The books were better but I first saw the TV show and then got into reading his text.

Well that kind of length, that’s what I would like to find, about twenty minutes to half any hour. I’d like a twist, but not the “Roland Dahl twists”, not like that at all. More like a roll than a twist, something that makes you laugh a bit and think bit, nothing clever like I didn’t see that coming twist. That is like a card trick, you just don’t know how it is done. No I want the stories to be simple but compelling in some way.

I want to use saga as a way of talking, story as communication, not just entertainment. This fits into the Nordic Mythology idea we have talked about, making up stories to explain things and using the form of “saga” to express that. The stories will be set in the now, these are new stories about “here-now”, things people can or could do. They are all made up in my head. I will use things I know about, things I have personal been involved in as a base jump for a story. So the story is fiction not biographical even if I write in first person singular, (I did this or I did that). That is important not to mix up fiction with what people believe to be reality. So one last time, these are works of fiction that have “backgrounds of reality” to make them more seem more contemporary.

Why write them now and why in the context of the website? Two good questions, I’ll start with the second part first. This website or blogg, or whatever it is called, it about lots of things. “How 2 die”, how two people share the journey together. It is also about “How to die”, how the process of transition from living to being dead works, from start to end. All sorts of things you can do, on all levels, from the most practical till the most spiritual, emotionally creativity and physically. It is also about How to live. Because as long as you are not actually dead of your terminal illness you are still legally alive.

The way I see it, is this is a perfect time in my life for me to start with something new. Partly because I have to, I can no longer paint because it is physical to hard for me, I have written a book so I know what entails and I need to be able to work on short-term projects, as we must take one day at a time. Which is not the easiest thing to learn, it takes practice to get it right. And as it happened while joking with Elsa about something on one of our walks we got the idea that it could be funny. Since then several people have given me brilliant ideas for short stories so I save them in file with maybe only a name. But I have a few building up that I can just pick up and work with when ever. So I’d like to thank my friends for some of the ideas you have been giving me, hope you see them in the stories and laugh when you remember what you wrote or said, I pick up all the bits and pieces you throw my way.

In the long run if you have something you want to do, you want to learn something new you express the basic desire to live, which is more likely to, affects you energy toward a positive perspective on the situation than start to focus on the negative. When I say “negative energy” I mean things like depression and panic, not sadness or sorrow. Sadness and Sorrow are a big part of the process and should be a big part of all the activities you work on as much as Joy and Happiness. It is not about kidding yourself or anyone else that this journey is going anywhere else than where it is going.

So I hope you enjoy the stories for what they are.

Rob

The Sushi War

The Sushi Wars in Aspudden started some time around August in 2005, when Café, across from the road from Aspuddens Sushi started with an open act of aggression, The hand-written sign, Daily Sushi 60 kr (crowns) had been tied onto the lamppost by the mini roundabout that spins round the inside of the zone. The zone contains Aspuddens Sushi, the Junk shop, Café and the DVD Games boutique.

So what do you get daily for your 60 crowns?
I’ll tell what the sign says you get.

Daily Sushi, 8 pieces 60 kr
3 Salmon, 1 Prawn, 1 Tofu, 3 Rolls
Todays Lunch 55 kr
Choice of Japanese warm dish
Monday to Friday, 11.00 – 15.00
Miso soup Tea Coffee included.

But the insult goes so much deeper than the offer itself. The fact that such a café, such a sad little brown place, that has survived unchanged since 1972, in all its’ fullest ugliness, should even contemplate sushi is more than a man can stand. The miserable brown décor seeps boredom from every inch of its uninterestingness. You can hear the groans of color as they get sucked into the vortex of a spectra-collapse. The glass-fronted fridge display cabinet, exposes the extremely limited range of uninspired sandwiches, that inevitable include a ring of red bell pepper and a slice of sweating cheese. The bread if that is possible to call it “bread”, what with the European regulations concerning foodstuff, is a white pulpy mass enclosed in what looks like wet brown paper. I believe this brownness is meant to be the outer crust of the bread. It might just as well be spray painted onto the pulpy mass, in the factory, where they produces ten of thousand of these rolls, that make up many an indigestible moment, for the lesser discerning customers, of such establishments, as this sad little Café.

The “taxi yellow” light-sign with the word “SUSHI” leaves no doubt as to the underlying vision of the place in question, it doesn’t bother with names. There is no need to describe anything beyond the basic one-word of what it is. You can buy a coffee and a roll. In todays’ somewhat hysterical marketing age everything is made more exciting by calling them by names that are endless in length and combination, (with several different language bases). So you could be forgiven for imagining that a certain “pureness of thought” might be gleamed from Cafés minimalism, a brief relief from all the creative attempts to help you believe that a long-named cup of coffee is worth twice the price. But the crushing monotoneism of Cafés essence merely reduces things to objects that are unable to hold on to more than a singular description. Coffee and roll, 25 crowns.

There are people who find solace in this particular type of service atmosphere. Many people brought up environments where all “flash and flared” was considered a conceit, would find a real home-from-home feel in Café. People who found any form of attention uncomfortable. People that preferred “non-space” to be in during the in take of food/fuel, before returning to some manual task in the local area. Older people who find the early 1970’s the classic “uninspired period” a blast from the past. Like taking a peek back in time, to when they were in their forties and still looking forward to another twenty odd years of work and they would still be useful. There are many people you could imagine popping into Café who actively seek such an environment that it has to offer. What on the other hand, is beyond all my own possible belief is that any of these type of “punters” would ever require sushi to eat.

Aspuddens Sushi, on the opposite side of the war zone, had once been Aspuddens Grill. It is by no means the most Asian inspired of restaurants when it comes to interior design. The tables and chairs are still the same as they were when it was the Grill, white metal chairs with meshed seats and a cushion. The tables are round with a single leg in the middle that splays out into pipes at the bottom, these pipes functioning as the feet of the table. The sign outside Aspuddens Sushi is the classic restaurant sign form the late 1970’s with a large Danish looking “fisherman come worker” holding onto a gigantic blackboard. It is on this blackboard that all the alternative offers are hand written, you used to be obliged to write in chalk, but they now have white pens, that gives a chalk like impression, but this text you have to wipe off with a wet rag. Which is better otherwise kids would jut wipe their sleeves over it for the fun it. The marquise hanging from the roof still has he words “Aspuddens Grill” written on the front flap if I’m not mistaken.

Aspuddens Sushi has nothing what so ever to do with the ambience of the place, it is the fact that Aspuddens Sushi exists entirely for the preparation, production and selling of Sushi. Laz and Lulle are the two men that brought Sushi to Aspudden. It is there mission and purpose in life, They grew up in Asia, Indonesia or the Philippians, or somewhere like that, and after getting a decent schooling in the “Art of Sushi”, they set off into the hinterlands of the frozen North, to find the spot from which they would start to spread the glorious simplistically divine concept of Sushi. The spot they found ended up being Aspuddens Sushi, just next to the Junk shop.

For those of you that unfamiliar with Aspudden I will paint a quick sketch of the place. Aspudden is in its’ own way very individual, it is a pleasant and rather pretty place. Many of the buildings on the high street are from the early part of the 1900’s. They have their own individuality built into them. They each have their own different topping and roofing design, giving an individual irregularity, which manages to blend easily together into an overall style. The Underground station “Aspudden” is two stops from the beginning of Central Stockholm, if you go by the old “customs gates” of Stockholm (seven stops into Central Station). Aspudden is joined to the main Southern Island of Stockholm by the drawbridge at Liljeholmen. There are three main areas that are considered to be part of the same general theme, Gröndal, Aspudden and Midsommarkransen. Fairly large green areas of both park and heath join these three areas; we even have a large pond, Trekanten, and the lake Mälaren is not more ten minutes walking distance.

During the 60’s these areas got quite run down and many people with serious social problems got moved into the apartments, making the area a nightmare to live in. A general overhaul in the Eighties changed that, they renovated the buildings and moved the junkies further south, deeper in gettoland. Finally the selling off of almost all the “council houses” to tenants, during the last five years has totally redefined these three areas into highly attractive and expensive (but still not “too” expensive areas). Now we have a lot of “thirty-somethings” with newborn children are moving into expensive flats, that they have taken large out mortgages on. There are still the people that moved here during the 80’s with older teenage kids, waiting for their kids to move out so they can sell their flats, make a bundle of money and move to the house they dreamed of, or of into country, or just stay put in Aspudden, sitting on a nice nest egg for the future.

What does not work well in Aspudden are new shops. We are too close to town so the general needs of the local population are really nothing more than the video/sweets/tobacco and DVD shop, a food shop for the basics, a few estate agents, a few hairdressers, a pizza place, a hamburger place, a curry place, a flower shop, a toy shop for small kids, a place you can get a decent cup of coffee and a Sushi bar, (there is a specialist shop for special video camera equipment). Everything else in the way of shops and services, that have tried to establish themselves in Aspudden, just fails after about six months, because nobody buys anything.

Aspudden used to a bit famous for the Tattoo artists “Doc Forest” and his (I think now ex-companion) Mia. But Doc Forest was one of the few tattoo artist in Stockholm in the 70’s, and probably the best known for years, before it became so mega trendy and now you have people and their pulsating pins on every street corner more or less.

Now three years ago when we first saw that the “dingy-diner” Aspuddens Grill was being converted into something new we held out little hope. Aspuddens Grill was one of the low points in the whole place. The only time you went there was on Sunday, around one o’clock, when the hangover was just letting go, and your body screamed for grease to oil all the dehydrated parts of you head. The fat used in the “production” of the meals was the only possible food to calm some the physical effects of last night enjoyments. But when it became clear that we were now to have our own Sushi house right here in Aspudden, we were delighted. What freedom of choice. We no longer had to go over the bridge (two stops or ten minutes in the car) to our favorite Sushi house in Hornstull, Genki. We could now take that stroll down the road pick up the Sushi and return to comfort of our home to enjoy the full delights of Sushi in our kitchen all together.

