The Story of John and Tom

There are people who will tell you that John and Tom never got along, but there’s others that will tell you there as close as brothers. Then, others will tell you they actually were brothers, and some will tell you they were cousins. And, in the end, it doesn’t matter.

Something happened between them — the truth about what it was or whether it was an intended slight has been lost to history. After that, one exacted vengeance on the other. Then John’s sons and Tom’s sons fought, using what the other’s father had done as the excuse. Time passed, and the Sons of John and the Sons of Tom continued their acts of retribution, one against the other. And in turn, the more recent crimes one against the other was used as reason for the righteousness of new violence. Decades and more.

“You can’t trust the Johnsons” or “The Tomsons are nothing but bloodthirsty barbarians” became the logic of the people. “Just look what they did and how many dead children are left behind!” was a frequent refrain among either side. A leader who attempted to talk of peace between the two families was quickly stripped of power — and sometimes stripped of life itself. “The only way we will have peace is to kill them all!” one side would say — it doesn’t matter which side said it first, because each said it at one time or another. Then the other would use that as proof that no peace could be made.

I have no solution. But I know that giving the Johnsons and the Tomsons more guns and bombs and bullets will only leave behind little Johnsons and Tomsons with new grudges.

Crystal Ball

It is the year 2035, and one court case is receiving a whole lot of attention: Average vs Doe. The facts of the case seem simple. Back in 2020 Joe Average got married to Mary Doe-Average. Just last year, Mary tragically succumbed to cervical cancer. Doctors were able to trace her cancer to Human Papilloma Virus.

When Mary was a pre-teen, her parents John and Jane Doe decided they would not consent to her receiving the vaccine for HPV, despite the fact that her school encouraged all incoming 7th graders to get this vaccination. Their reasoning was that they were not going to do anything that would encourage her to have premarital sex. Unfortunately, Mary was raped as a teenager. Despite the fact that Mary and Joe had a completely monogamous relationship, Mary got HPV as a result of that rape.

Joe is suing the Does for wrongful death and a bunch of other things his lawyers thought up. His reasoning is that his beloved Mary would still be with him today if it weren’t for a short-sighted decision by her parents. The Does argue that they had no control over what happened.

How do you think this will play out?

In Closing: more spying on Americans; a couple of hopefully last words on vaccines.

The Sheep and the Goat

If you’re easily offended, don’t click the “read more.” I’m warning you.

So let’s start with In Closing: well now the support for Keystone XL makes more sense; just a few women’s interest items; perspective on winter; heh; income inequality and the collapse of civilization; Pope Francis on God and Science; LPT; be afraid!; and oops. Oh yeah, and Happy Spring Equinox.

Continue reading The Sheep and the Goat

Ray is Out Of Time

My name is Ray.

God, it feels funny to say that. I mean, yes, Ray is my name. But nobody’s called me that in a long, long time now. They call me Raymond. Well, they try to call me Raymond but it comes out Reimon.

The Queen on the Mountain has asked me to transcribe my tale for the benefit of the Library and the Marble City on the Mountain. I will try to the best of my ability to relate my story as I remember it. Please bear with me as I am many years separated from some of the events.

I was — excuse me, someday I will be — born in a city called Los Angeles, in an place called California, which was in turn in a country called the United States of America. I suppose I was pretty smart as kids go. I did the normal things kids do: play games, learn to read and do math, take music lessons, make friends, fall hopelessly in love with girls who don’t notice you exist. My family was by no means wealthy, but they were well off enough that I had advantages many other children did not. In school I studied hard. Eventually I earned money called a “scholarship” and finished my education in San Francisco, a city further north in California. I loved it there: cool weather, people of many cultures, great food, an interesting history, no shortage of things to do. I studied something called physics.

Somehow or another I got involved in a fellow grad student’s project. He called it “Project Wells” after a famous author of a previous era, H.G. Wells. He wrote several science fiction books, including one called “The Time Machine.” The idea was to build a device that could take you to next week, or last month, or years in the past and future. In an ideal world, enough mobility could be added to the device to move in space as well as time all at once. My colleague insisted that would be a later project, one he called “Centurian” after a character in a somewhat popular fiction series involving such a device.

One of the difficulties I am having is expressing things as I remember them without necessarily explaining my entire culture and history. After all, strictly speaking my history hasn’t even happened yet. If I say too much, I might influence your future and my history. How am I to explain what happened without explaining television, English literature, Star Trek, Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, street gangs, internal combustion engines, rock music, Wikipedia, the internet, Chinatown, and dozens of other things that my people would take for granted?

After a few years of effort and countless cups of a drink called “coffee,” we finished the prototype. All our work was done on our spare time outside of classes and jobs, in a rented garage. The prototype itself was beautiful: roughly conical, with a nice wide base for stability, a solid door with a thick shatterproof window in case the traveler ended up someplace undesirable. Half the interior was taken up by the traveler’s command chair, and the other half was control panels. Theoretically, the traveler could control when he would arrive using the various dials and buttons.

Now then, maybe you noticed that I said “theoretically.” Maybe you also noticed that I mentioned that I was born in your future. In my culture’s literature, we call this “foreshadowing.”

If memory serves, my friend talked me into going on the maiden voyage of the device. He said he’d be remembered for inventing the thing, so it was only fair I be remembered for piloting it. He also pointed out that I was in much better physical shape than he — I was very athletic for a “nerd” — and would be better able to get out of trouble in strange times. This seemed logical at the time. However, as I look back, I have moments where I wonder if he was just using me to save his own skin if something went wrong.

So I climbed in, turned it on, smiled, and started turning the dial to visit an hour from then.


I frowned and tried to adjust the dial.

That’s when everything went wrong.

I heard a spark, then saw a little smoke. Suddenly the world outside the device became unnaturally colorful, blurry, and my stomach lurched within me. I was plunged into darkness, illuminated only by electricity dancing across the control panel. Then a bright light. Darkness and light alternated several times before things returned to normal.

I looked out the window and saw another age. The garage we’d worked in wasn’t there anymore. Or rather, it wasn’t there yet. People in old-fashioned get-ups roamed the sidewalks, and horses dragged wheeled vehicles around the hilly streets. I gawked for several minutes before the earth began to shake. That’s when I realized when and where I was.