We went out and bought special square sea green plates with matching soya bowls to be able to serve the sushi, in the only way such delicacies should be treated, gracefully and with a sense of harmony. As it turned out we were far from the only ones delighted by the new developments in the culinary choice of Sushi. It was possible for the first week or two, to go in and order but after three weeks it was impetrative that all orders were phoned in, well in advance if you were to get your sushi. This is normally not a problem beyond a relatively simple planning. Due the cost, which is not extravagant, but more than an average everyday meal at home, Sushi was going to be eaten on a Friday or a Saturday evening. We would simple agree which evening and then agree who ordered for what time and who picked up. I normally arrived home first, ordered and then my wife would make a slight detour, to pick it up the order, on her way home from the Underground.

This was when we began to find out that in some cases you have to be very clear and concise. The two men from Aspuddens Sushi have two very separate jobs; neither does the others ones work. Laz is the Sushi man. He always leans forward, slightly bent over his cool disk, endlessly in slow motion, making piece after piece after piece of sushi. He seldom looks up form his work. He wears an Asian style cooks jacket and a frown. Lulle is the people man; he deals with the crowd, takes the orders, answers the telephone, receives the payment and does the chat. Lulle is the outgoing type with a bowl haircut and very round eyes. He gets the Miso soup into the plastic cups and puts the plastic lock on just before he ties off the unmarked white plastic bag and hands you your parcel of luxury.

It’s Lulle you speak to on the phone when you ordered. They have a set menu of pieces, you say ten pieces and you got like; three rolls, five salmon, one prawn and a tuna, the normal sushi kind of deal. The idea was you said the names (Small, Medium, Large and Luxury) for different combinations and they knew number of pieces, what you wanted and what you got. They had some with other names but you got a menu to take home with you, with the telephone number, and all the relevant information you needed to communicate with them. The name of the set menu, already described in detail, so there was no need to talk about it.

“Aspuddens Sushi” (Lulle when he answers the phone), you then said, “I want to order two large ones please”, to Lulle, he said “two large ones” back at you. “What time?” And you said “7 o’clock”; Lulle hummed a bit and said, “Ok seven o’clock”. If you had said six thirty he would have said seven o’clock, (unless you had phoned at five) you then put the phone down, Lulle wrote this down on his pad, mumbled something to Laz and the ball was rolling.

When it comes to sushi you can have different approaches. You can look at it as a selection of exotic seafood’s that are nice to mix in many ways. You can be as exciting as you like, you can go for the squid or any of the colorful creations that they can create. Some people feel that the set menu system is some carefully created Zen like mixture of quality and properties, so to change such ancient knowledge would be presumptuous. Some care only about the amount of food they get, it’s the numbers that are of interest, 15 bits sounds good. Our own particular approach to sushi, may be considered bland and dull by some, but is based on the simple fact that we both find two of the pieces of sushi to be the finest. Our selection is always Rolls and Salmon.

So when ordering sushi we were in the position of having to change the basic conversation with Lulle, which isn’t easily done. I have no idea how much Swedish Lulle has ever been exposed to in the way of language education. I would presume very little, if any what so ever. The few words that Lulle can put together into sentences, to enable him to survive living in this country are limited to the bare essentials.

Describing to him that we want only the Lax (Salmon) and the Rulla (Rolls), and nothing else, was not an easy task. We had to repeat ten pieces, just Lax and Rulla, two of them, ok. Just Lax and Rulla? Yes just Lax and Rulla. How many you want? Ten pieces, in each, just Lax and Rulla, Lax and Rulla? Yes. After making the same order every weekend for few months Lulle got to know who we were, so he would get it straight away. After that there was never any problem.

I think it was the first time we tried to order this simple menu that Lulle gave us the in depth detailed description of the rising price of tuna fish on the world market, and why we couldn’t get compensation for removing this particular piece of sushi from the set menu. We never wanted any compensation for the tuna replacement. I remember that being one of the only the conversions I have had, when none of the participants had more than a 3% idea of what was being said by the others at any one time.

And now this black cloud. Cafés act of open aggression. The taxi-yellow light sign with the word “SUSHI”. Ok I have seen many a disappointed sushi hunter turn up around seven o’clock on a Friday evening, believing that they could walk into Aspuddens Sushi and out again, with their order of sushi in the next ten minutes. You have to real about stuff like this. Lulle is as clear a crystal. “Have you ordered?” “No”. “It will take, hum over an hour, nine o’clock, you must order first”. “Oh”. They may spend the final seconds staring at the menu before their brains register the information, but they all leave quickly enough. The rest of us that have ordered, are waiting patiently for that “special nod and point” from Lulle when your order is up and ready to go.

How can anyone be so naïve to think you can stroll in here at seven without ordering, are you mad or newly moved in from Mars. Lulle does his point and nod, his arm is like arched into a bow shape movement that ends up with his finger pointing at you. You step up the counter and the deal is done. You pay and walk out with you order of Sushi to go.

Is it these people, these people who don’t order that are now to be catered for in Café. Are they to slip over the round-a-bout, cross the zone (or rather over the two zebra crossings to be on the safe side) and calmly be able to purchase some pre packed selection in a box that says one word on it?

The End

Drunken Monkey and Sun

He would watch the Yellow Sun in awe of the beauty of form and function. He would feel dizzy inside and yet perfectly clear. The full awareness of the Yellow Suns shape and structure, once again, filled him to spilling over. He could feel all of her functions, her moveable parts, hidden wheels under hinged bonnets, like the inside of his own body. He saw in his minds eye her smallest of forms each fitting into the next. He knew the Yellow Sun was broken; he felt the Yellow Sun to be perfectly beyond form.

If you were to pronounce his entire name using the correct phonetics, then it is pronounced; "drung-kn-mung-ke" but his name; had slipped into Drunken Monkey, it was taken for granted that was what he was called, instead of his name Drunkn Munky.

The Stable Temple was much smaller than the great Eastern Ridge Temples that were built higher up on the eastern range of the mountain range. In fact the building itself was first built as Stables for the pack animals that had pulled and carried the monks and their tools high into the eastern ridge of the Holy Range. Once the newer Temple buildings began to take shape most of the tools and equipment were moved to higher ground, leaving the old stables more or less empty and waiting to fall apart in the winds of storms of winter.

A few of the novices that had wanted to join monasteries would sleep there when the cold got so bitter that they could no longer endure to wait patiently. The custom of the Eastern Ridge Temples is a novice comes to a certain point along the path that leads to the Eastern Ridge Temples and then and there waits; there is to be “no time” before he continues, for it is not until the novice can make this “no time” that they are ready to begin the next part of their journey, the journey into the Eastern Ridge High Temples and then and there start their training in all things concerning, Mind, Body and Soul.

It had worked like this for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years. Once a novice left the “making of no time” to find shelter and minimal warmth lower down in the old stables, it wasn’t long before they returned back to their villages and started a live the life of a small farmer, living on meager crops. If they were lucky they could support one or two of the five or six children that got birthed, half of the children would die before they reached two to three years old. Enough did live to produce a population that was more or less in equilibrium with the amount of food that could be produced at this altitude. The Eastern Ridge Temples were able to produce much more food, due to the fact they had much more manpower and could use their knowledge and the extra labor to build irrigation systems that caught the mountain water high up on the range and then lead that water it into a system of fields around the temple. Water is not easy to keep at high altitude as is always strives downwards leaving the soil dry and infertile.

There is a legend that one bitterly cold night a novice was making little progress with “no time” was sat in his spot by the path, along with a few more souls scattered around in different yoga positions, most wrapped and huddled in the only blanket they had ever owned. This novice saw in his minds eye a golden vision coming from the ruined stables below him on the ridge. He stood up and began to walk and stumble into the harsh winds and snow blusters. His body was weak with fatigue and the lack of food during his waiting. He stumbled over his blanket as he took each uneasy step after the other toward to stables. Several times he fell over, but each time managed to pick himself up and continue to stumble onwards to the stables, this is the way the legend started that one had to be drunk to leave the Path to go to stables. Drunk on desire.

The legend said that “the novice” who had the vision, saw that one day this stable would be a Temple. The only small problem was he was alone in the stables without a Monk or Master to guide him. This was impossible The Temple made no acknowledgment of this act. A Novice needs a Monk, as a Monk needs a Master, a Master has no needs, but has chosen to teach the Monk as the Monk chooses to help the Novice learn, just like sugar beat needs water as much as it needs sun shine. Such is the way of training; there is no other structure that can convey that depth of knowledge and wisdom. In the legend that novice was told to stop to wait but to start to study until such time would come to the stables and begin the instruction. Until then he was going to have to go it on his own. The novices name was Nine Dots.

Nine Dots began to make the old stables into a building that had some basic form and structure. When the first monks had arrived on the Eastern Ridge and started to build the Temples they had constructed one of their irrigation tables, a small one, just next to the stables. So there was a field that could be worked, planted and harvested with crops for animals and the workers. During the first time, the stables had been full of activity; many animals with materials and workmen came up from the Valley to build. They stayed there many months at a time so it was important to have food close at hand.

Over the years the fields had grown quite wild but every year a sugar beat crop grew, beans and peas amongst weeds and other herbs that had found refuge in this artificial paradise on the lower slopes of the Eastern Ridge. These “crops” had been eaten mostly but by the birds and rats, and few hungry homebound novices. Few edible things were to be found in the stables, but he did find a largish old clay jar of rice, tucked carefully away, from tiny teeth, it must have been left years before. There had been some dead bugs in it, but the rice would keep him alive until the first spring harvest. The Eastern Ridge irrigation fields gave three main harvests a year, spring summer and the late harvest. This was because of the delayed planting patterns developed by the monks to keep as much fresh food as possible growing at all times in high altitude. Temple novices, Monks and Masters never ate meat; so the crops were beans, peas, sugar beat, rice and herbs and special medicinal weeds that grew up here.

What he did find of use in the old stables ruins, was a quite a few old tools, they were rather worn down, well used, but still tools are not easy to make but are essential if you want to make anything. Nine Dots spent his days and months fixing things. The roof of the stables had collapsed in entirely on one side, which was the most important thing to get mended to keep some warmth inside and snow outside. He had to burn a mixture of dried animal dung and straw as fuel; there were no trees to be found growing here on the mountain, so you there was no wood to burn, no animals were ever killed up here, so the fat from them couldn’t be used as candles. The dung came from the pack animals that were the only transport system between this “upper” world of the Temple and the Valley world below.

With the influx of tourists wanting to see the Great Eastern Ridge Temples, local guides would bring up the some tourists with as many as “thirty beasts” during one day. Nine Dots offered to give the pack animals shelter in the stables and looked after them, for a small price, while the guides then lead the tourists into the Garden part of the Temple Garden complex that they were allowed to visit. This gave Nine Dots a small amount to cash to buy things, he could keep fixing up the stables but most importantly, he collected the dung and dried it to burn so he had fire and warmth. The Temple didn’t use dung, as it made the Temple smell of shit; they used special oils that they pressed from one of their crops. The oil the Monks made and used gave them fire, light, warmth and sense of bliss due its divine fragrance, a bit like lavender, rosemary, thyme and a “greenness” that was hard describe as a smell but rather like a color. Green like life.

Over time other novices that had left the path of waiting without finding “no time”, but they could not find it within their hearts to return straight away home to their own village. They would come to Nine Dots and asked if they may stay a while with him in the stables. The other novices, Monks and Masters saw a new drunkard staggering down the hill into the endless wheel of Karma. only a drunkard would choose such a path to ruination.

Nine Dots needed the all help he could get and never said no to anyone as long as they did some work, here was “time”, time to do something. Mostly the novices would only stay a few days to collect themselves after the exhausting waiting on the Path, so they did little but stare at things and mumble, but if they could hold on to the other end of a bit of wood as Nine Dots banged in the joints. He could now buy wood from the valley below with the money he made from the stables; the guides would bring the supplies and wood with them along with the tourists.

To try to find “no time” is hard without the training, so the novices were often forced to push themselves to their very own limitations. Which was the point of the entire exercise in the first place. If you really wanted to develop and live the life of Monk and then maybe if you have it in you a Master, there can be no other desire. That must be the only thing for which you live and die. It is only then that you can devote yourself to Mind, Body and Soul. Some of the novices stayed with Nine Dots in the stables and slowly they began to form a small group of seven young men all somewhere around the ages of 230 moons to 280 moons, (they didn’t count Sun years they counted in Moons, and then had they would use “Venus rotation cycle” as part of the calculations which made for some rather complex mathematics’). It was hard to get any idea how old these people were, but “young men” will suffice as description enough.

The central theme in the training of a Monk is the structure and form of all things. For once you understand them you can transcend that which you know by heart. You can never go beyond your own limitations until there are no longer limited. The best way to achieve this goal of transcending the structure is to repeat the structure and form over and over again so carefully and so perfectly until you transcend all form and structure leaving it as an empty shell. The training is based on the three principalities of life, Mind, Body and Soul. It is in these three areas that all focus and training are to be directed. Each separate and each joined in pairs and all joined in a triad. A perfect equal red triangle in a white cycle is the symbol of the Eastern Ridge Masters.

The Monks and Masters of the Eastern Ridge Temple trained in special techniques of kung fu, an ancient and sacred form of the Art of Kung fu, which emphasizes form and structure. Each movement a perfect continuation of the previous and then the next, with the speed and instinct of the animal that gave the techniques its name, ex. “The Fire Eagle”. Over the years the developments of this Art has been so astounding as to not only become a perfect (unarmed) weapon of defense or attack, but movements that open the Mind, Body and Soul to wondrous glory of the Universal. These techniques are never seen outside the most restricted areas of the temple. The displays of kung fu that Monks and novices would put on in the Temple Gardens, for the tourists to watch, are the price one pays to live in a world where certain commodities are only paid for with cash. The local communist political regime had a taste for more than “a pray being said over their immortal souls”. They could make problems if not properly greased.

Nine Dots had no such training in any sacred Art. He did not dare even to go to the Temple Gardens and pay to watch the displays of excellence (that were but party tricks for the Monks). He felt a great shame that he had no training, no Art. He had a small group of lost souls that feed donkeys and mules took care of the field by the stables, and made sure the tourists “rubbish” was removed from every part of the mountain. It was like some semi-official agreement that they “the Drunkards” could be in the stables if the kept things clean after the tourists. Off course no one from the Temple ever spoke to Nine Dots or the other Drunkards. In those days it was only very dedicated tourists that made the trip to the Temples, it took five hours to rise up from the valley to Temple Gardens on the back of donkey. Most of the tourists were often experts in some field of scientific or religious study, there was the odd searcher after truth with strange clothes and very long hair like yogis, but still western and childlike. They would always talk to Nine Dots, these childlike yogis, but he didn’t know any thing of their words so it sounded like a duck talking to him, that was why he would smile the pink gum grin, long haired talking ducks.

Time moves slowly on the Eastern Ridge Mountain Temples but in the Valley below the time flows like anywhere else and started picking up all the debris of change. The first time some of this modern debris washed up on the mountainside stables was in the summer of 1968. The Drunkards had heard a rumor, from the tourist guides with the pack animals, who had seen workers making new constructions along the bottom of the mountain path. They seemed to be making the path wider and flatter. The path was perfect to use for the animals but there was something new that needed wider flatter paths.

Drunkn Munky had joined Nine Dots some thirty moons backs. He had come from one of the poorest of regions along the edge of the salt desert. There was nothing for Drunkn Munky anywhere, there was no place and no time, just the empty salt deserts that laid waste to the land. He had heard of the temples on the Eastern Ridge Mountains where you could live a life. A hard and disciplined life but still you had a life. He knew it was here he would find his life. At his 197th moon, Drunkn Munky, took his blanket, that his mother had made and given him and the wooden bowl with the small knife that had been his brothers, who had died the month before. He wrapped the bowl and the knife carefully into the blanket, that he then tied around him so he could walk and be shaded from the boiling sun. He then walked to the Eastern Ridge Temples and finally stopped at the bottom of the path leading up into the Temple complex some 16 moons later. There he sat, he made no announcement or declaration of his presence, and he found an empty spot and sat down. The Monks would put small pieced of food and water in their bowls of the waiting novices, so they could sustain life but had little energy to move about. He would not have to wait long, because he felt he was in “no time” and in “no place” like usual. After 65 moons he stood up and stumbled down the hill like a drunken man and fell into the Stables and collapsed. He stayed in fever for an entire moon; he was in “no time” yet there was no peace just pure pain and terror. The Drunkards tried to use some herbs that they knew about, but their knowledge was so limited, they were the simplest of men. Nine Dots had picked up a few things, but still the true knowledge of medication was to be found inside the Temple with the Masters. The moon died and rose again after three days, Drunkn Munky woke form his dark dream. He became a simple brother of the Stables, cleaning mountains, collecting and drying dung from the pack animals while giving them food from the garden plateau to eat and mixing it with the dung to make good burning bricks. He became the main dung brick makers and he was good it, they burnt perfectly. He was content he had a life on the side of the mountain. He was a Drunkard, but he knew his name was Drunkn Munky and not Drunken Monkey.

In his 306th moon Drunkn Munky saw the Yellow Sun for the first time. The Path to the stables had been worked on by workingmen during the many moons; he hadn’t counted them, but knew Venus had turned twice so more than 16 moons. The workingmen had made the path wide and flat with purpose. They meant it to be like this, wide and flat, all the way up, like a snake that ran through the mountainside and into the sea of snakes they had made in the valleys. Nine Dots had spoken with the guides and then with the workingmen. They spoke much and had words to fill sacks of dried dung for a whole winter’s length. But when all was done Nine Dots told the brothers that now new pack animals would come but their dung was burnt in a different way. It seemed not smell of dung in the same way; there was smell involved, not like the Temple oil, but not dung. Drunkn Munky asked if he should leave the Stables now there was no dung, but nine Dots said he would learn to make this new dung burn as well as he made the dung bricks burn. Drunkn Munky’s heart was light again he believed Nine dots to be wise.

The first of these new pack animals he saw was Yellow Sun, he knew love like no other love, he knew like no other thing, like no other time, this was the now. He began to flip, twitch, move with no control. No instinct, no form or structure, like a true drunkard but with purpose and then instantly into the opposite motion. It was unbearable to witness, yet impossible not to be pulled into these terrible yet irregular motions that Drunkn Munky did the first time he saw Yellow Sun. Along the flat snake path rolled, or rather floated, on black rubber wheels the “Yellow Beetle Volkswagen Car” a Sun Bug. It had just driven along the worst possible road every built but man or beast, and as it turned into the Stable driveway the front axel of the front right hand wheel just snapped in two pieces, it just broke then and there. The Yellow Sun tilted forward, stopped dead, and lay making the loud brumming noise that seemed fill all the air around it. It then became quite and silent, a man open part of it and stepped out. He walked round and looked at the wheel that lay on the path and then at the Yellow Sun. He made workingmen lift the up the front and then pull the Yellow Sun into the Stables. There he made them put wooden blocks under where the wheel should be so the Yellow Sun would stand straight. Drunkn Munky woke up in daze he was in the stable lying next to Yellow Sun. It was night and stable brothers slept. Only the night beasts were awake and they are mainly silent. Drunkn Munky stretched out his hand and touched Yellow Sun. His hand had never felt sheet metal with high gloss paint he had no idea what to expect. As he touched he began to move again in the strangest of fashions, it was so misleading, so deceptive, and so disorientating that it was so beautiful and so horrible at the same time. There was no form no structure, there was just indescribable force of motion.

The tourists began to change when the larger machines, buses, began to drive up the flat snake path. It now took an hour and half, which was no time at all, to drive from the Valley below to the Stables, so suddenly it was all types of people who just came to look at something. Drunkn Munky stayed in the Stables with the Yellow Sun. They got the special burners from the workmen to burn the dark liquid dung of the Cars and Busses; these animals lived on the dung liquid. It required little skill to make it burn and the other brothers fixed the burning machines to make warmth in the entire Stables with no problems. And the smell of burnt dung had almost gone, the new liquid dung burning smell was blown by pipes outside the Stables.

The Yellow Sun was left were it stood in the stables, nobody every came to take it back down the road. Drunkn Munky would twist and turn around the Yellow Sun, regularity of machine with the irregularity of the Drunkard. Drunkn Munky and Nine Dots washed and kept the Yellow Sun clean; it had come to them broken, many moons ago.

Some say the “drunkn” kung-fu style is not a true system, for the techniques are not unique to it, but rather the manner in which it is applied, there are no forms.

The End.

Trapped in the Cab

Trapped in the Cab

As a rule, the more bizarre a thing is the less mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace featureless crimes which are really puzzling, just a commonplace face is the most difficult to identify.

“Another ten minutes and it could have been us in the back of that Färdtjänst Bus.”

The morphine was pure enough, medical grade, Come Watson come! The game is afoot. I’ll take three bags of them. He placed the three bags deftly inside his coat and deposited them in the safest of his own pocket designs. He felt a warmth comfort flow out from his intellect. With his other hand he paid the man and walked silently away into his own fog.

“Another ten minutes could have been you in that bloody bus”.

The White Bus, like a van with windows, and with the red and blue “curved triple mirrored” stripping that shows it really is a Färdtjänst Bus. “Färdtjänst” is pronounced “Fair-d-Cher-unst” but pronounced a bit quicker, so it sounds like one word, and then “bus”.

Whatever you do “don’t open” the box. It’s because of the box that they are valuable. Once you open the box they are toys. A Broken or not a Broken toy is still a toy. That is the difference. I once had “one” with a Snake and a Rat but my daughter opened the box, she saw “toy” written all over the thing. Looks Real. Feels Real. Choking Hazard for the under threes. Classic box package, the whole-box deal with lots of information on the back. Worthless, cause the plastic is “cut”. Not busted or broken, but cut. That’s the worst. A cut shows it wasn’t a mistake. Cut shows intention, intention shows motive, and the motive is ‘cause it’s a toy. Logic my friend is a powerful tool, even in the hands of an innocent.

The morphine had started to work, he’d dropped two tablets straight away, he saw immediately that they were the real deal, medical grade. You can’t get them to look like that when you glue them back together with super glue or some other solvent you have lying around your “pad”. The deal is always sweeter when the goods come professionally packaged by trained experts in the Art of Weights and Measures, with the relevant University Educated in Advanced Chemistry needed to deal anything of Value. These people I feel safe with. People employed by large Pharmaceutical Companies for large amounts of wages, they are the ones I am putting my money on. Some guy in a flat in Lupton Park is not cracking open my wallet open for some brownish white powder in a squeezey bag. That could be any vile compound from the depths of some twisted specimen of the species so called mind. In my blood stream, that mixture, I think not.

“It just don’t let you out, just drives around and around”.
“Seriously Gustav there in no White Bus that drives people around and around”.
“That’s what you says but other’s say there be a White Färdtjänst Bus that do.”
“Gustav do not get upset please, relax now, lay back and take a dose of morphine from the pump you have.”

It had been the woman from the Public Health authority that had approached him a on a matter of some delicacy. She said immediately that she didn’t want to be in this somewhat difficult predicament, because it really was not her departments’ responsibility. That was almost the truth; apart from the fact it was hers and her departments only responsibility. She was personally in charge and fully responsible for the relationship between the entire Stockholm Medical Authorities Central administration and the Suppliers of Transport and Taxis for the patients that were covered by Central Insurance Transport, the so called “Färdtjänst”.

Färdtjänst (“Fair-d-Cher-unst”) was split into two major groups. The first being what you or I would call a normal black taxicab service. The two good taxi services that are run as legitimate businesses of driving taxis, the two big names in taxi services. Now they have a round decal in their windows, clearly visible, a large white ring and a large “F” bang smack in the middle. I think then the writing is in blue, it repeats the word Färdtjänst in a ring around the big red “F”.

Then there are the White minibus van, Färdtjänst Service, that are designed to be able to move patients in Wheelchairs, permochairs, electric driven chairs of all sorts of specialized equipment, that some people need to move around in. The White buses are only used by “Färdtjänst” and are marked accordingly, only with “Färdtjänst”. They use a taxicab like system to process travel and payment information. These white vans are always ordered in advance over the phone to central travel orders. You can’t stop one of these on the street. There is then the difference if you are allowed to travel alone or must make a party of people before you can be driven about.

The rain splashed against the window it sounded softer today, he pulled on his robe, adjusting the belt to hold the fold of the robe in a straight line, the tubes from his morphine pump had been sown into a series of simple but ingenious channels by his beloved wife. This meant when dressed he could move about with almost no hindrance. This case would call for upon all his skill of disguise and even the pipes and tubes would serve him well when dealing with such people as Medical Central authority and the notorious Färdtjänst transport system gangsters.

“So Madam you are in fact directly responsible for this situation, are you not?”

“There have been rapports of disappearances and time lapses, complaints made, accusations heard. I do not know whom to turn too. I can’t go the Police; it would cause the most terrible scandal. The media would eat us alive. You are the most highly recommended operative of them all. Dear Sir I turn to you as our last and only hope to solve this mystery as quickly and as quietly as humanly possible”.

“Madam my fees for this case may seem irregular to you. You may even feel a sense of unease and regret, but if I am to take this case then I have a particular requirement in terms of my fee for solving this case. I require a regular supply of medical grade morphine in tablet form to be delivered to my residence by safe hands. The amounts of tablets will be directly connected to what particular variation of tablets and strengths we will be dealing with. I dictate the amounts; it will always be my call. This Madame this is the fee I ask, my expenses are billed separately, as costs incurred during action are to be paid for me by your organization and their counter part in other forms of government work. These bills are to be paid by your economic department without discussion, I am a reasonable man and do not push my cash need beyond any reasonableness. I shall also need certain false identity cards, documentation and papers that work for all forms of Färdtjänst”.

“I accept your terms kind Sir and the first delivery shall be this afternoon to show our good faith. The deal will be pure medical grade morphine, starts from grade 1 to goes up to number 6, that’s the top dog. We could have it Piped in if you want Sir”.

“Hmumm, a most flexible and generous deal Madame, I would shake on it, but I have low immunity thresholds and never touch other people.”

Because the Färdtjänst had several different variations of the level of service. Some of the older people who had the “the right” to use this service, but they were not dying or seriously ill patients, were driven around in busloads (they filled the white bus up with other people before taking you where you wanted to go). The white buses had about five permanent chairs and three places for wheel chairs and such like to be strapped into the bus. So it was not uncommon for a group of six people to be in one of the white Färdtjänst bus at the same time. It was during these times that rumors and whispered words took place. It was said that there was one White bus, a particular White bus that when it picked you up, if you were “alone” you didn’t get out again alive.

Or if you were still alive you had been driven around and around for many miles, not daring to ask why, in case as the bus driver turned around from his front seat and smiled his wide toothy smile, that left little for the imagination, he would the answer “Hades my friend”.

Action figures are so much more than toys; they are portals into that other realm of fantasy. The packaging is such an intricate part of the pieces as to be the true outer body. This is why children should never have the chance to see them, because the packaging is merely something to be removed so “play” can begin with toy inside the plastic box. Both points of view are valid within there own context, but unfortunately directly opposed to each other in practice. This is why so much good stuff goes to waste for the poor collector. Thankfully the general awareness has increased since the 1950’s and onwards; so collectable items will increase overtime. This and the wonderful developments that have occurred over the last 20 odd years in the action figure collectables; The Star Wars merchandising did blaze the way for some time. And we have moved on to some truly stunning modern results. As long as rule number one is always stuck to, no matter, no way, never open the box.

His first plan of action was of course to use this Färdtjänst White bus service. He needed to be fully informed and acquainted with all the usages and possibilities. Within three days he held all the identity cards and papers in his hands and had been given all the relevant information on how to use them. He had received his first delivery the same day of the meeting with the woman, so all was being followed according to plan. Smoothness was such a satisfaction for a mind so egotistical, vain and condescending as his. He had both the option to travel alone or in a group. He wanted to blend into a group first, be less visible. He would use the older man disguise that he had used on the “Signet Water Lilly” case.

“That’s what they do they just drives your around to drive you mad.”
“ No Gustav darling they have to get the other people off the bus at some other place than where your are going”
“ Where’s that then?”
“ I don’t know Gustav, I wasn’t on the bus with you today it was Jose’sh”.
“Who that then?”
“ She is here on the weekends Gustav, Jose’sh, you like Jose’sh, she is small”.
“ Oh small”
“ Yes Gustav small, now get some rest your tired after the running about in the bus”.
“Them White buses drives you round and round, some says they never let you off lest you dead”.
“No Gustav darling, not until you’re all dead dear, there now get some sleep, you need it”.

He’d been on the bus for while now, he had booked an early trip to be the first on the bus so as to be able observe clearly. There was very little structure in the driving plan so far. The driver Agdbash Nuramity had started a rather interesting swoop in the southern western suburbs of Stockholm’s inner town. There had been pick-ups of all sorts of people and one roller-chair all over the area. When he was finally done with all the pick-ups they had six passengers (five patients and one assistant) in the van, and the driver himself Mr. Agdbash Nuramity. The general level of fidgeting stopped as Mr. Agdbash Nuramity announced his first destination. Mrs. Olsson to Södersjukhuset (the hospital on the South Island). Good this will show him a thing or two about Mr. Nuramity’s mind set, the time is now 10,43, traffic in Central Stockholm would have thinned by know, so what does he chose highway or byway?

Mrs. Aldertun to Kings Island, Fridhemsplan, (Follow Chair Two floors Lift)
Mrs. Nilsson to Central Station (12,45 Train to catch)
Mr. R. Lilly to Aspudden
Mr. Anderson to St Paul’s Street on the Southern Island (after 14,30)

He couldn’t see the driving information displayed on the monitor because the roller chair with Mrs. Aldertun in it had completely blocked view that he had planned to have of the machine once the driver had flipped it into “drive to” mode. He was now unable to assess any information, most importantly of all; the frame of the information against Mr. Nurmitys driving performance was to be gauged. So it was small talk and whispers that he would have to put some faith into. The first drop was at the hospital, good always took longer at hospital, and it is hard leaving people at some reception or just at some counter with no personal. As Mrs. Olsson was being lifted out into a hospital wheelchair, he made his move. He had time to strike up a conversation, before Mrs. Olsson had been processed.

“Mr. Anderson was it, my name is Lilly, Reginald Lilly. Hello how do you do”.

It took little to set these “lonely wound up little mice with crashing symbols” banging away at some thing, but to interrogate them was another matter indeed.

“These white buses, these Färdtjänst white buses, ever had any problem with them? Ever found yourself thinking if they know where they are going, or just driving around in circles?”

It was only when he played the violin that he ever felt really at peace. Not a calm peace but a sorrowful dark peace, some would say repressed passion. His mind had become an encyclopedia of knowledge over the years trained in a cool logicians ease of deduction. He knew inside that whatever madness Mr. Gustav Anderson had bound to that “White Bus” taxi service he would only continue to confirm his fear and thereby serve his purpose. That was Mr. Gustav Anderson’s intention to spend as much time as possible, being driven around in the white Färdtjänst bus with other people to talk to. Mystery is simple my dear Man, it is the common that fools us.

The End

The Hobby of Kings

The Hobby of Kings

Of all the unlikely things that Man has ever hunted or gathered over the years, the humble Postage Stamp has always been the most respectable evidence of a disreputable pastime. Despite the common belief that they are friendless lunatics or just some consumption junkies on a burn, a true Collector is an Artist. Carefully they put together each piece of their little puzzle in the hope that one-day it might just all fit perfectly together into one complete picture. Perfection can be a cruel and unforgiving Mistress, so easily misunderstood. A collection really only makes sense when you see it as the story of the Collector, and a collection is only every really valuable when it’s a good story and enjoyable to listen to, not just something worth holding in your hand.

The idea that some long lost relative of yours has tucked away a stamp collection in some well-hidden box marked “Stamps” has been the driving force behind many a big attic clear-out and the obligatory Post Garage Sale. I can honestly say the chances that any homemade stamp collections, based on the stamps that happened to come your way (or your grandfathers way, or his mates way), is of any value whatsoever, is as likely as you producing gold-wrapped chocolate bars from your nose. Slight to Zero.

Stamp collections found in boxes marked “Stamps” are never worth more than the paper they are printed on. Even if you have had a half-hearted attempt at sticking them in some obviously irrelevant order (like country or color) to semi-stiff sheets of paper, with that special glue you bought in the local bookshop that comes off the back of stamps like sun-warmed dung off a ice-cooled shovel.

It doesn’t matter what you do with the “Stamps” because of the simple fact, “this is Not Your Collection”, so you will be ripped off, like a well-stuck band-aid from a sensitive (and hairy) body-part, by the first half-decent Philatelist, that has the fortune to wonder past your little Garage Sale. The problem is not only your pitiful non-existent knowledge of Stamps, but also the fact that everyone will be telling you all number of lies like, ”this crap (i.e. your Stamp Collection) is worthless”. That is the hardest one of the lies to crack open because it is the truth; a valuable collection is worth nothing in the hands of a fool. As every good Philatelist knows the best way to lie is to always stick to the truth.

Have you ever bothered to look at a stamp?
Have you ever held it under a magnifying glass in the hope to see more?

Most of you haven’t and I have no doubt that the humble stamp will soon pass into the realms of forgotten history, nothing more than a colored bit of paper stuck to an empty envelope. There are times when a stamp can say more than the thousand words once written and stuck into those now empty old envelops, there are even times when a stamp can point an accusing finger from the grave at the murdering hand that once held the pen or knife.

Philately is a small world, but it conceals an even smaller world. A secretive little world that allows few to pass through its electrically powered gates and even fewer to join its exclusive rank and file, The Grand Order of Stamp Makers. Here you will find a old fashioned world, a world of history and tradition, a subterranean World with rat holes running criss-cross though the dimly lit tunnels that are guarded by the likes of Dragon 2.1 (computer-coded doors), night and day, day and night. A dwarf World where fortunes can be made with just a slip of the hand, a world where Truth and Fantasy can, and often do, get mixed up with each other into a stew of paper and paint (more often light-hardened plastic pigmentation nowadays). Stamp Design & Production departments of National Postal Services around the World are highly endangered “Hobby & Collectable”-suppliers to the Monarchies and Monaco’s in this day and age, where even “Royal pastimes” can and do, just disappear into thin air.

There are many reasons why things are best-left hidden, tucked away in dusty draws, but if you do accidentally happen to stumble over some secret marked “Private”, then you are well advised to leave it right alone. People like their secrets kept safe-hands. Even the secrets that they hide in broad daylight, right in front of your face, because the secrets that stay kept are the ones we don’t dare to care about.

The Hotel E-10 must surely be is one of the least attractive buildings situated inside the Artic circle, it lacks charm and grace, the low budget facilities leaves one feeling cheated out of any reasonable expectancy. But on the other hand it is by far the closest place to stay if you want to be in walking distance of the Kiruna offices of the Swedish Postal Stamps department. Swedish postage stamps are designed and printed in Stockholm and then they are transported to the Artic circle, to the mining town of Kiruna, for “collector” preparation and distribution. During the summer months the sun never sets in Kiruna, making day light robbery a 24-hour option. How many times had he sat waiting in the nondescript rooms for sleep to relieve the boredom of the view? There was the two view options that the E-10 had to offer, the parking area at the front of the building that looked out over the petrol station or the empty area at the back that looked out over a warehouse that seemed to serve no particular purpose. The front view did offer the added bonus of on clear days you could see part of the mining mountain behind the petrol station that produced the fabulous iron ore. As of yet, counting this visit, it was his fourth stay at the Drive in Bar Hotel E-10.

Postage Stamps and Paper money are essentially printed by using the same rather antiquated technique, recess printing or intaglio, a technique that requires hand-made original engravings. The original “unique engravings” are priceless and well guarded objects. The recess printing process makes duplication virtually impossible, unless you happen to have the required extremely expensive, printing equipment, years of qualified experience and an original engraved “die” which is truly impossible to duplicate and therefore forever unique in the mass production of Stamps. The major difference between stamps and cash money is that each bill is individually numbered where as Postage stamps are numbered in arks or Cylinder identification digits.

Czeslaw Slania (pronounced Chess-wav Swan-ya) was born in Czeladz, Poland in 1921. At the age of six, he and his family moved to Lublin. Even as a small boy, he had demonstrated a great talent for drawing and even the production of miniature engravings. The German occupation of Poland during the Second World War, gave Slania the opportunity to develop his skills and become a professional counterfeiter; He could reproduce any official document with just a fine-brush and the right colored ink or water paint. He even forged postcards with hand painted stamps that fooled the postal services and got “date-stamped” like any other real stamp. At the end of the war Czeslaw enrolled into the Krakow School of Fine Arts, to go straight as it were. He was employed by the Polish Government Printing Works and engraved his first stamp for Poland in 1951. The aftermath of WWII had left Poland under Soviet Communist control, which was not the most pleasant of environments even for the most faithful of government workers. He left for Sweden in 1956, maybe the Poles didn’t mind losing their most talented engraver, or maybe the documents allowing him foreign travel weren’t as real as the authorities would have liked, who knows? After a few years of not being able to get honest employment in the Socialist paradise of Sweden, Slania finally got a job as a full time engraver in 1960 for Swedish Postal Service. Slania had actually engraved his first stamp for Sweden in 1959 while not “fully” employed, as a kind of test thing they did in the fifties, but he liked it in the Swedish Postal service and even ended up engraving his 1000th stamp in Sweden in the Millennium year 2000 AD. He was appointed as the Royal Court Engraver of Sweden and of Denmark and also to his good friends the Royal family of Monaco; Movie star princesses make lovely stamps. His seemingly endless talent and fabled speed earned him numerous awards and acclamations over the years. Czeslaw Slania finally became the world's most prized “legitimate” engraver.

Auguste Mayer, the Painter, had left France with his wife Catherine and their daughter Saga in the early spring of 1836, along with the rest of the “La Recherché” expedition that had been planned and commissioned by Paul Gaimard, “La Commission scientifique de Islande et de Groënland”. After sailing from Brest in Normandy, Meyer’s hometown, the expedition sailed north, around the west coast of Ireland, and finally landed at Reykjavík. Gaimard and his six associates, with 48 horses and numerous Icelandic attendants, set out from Reykjavík on 20 June 1836 and circled the country counterclockwise, arriving back in Reykjavík at the end of August.

I think the simple fact of the matter is that Postage stamps are much like people is what really makes them interesting. Stamps are dull and brilliant, obvious and concealed, useful and pointless, unique and mass-produced. Postage stamps are made to be inoffensive and yet around the world hundreds maybe even thousands of souls spend hour upon hour hoping to find something wrong with them.

The Artic circle can be surprising warm during the endless days of summer, on the 13th June 2005, at eleven o’clock in the evening in Kiruna airport, the sun was shinning and the temperature was 23 celsius. He hadn’t slept on the flight up like he had planned; his traveling companion had talked incessantly, mostly about their fellow employees. He felt tired and warm, not the best of combinations in the night-less North. Visiting staff from the Stockholm office often frequented Room 103.

In 1986, Slania produced engravings for six United Nations stamps on the theme “Philately — The International Hobby”. Two of these stamps reproduce engravings that show “Mr. Slania at work”, hunched over a polished steel die. When enlarged certain evidence comes to light. The official rapport was that Czeslaw Slania died at the age of 83 on the 17th of March 2005.

The first global scientific collaboration was made in the year 1761, around the world scientist of the day, aimed to calculate the distance of the Sun from Earth. Captain Cook on his journey to New Zealand even stopped of in Tahiti to make his own observations of the astronomical phenomena that was to help us know more about the neighborhood we live in. A total of 151 observations were finally recorded and the full transcripts were published by the then newly formed American Philosophical Society; this was to be the start of the modern scientific world that would soon lay claim to the domination of our waking Mind. The event that they carefully measured and recorded was the crossing of the planet Venus in front of the Sun, the Venus Passage. The event itself can occur singularly or be part of a pair that is separated by eight years. The reason for this is the angle of transection across the face of the Sun as seen from the planet Earth. This particular passage was a part of a pair that happened in 1761/69; the phenomenon occurs again every 113 or 130 years, the following Passages being in 1874/82 and after that 2004/2012.

In 1755 the Swedish Riks (it means National, like in the German “Reich”) Bank started what was called the Tumba Works. The purpose of this factory was the production of high quality paper on which the Swedish “Riksdalar” (the forerunner of the Swedish Crown) could be printed. The paper that had been used had been formerly imported from Holland. The production of high-class paper for printing had been something of a Dutch specialty. The printing press itself was said to have been invented by L.J.Koster of Haarlem, a Dutchman. Gutenberg’s “Vulvae Gate Bible” gets the credit for being the first ever-printed book, round 1455, the Dutch were big names in printing back then. But the really big development in printing came in 1865 when William Bullock of Philadelphia invented the first printing press to print from a continuous roll of paper. This called for an endless river of paper, which in turn made the endless Swedish forests an overflowing Cash Cow for the old Empire. Paper made from the forests of Sweden revolved itself on giant rolls into cash.

The report of the Gaimard expedition was published in Paris, between the years of 1838 and 1852, in eight separate volumes of text and one of geological illustrations, all in octavo format, plus three large and sumptuously produced folio volumes of lithographs. The first two of these works contain prints of the pictures made by August Mayer of the expedition itself that included not only the places it had visited but as well drawings of antiquities and portraits of Gaimard and a number of Icelanders. The book “Voyage en Islande et au Groënland” is the most elaborate single work ever published about Iceland. The pictures painted by Mayer, that remain today, are the single most important source of visual information about life in Iceland during the early 18 hundreds.

The Venus passage in 2004/2012 is the event that the Mayans up to. The Mayans considered 2012 AD, to be the End or Beginning of calculable time, as it turned out for the Mayans, the end of their particular life-style came somewhat more abruptly. The greatest of all known Mayan temple sites, Chichen Itza, fell to the “Mexican” invaders around 1000AD. The Mayan civilization would have collapsed under its own weight sooner or later; their wondrous temples that they built required immense amount of skilled labor. They always built in the middle of rain forests, which are known for being infested with wild beasts and hungry insects. The Mayans never developed metal tools such as ploughs, they never managed to invent the wheel and they actually never built cities, they just built temples. In fact their only other great achievement beyond the temples they built, was their mathematics and their unbelievable ability to calculate the passing of time with such decimal accuracy.

Upon graduation from the Marcin Wadowita high school in Wadowice, Karol Josef Wojtyla enrolled into Krakow’s Jagiellonian University in 1938 and he also joined a drama group and became one of the clandestine pioneers of the "Rhapsodic Theatre," The Nazi occupation of Poland closed the University in 1939 and Karol Wojtyla had to work in a stone quarry (1940-1944) and later in the Solvay chemical factory to earn his living and to avoid being deported to Germany. After WWII he continued his studies in the major seminary of Krakow, once it had re-opened, until his priestly ordination in Krakow on November 1, 1946. An old boyhood friend of Karol’s came to study in Krakow after the war. They had played football together as boys, but had lost touch when the Slania family had moved to Lublin and the Germans had turned Poland into a Human Oven. They were able to rekindle their friendship during those university years, after the Germans had gone back to what was left of their own back yard. The Actor and the Counterfeiter were just starting out on their own roads to be Kings.

Together in 2005, the Swedish Postage Stamp Department 1855 and Tumba Bruk 1755, two fine upstanding institutions, have produced a commemorative stamp and a commemorative 100-crown bill to celebrate the collective 400 years of paper wealth that has been produced from the high grade iron ore and paper from the endless forests of the European Nation of Sweden.

Documents, that are traceable in the lower strata of Historical Information, only achieve great value after a great period of time or an equal amount of misfortune. If an Official document, by chance alone, survives long enough; it has the chance of becoming exceedingly valuable. Take for example the cuneiform clay tablets from Lower Mesopotamia. They are receipts, made by local government Officials, recording the amount of grain delivered to temple store houses, by the local farming community. Boring. But given a few thousand years they become priceless. If that same boring document happens to be wrong then it will become valuable in much less time. The greater the mistake the less time is needed for it to become valuable. If the mistake was consciously wiped clean, leaving only the tiniest fraction of proof left, then the value of this mistake, this evidence of human weakness, will increase much faster. Limited Access & widespread media coverage increases the value of anything. We bury our treasure and our mistakes, the rest we burn.

Czeslaw Slania often told the story about the first stamp he made in a series of three for the Icelandic Post Services from 1986-88, Scott # 643, Crossing the ford at River Hvita; One day while he was working on the steel plate, his daughter, who was with him in his studio, watched him working. When he stopped to take a break, she took up his burin (his engraving stick) and imitated the grandmaster by making cuts across the steel plate, which ruined it of course. Slania had to start the entire job for the second time. The first original steel plate was laid aside as worthless and eventually lost. Czeslaw said that in the end he was happy to start over again as it gave him the chance to capture the mood of frustration that the expedition no doubt felt from time to time. One can only wonder if the little girl looking out from the stamp is Saga, the daughter of Auguste Mayer, or in fact Czeslaw Salina’s own little girl that had foiled his first attempt and given him a second chance, but unfortunately made the almost finished engraving plate worthless.

Operation Cornflake was meant to be a key part of a high level clandestine plan to undermine the morale of the average citizen. The standard 6-pfenning and 12-pfenning stamps were forged in sheets of 50 instead of the sheets of 100 as the originals were printed in. The main differences were firstly the quality of the paper, chalky coated paper for the originals but a duller paper for the forgeries and secondly the perforations were 14x14 1/2 for the originals but 11 1/2 to 13x12 1/2 for the forgeries. Also, an additional forgery of the 12-pfenning was made, but the inscription was altered to read "Futsches Reich" meaning "Ruined Empire". General “Wild Bill” Donovan, head of the OSS (Office of Strategic Services) the America Spy Services during World War II, later they changed name to become the CIA. The OSS had ordered the forged stamps to be printed by their operations in Switzerland, apparently damn good forgers the Swiss, makes you wonder really. The Allies felt that if many German people started receiving Anti-Nazi propaganda mixed up in their morning mail, delivered punctually at breakfast time, they would feel that their "Great German Empire" was falling apart from within. The actual effect that Operation Cornflake had on the moral of the German people is hard to tell, probably at lot less than dropping 15 billion tons of high explosive on them, but it certainly annoyed some people. Operation Cornflake wasn’t the first time that the forging of stamps had been used as a weapon of mass confusion.

The Mining operations under the town of Kiruna have not only made a vast amount of money for the Swedish state but have also made an enormous hole in the ground beneath Kiruna. The rock that contains the iron ore is of course the rock upon which the town of Kiruna is built. The initial mine removed iron ore at ground level, and then they had to follow the mother-load deep into the bedrock and eventually they have had to burrow and dig right under the town. The ground has already started to crack under the pressure. There is a plan describing the areas of land that will have to be cleared from 2010 –2030. By 2030 AD at least half of the town will have to be moved from where it is situated today and moved at least 20 kilometers from the mine area. The church in Kiruna, the most holy of places, will have to be moved sometime between 2010 and 2020.

When Czeslaw Slania died at the age of 83 on the 17th of March 2005 it took about three months before his workroom at Posten Frimärken (Swedish Stamp Department), Kista, got cleaned out. It had been his room, the Masters’ room. So you didn’t want to let anyone just going in and pocking about in there. There were about three people who got the good stuff out, that was worth something, and then the boys from the warehouse, (the goods-in goods-out) guys, they get to deal with other peoples crap and moved out the rest of the furniture, where stuff gets lost and found, out the room into the dumpster.

The End.

Fathers Family Found

Fathers Family Found

If you have never felt like you had lost something in the first place then it is all the more surprising to find out you had one all along. A family tree is all the more surprising to find out you have one when you were sure that certain members, of what is called your family, never seemed to have any idea of who or where they came from. I never heard my Grandparents ever talk about growing up in someplace with other people. I presumed there was no record of my last name beyond my fathers’ own father, who I knew to have held that surname.

Not having a family tree or family line is nothing particular in our day and age. It is different for my wife for example, she is, well she could have been a Baroness. This would have meant that would have had to married at the very least a Baron and anything upwards from there, Counts, Dukes, Archdukes, Princes and such like. But she married me, which affectively removed any chance of her ever holding the title Baroness. Although her father is a Baron and her mother a Baroness, even her brother and his wife are entitled to hold the title, as do both their sons. It is not something one talks about in Sweden. But one does get a family tree to show just how each particular branch comes tumbling down from the original Baron title bestowed on the family. In Sweden this was usually given to wealthy men for services rendered to the King sometime in the 16 hundreds. I can’t remember why my wife’s family became Barons just for the moment, but what I’ll do is have a look in their family book. My wife’s father was one of the co-authors of the Family book; he spent time revising the older family book that had several generations missing. The new family book was printed some three years ago now so it is almost up to date.

My own lost and now apparently found family has no blue blood in it whatsoever. All the early information is mainly taken from church records dating back to 1717. Andrew and Mary had a son on the 1 st April 1717, All Fools Day, in the Parish of St Alphege, in Greenwich, London. From this point our family story begins. Because from this point certain times and events have been registered in the local Church parish book; births, deaths and marriages. These three vital pieces of information help you trace the path of your DNA backwards in time. Due to the patriarchal system we have been subjected to during the last two and half thousand years, we can only really follow the male line, because the female is forced to take her husbands name, in practice deleting their own information and renaming it, so as the female family parts of the family break away by getting new surnames.

Our first man out onto the field of play in “Our Family Name” is Christopher, Andrew and Mary’s only child. He was born in Greenwich, London in 1717; at that time Greenwich was a very busy sea cargo port. The really big ships would sail into Greenwich and then unload their goods and cargo on to smaller and better vessels for the rest of the trip up the River Thames to the docks and warehouses in town. It would have been a rough place with many men working in the docks for 16 hours a day. No easy life. The housing for the dockworkers would have been of sub standard quality yet their houses served as all the houses they ever needed, where you got born, you lived, you procreated and you died.

They would have used the water from the river for and all their needs, there would not have been running water in houses. Stone coal would have been burnt in the fireplaces and chimneys causing black smog to settle gently on all outside surfaces, turning them gray. Christopher married Ann Holloway when he was 22 years old; they had their first and only child Thomas when he was 33 years old. Ann must have died about seven years after their son was born, because at the age of 40 Christopher remarried a girl called Sarah in 1757, nothing more is known about her other than her first name. Christopher then died himself three years later 1760 at the age of 43, leaving Thomas in the care of Sarah. However old Sarah might have been at the time of Christopher’s death, (I would approximate 21 years old) she was now to be Thomas, 10-years-old, mother.

Thomas was born in 1750 and married Elizabeth Barlow, four years his younger, when he was 22 years old and she was 18. Elizabeth died at the age of 46 in September 1800, leaving two male children; one of them was called William. These two sons continued with the Cabinet making and furniture business that Thomas had started about 1780.

Thomas remarried in 1802, two years after the death of his first wife Elizabeth, to his second wife Elizabeth, Elizabeth Light (she was 28 years old and he was 52 years old when they got married). Elizabeth Light gave birth to George while she was at the age of 31 and her husband was 55 years old. When George was 14-years-old Thomas his father died.

Elizabeth was 45 at the time of her husband’s death. She lived another on another 18 years to be 63 years old, before her death passed into the family tree under the heading;

“dd. 27 Sep 1837, 5 Cavendish St, Hoxton New Town”.

What do you do with all this information? How do you get it to make sense in the world? You look at all these dates and names, all these lives mixed into a single pot of history that you decide to turn around like ice cream over warm pie.

What you get is this;
“dd. XX XXX 200X, 2 Sigfridsvägen, Stockholm, Sweden”.

This is where you pass the eye of the needle. This is where you get to work out how old you were when you got married, had kids and died. You can make a little matrix that works out the ages automatically. You just change the dates around and you get your own little story.

It is funny how things just pop up. I knew nothing of this story until one day a man named Barry asked me over the Internet, on my work mail address, weather I would give him the names of my parents and place of birth. Obviously I was a bit skeptical but the man did have my surname. I decided to answer briefly but refused to comment on any other information concerning my family. My mothers and father first names and St. John’s Wood, N.W.8 London is far from being a national secret. From this came small piece of information I received a flood of information about my fathers family name history. It was so odd to be in this situation.

I felt somehow obliged and compelled to be part of this cascade of information and I must admit I was rather overwhelmed by it at first. In a strange way I felt I was now part of something English for the first time in my life. Which was so new to me, because I’m now more or less Swedish and I have never been given any indication that I belong to any nation. The Englishness was like a bright new buttered scone that for the first time hit me with the full power of the Englishness inside. The cheddars, the creams, the pies, the jams, the teas and all the goodness that is inherent in the nostalgic English tradition. Thomas Hardy and John Cowper Powys.

To be given back something that you only realize was taken away when you get it back makes for a confusing state of emotional experiences all at the same time. I was both happy to have been given my Englishness back. But because I never thought I had ever missed it, I never longed for it until I had it back, the delightful Englishness of myself. It wasn’t experienced in a large way, but in small way that was just intense enough to be charming and not in least overpowering. So I had a minor moment of euphoria that was well balanced and British. I have been given a gift that I can dip into and pick out toffee apples and fudge. A certain Samuel that was playing in “our fathers family name” was tried at Wiltshire, Assizes in 1787 for highway robbery. I have been given a bag of full of the new and the old choices.

The End

Julia’s Journey

Julia’s Journey

The Steam Ship, “Mary Magdalene” left the Polish port of Gdansk on the 15 of November 1946. The situation in Poland after the end of the war was still one of total chaos, there had been an initial feeling of joy and hope but quite soon it became clear that the Red army had no intention of leaving Poland to its own devices. The freedom of the Polish people was no longer seen as something important by the great nations of the World War winning alliance of 1945, USA, GB and USSR.

The few remaining Polish Jews that hadn’t been successfully dissolved by “Aktion Reinhard” were considered by the Poles to be closely allied with the Russian Communists and consequently despised and persecuted. During the first part of World War II the Swedish authorities had prohibited immigration of Jews to Sweden. In fact it was due to the request of the Swedes that a large red letter “J” was stamped clearly into the passport of Jews. When the full truth of the Nazis crimes became clear for the entire world to see, the Swedish authorities welcomed the survivors of the Holocaust with open arms and white buses. There had been some opening for Jews after 1943, but before that, the authorities of both nations were not really on opposite sides of tables.

The Steam Ship, “Mary Magdalene” was on its way to the modern Swedish socialist utopia, built a little bit on the ruins of other people’s history, but mostly built on the hard working backs of the Swedish people. On the passenger list of “The Mary Magdalene”, leaving the wastelands of Poland was a mother and her ten-month-old daughter well wrapped in the Red Cross blankets, Julia Vargen and Saga Vargen. One of the ironies of their travel documents was not only that they were forged and fabricated in Krakow, but also that the documents claimed that both mother and daughter to be Jewish, which was in fact not the case for either.

Otto Rahn (1904-1938), described as a gifted young author and historian, was one of this century's truly fascinating figures. Prior to his mysterious death, at age 35, he wrote two books about the Cathars of southern France: Kreuzzug gegen den Gral ("Crusade Against the Grail") and Luzifers Hofgesinf ("Lucifer's Court"). Legends continue to surround both his life and tragic death.

Because Sweden had remained so undeniably and clearly neutral during the war the Swedish society and infrastructure had remained in good shape and intact. In fact the railway from Kiruna (in neutral Sweden) to Narvik (in occupied Norway) had been considered by the Germans as one of the most strategically import transport routes throughout the entire empire of the Third Reich.

The Cathars, who guarded the Holy Grail in their castle at Montsegur, Otto Rahn believed, could be traced back to Druids who converted to Manichaeism. The Druids in Britain were forerunners of the Celtic Christian Church. He saw in the culture of the medieval Cathar stronghold of Languedoc strong resemblances to the Druids. Their apparent yearning and longing songs only seldom dedicated to a special woman, their feminine symbolism referred to the Cathar community, the Sophia, the Wisdom of the Gnostics.

Julia Vargen had been born in the city called Worms in Germany. Her father Richard Paul Vargen had been the history teacher at a catholic school and had married Maria Lucia Julia Garcia, the Spanish and German teacher at the same school. Julia had grown up in Krakow after her parents had moved there to teach at the Academy in 1909, that was four years after her birth in 1905. Julia had left Krakow to go to Berlin in 1926. She left for Berlin to study History of Language and Archeology at the Berlin University. During her studies in Berlin she had done some work on a small research program for Otto Rahn. At that time Otto Rahn was not a leading name in archeology.

After Julia had completed her studies she was briefly employed by Otto Rahn as a translator and expert on proto Indo-European cultures of Northern Europe. At the age of 31she accompanied Otto Rahn on his expedition to Iceland in 1936. The expedition was backed by the Ahnenerbe Forschungs und Lehrgemeinschaft, (Ancestral Heritage Research and Training Foundation) one of, if not the, most influential of all the Academic Nazi groups outside the Military Academic groups. Julia was extremely bright and considered a truly gifted linguist; she came highly recommended academically, despite her age or gender.

The Ahnenerbe (as it was known) had been financed by some of the National Socialist Party’ richest industrial backers, and the Ahnenerbe’s work was closely followed and strongly supported by SS Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler himself. The aim of the Ahnenerbe was to create a new Germanic myth that was to grow into a world religion of Germanic domination. Otto Rahn joined the Ahnenerbe in 1935. The Germanic Aryan super-race was to be proven to be the original driving force behind all culture, the Neolithic people from Germany were to become the mythical Atlantians that gave the world culture. The rest of the barbaric races that filled the world would be civilized according to this mythology of the Germanic supermen or be burnt to ashes and scattered on the winds. Himmler felt himself to be personally responsible for the spiritual well being of the German “Volk” (people). During the 1930’s Himmler packed off many German archeological expeditions to the ancient centers of civilization to find the objects of power that when returned to their rightful owners the Germans would once again bring glory to the world. In his fortress-temple and spiritual center at Wewelsburg Castle, Himmler planned to create a center for Germanic culture that would be bigger than Mecca or Jerusalem in the timeless Thousand Year Reich.

Julia’s journey to Iceland had left her with an overwhelming feeling of doubt as to the real interests of her employers. On returning to Germany she resigned from Otto Rahn’s team of archeologists and returned home to disappear back into Poland and away from the “all seeing eye” of the Nazi party in Germany. After the expedition to Iceland Rahn wrote the book Luzifers Hofgesind (Lucifer’s courtiers), he then became a full member of the SS and served as SS-Unterscarführer at the concentration camp in Dachau. He died somewhat abruptly in March 1939 in circumstances that raised more than a few eyebrows. Rumors in the Ahnenerbe circle was that Rahn had found something in Iceland. But other events of the day got more attention than Otto Rahn’s somewhat questionable death. The rumors about the find in Iceland had begun with Himmler’s obsessive search of for what had been called the Holy Grail.

There had been about 68,482 Jews living in and around Krakow in November of 1939, it had once been one of the largest Jewish communities in Poland. Most of the Krakow Jews lived in the Jewish district of Kazimierz, but many Jewish families had lived and had their own businesses throughout the entire city. From November 1939, all Jews aged 12 years or older were ordered to wear armbands, 53,828 armbands bearing the Golden (Yellow) Star of David were sold to the Jews of Krakow. The appointed members of the “Judenrat”, the Jewish ghetto police, were told to fulfill their Nazi lords orders with absolute obedience and accuracy or else die. One of the first SS orders was to remove all valuable and historical artifacts from Krakow's synagogues. Apart from the obvious desire for gold and silver, it is hard to imagine what the SS would want with documents written in Hebrew or other artifacts of a religion and faith they felt so deeply disgusted by.

When the Germans had invaded Poland they began organizing things there according to their own general plan of the world to come. Once Julia was found again at the university by her former employers the Nazi Party, they immediately employed her; She was employed as a civilian translator by the Ahnenerbe, a job offer you couldn’t refuse. By 1942 she was working on classified texts found in Krakow’s synagogues. Documents that turned out to be written in a odd mixture of Biblical Hebrew and Spanish, but a very archaic form of Spanish, that few people seemed to be able to translate. Julia’s rather specialized field of expertise made her the perfect choice for the job.

In 1943, Julia had found the document that was written in Spanish, on the back of a classified Hebrew document. The Hebrew document was translated by Dr. David Rosenstein, he did the Hebrew text into German, she did the other euro and indo-euro languages into German. Dr. David Rosenstein had worked as Head of Department at the same University as Julia had worked as Professor of Linguistics, before the German invasion. He was the Poland’s top language expert in the German and rather inclined toward the poetic aspects of the German language. He was not a practicing Jew in any way but could read and write biblical Hebrew, his natural interest and talent for languages made leaning languages for him a rather quick and easy process. His manner and clothing had always been modern German with a touch of true style. The rough Yellow star now sown onto his jacket did take some of the elegance away it.

Document Abh: ref SS 103783792/H-Krakow 1943.
The text is written in an archaic form of Spanish.

Key turns Lock
Lock touches Gate
Gate mirrors Garden.
All flows into endless eights.
Bound to be broken “tattooed” on my Mind.

“Tattooed”, in the original the word doesn’t really translate as “tattooed” but means to cut into, to scrape, to mark or to scrape. The verb would often be used as a description of cutting of symbols into rock, wood or skin.

This particular text was considered to be of vital importance to the staff of the Ahnenerbe and that went apparently all the way up to the very top. This was taken as some sign that somehow, they connected with Otto Rahn’s expedition to Iceland, which she, Julia Vargen, had been part of. She assured them that she had never seen this text before it had been removed from the synagogue in Krakow some time before they were burnt down, so early 1942 in Krakow’s case. It was written on original parchment and the Hebrew text, was proven without a doubt to have been produced in the early half of the 1500. That the Spanish text that was written on the scroll seemed “older” may have been due to some “user of an older version” of Spanish at that time during the early 15 hundreds. But the parchment and scroll was 15 hundreds no question, Dr. David Rosenstein knew this with total certainty.

Pagan warriors in the ancient Celtic and Germanic traditions would collect the heads of their enemy. They would mutilate the defeated warriors body that they had just killed in good honest battle by cutting off the head. The decapitated head (or heads) would then be kept as a trophy and due to the warriors minimalistic requirement for sanitation, the less than fresh head (or heads) would often be left to rot on some pole in close vicinity to the warriors home, for all the neighbors to see. The Celtic and Germanic warriors had this thing for fighting naked; it showed their true skin power. During the years of conflict with the Roman legions most of the Celts and Germans saw that running hot, naked and screaming at the enemy was indeed impressive but had little long-term effectiveness against the Roman legions. The well dressed and well trained Romans proved to have a major impact on the warrior fashion of northern Europe.

In autumn 1940, the next wave of “resettlement” occurred, more than 5,000 Krakow Jews were moved to the Lublin district in northern Poland. In Krakow on the 13 of March 1943, "Ghetto A" was exterminated; SS-Untersturmführer Amon Göth, the new commandant of Plaszow concentration camp, personally led the action. Prior to this, Amon Göth had worked in the headquarters of “Aktion Reinhard” as personal assistant in Globocnik's office (head of “Aktion Reinhard” in Lublin), until early 1943. Because of a personal conflict with Hermann Höfle and the accusations of corruption against Amon Göth, Globocnik transferred him to Krakow. How does one get accused of corruption by the offices of “Aktion Reinhard” how indeed? On the 14 of March 1943, the SS liquidated "Ghetto B". Many people were killed in courtyards or just in the streets. The last remaining Jews were deported in to the nearby death-camp just outside Wadowice, known as Auschwitz-Birkenau.

One of the lesser-known things about the removal of head-skin and its collection was that a warrior would mark his skin with exquisite symbols of power. This would ensure that the warriors’ skin would be carefully preserved and be kept in mint condition, and by this piece of magic the warrior would live forever as a warrior, waiting to return for the final battle of Ragnarök. The collections of skinned heads that were assembled at the Great of Halls of Viking world were considered to be the true wealth of the warrior society, a society that came to dominate the rest of Europe for a while, a thousand years ago. What was known was many of the great halls had sent their skinned heads to Iceland, during the wars with the Teutonic Knights.

Julia had worked with Dr. David Rosenstein at the Krakow University Linguistic department since 1937, when she had returned to her home in Krakow after the years she spent in Berlin and out in the field on various expeditions, including the two with Otto Rahn to France and Iceland. They had fallen in love with each other after some time; both were fairly reserved and used to being in the company of other single academics, where one doesn’t ruin ones reputation for stepping out with members of staff, especially superior members. They enjoyed each other’s company and would often be found in debate with each other about some point of translation contra poetic intention. It was more often a good excuse to talk to each other for as long as possible. The other staff thought they were both a bit stiff. It could have been nice to take a beer with them on a Friday, in the beer hall at the University, but Julia never went to the beer hall, as she found it intimidating. She had picked up German habits of Berlins academics within a certain circle of behavior and patterns.

The markings on, or rather in, the skin were made by a kind of “tattoo technique” that involved cutting patterns into the flesh and then rubbing in red ochre into the wound, when finally the cuts had healed the technique would leave a unique engraving on the skin of the warrior. Red ochre was considered very potent medicinally; it was even used as a cure for death, that’s why they painted it on dead bodies and bones. After his initiation into the warrior class, the successful warrior would gain the means to get a lot of body art done, which gave him both status and protection. The warrior became an object of great value in the northern hinterlands; he was worth fighting for and worth dying for. The skin artists of the day were kept busy by the Warrior class’s desire for more.

Otto Rahn fell into disgrace with the Nazi hierarchy in 1937 and for disciplinary reasons was assigned a tour of duty at the SS run Dachau concentration camp. In the winter of 1938/39 he wrote to the SS Reichsfuhrer requesting immediate dismissal from the SS. Rumors abound concerning Otto Rahn's departure from the Nazi SS. Some claim that he was a homosexual or of Jewish descent, but evidence is lacking. A few months later he was dead.

Just before Dr. David Rosenstein was shot by Hermann Höfle, in one of the last of Höfle’s own last personal actions to clear any trail of “Aktion Reinhard” or any other activity back to him. Rosenstein had been told by his “secret lover” Julia Vargen that she was pregnant with his child. He knew that the only chance for either of them to live was if they left Poland and went to the West. He knew a man that was said to be able to paint a postage stamp onto an envelope so well, with a brush and paint, that the German postal services couldn’t see the difference. Through his contacts he knew where this man could be found and true to his word was able to create the correct document for travel. Luckily enough David had given Julia the information as to where to contact this secretive man. By the time Julia could leave the only safe ticket out of Poland was being in fact being Jewish, the Swedish white buses were the only transport that could be trusted. This meant she needed to change her new documents after David had been murdered. She found the man and he quickly changed all her papers to show she was a Jew and her child was a Jew. Once in Sweden they were free.

By the time Captain Fernando Iñiguez and his pilot Anton de Alaminos turned up with the Córdoba expedition in 1517, the Aztecs had, more or less, taken over the rule of the entire region. Ironically the mighty and savage Aztec nation that had overrun Central America were waiting for the return of their great god, Quetzalcoatl. Aztec legend had it that Quetzalcoatl, would return with the New Sun from the East, not in his normal “Feather-winged Serpent” look, but this time white-skinned and bearded. Conquistador Hernanado Cortez (1485–1547) and his Christian task force (five hundred and fifty Spaniards, nearly three hundred Indians, a few Negroes, thirteen horses and ten brass cannon, in ten ships), landed on the shore of Tabasco, on the 4th of March 1519, in order to conquer the heart and soul of this New World. These European immigrants looked very much like the “White God with a beard ” and were happy to play the part of mythical returning god. Initially they were seen as Gods but the Spanish decided to spread their own “good news” as well as the pox and some other rather unpleasant STD’s (sexually transmitted diseases). A few of the European “travelers” returned from the New World. The came back to Spain and Portugal but some of them left the civilized world of Western Europe to disappear forever in dark Eastern Europe. Jews that had converted to Christianity t get jobs and survive were never trusted by the Spanish or Portuguese, sometimes it was better to disappear. Maybe it was one of these invisible men that had written that Spanish text on the back of a scroll, maybe it was of some importance. Documents of the Ahnenerbe: ref SS 103783792/H-Krakow 1943, filed way in an archive.

Julia finally retired from her position as professor of linguistics at the Swedish Academy in 1976 to write a little book about some journey she had made in 1936 to Iceland and some strange story about tattooed heads and Central American culture.

The End