My Affair With A Chinese Billionaire's Daughter

The Music Tracks/Playlist Synched To This Text:

[Cerulean – (Extended Mix) Seán Mathews]

[So Far – Bring Bliss]

[Arctic Moon & Apple One feat. Diana Leah – Who We Are (Bjorn Akesson Remix) Future Sound Of Egypt]

[BRKDWN x Joel Freck feat. Amy Kirkpatrick – Because of Love (Ben Ashley Remix)]

[ARTY, Nadia Ali & BT – Must Be The Love (Enamour Remix)]

[Friday’s Child – Wendy Matthews]

[Simon Patterson & Magnus – Evoke (Extended Mix)]

MY AFFAIR WITH A CHINESE BILLIONAIRE’S DAUGHTER.

PART I

So I was sitting at a pretty ordinary Krispy Kreme place right in the heart of my local city.

They have Millennials working there: ‘Awesome,’ ‘no problem,’ and -, they make coffee. What’s not to love?

Sometimes I just like to sit at the outside chairs that are more or less on the side-walk, and fiddle with the outside of the paper coffee cup and feel the warmth coming from the hot liquid within. I keep the plastic cover on so I have to imagine the frothy cappuccino-style head of the coffee...

But I know it is there. And I can sense it and taste its chocolate powder topping each time I sip at the brew through the plastic top’s sipper mouthpiece.

What’s there to say about modern cities? Modern, right? ‘Modern.’

There’s a Gaussian Curve of types of people, with a skewed mode a little towards the lower end.

Governments and leaders, both political and social, imagine that certain things will always last but they never do.

Knowledge turns into memories, memories turn to ashes, ashes turn to dust, and finally, the dust is blown away in the wind.

You cannot seek knowledge in a modern city, because in the first place you have to ascertain truth and it is not there.

The guy with the neatly-groomed small beard sitting in the now closed up entrance to what used to be a Prada boutique, and who has a cardboard sign saying that he is homeless – is a government employee taking data on public attitudes and responses to ‘homelessness.’ There is plenty of that though; the real thing.

There is a kind of synthetic truth and synthetic knowledge everywhere. Is the coffee knowledge at least? Well, the vanilla-flavouring is synthetic, from something called vanillin.

Real vanilla has over 200 individual separate chemical compounds in it in varying amounts depending on where and how the vanilla beans were grown and cured.

Real natural eucalyptus has over four hundred chemical compounds, some of which have still not been properly isolated and identified formally. In other words many of those compounds are not at all understood as to what they do either in nature or in chemical reactions and relationships.

Still, I guess what we are really talking about is the depth of discrete scientific fact definable as ‘knowledge’ here; certainly there is functional sinusoidal kinds of factoids present in any city and in urban and city life. We can go here and here and get ‘food’ but what is being termed ‘food’ comes in a really wide range of possibilities, not all of them good, and not all of it genuinely eatable in terms of what the human body requires as food.

There is a kind of truth, and kinds of knowledge going on...

When viewed as a complex electronic circuit design, inclusive of a housing, then all that modern-ism is, is the never-ending commitment by governments and banks to the limitless constructing of housings for the theoretical internal mechanisms, none of which internal energy flows and mechanisms truly exist vibrantly any more.

Economically, the system is running out of the capacity to extract a continuing smooth toll from actual dynamic energy flows.

There is a ‘capital value’ ascribed to outward static ‘housings’ but this is a delusion if it is regarded as the source of fiscal taxation receipts, for example.

In other words, human life has become a façade, if not exactly a farce. Yet. And even that is arguable at the present time.

What does this all mean? How does an intelligent species become so lost and sensibly bankrupt? And what happens next to it?

Well it cannot resolve matters on its own from here. It cannot interdict its own behaviour by itself. That would take some act of organised, integrated social will, and that is a logical impossibility from this point.

Those who have supreme power are not too adversely affected since their personal psychological drivers are all immobile and fixed into their own appetites – the satisfying of those. So that is a deleterious vicious circle, an atavistic feedback loop masquerading as ‘power’ and ‘elite intellect.’

Superficially, and at first blush, one might think that this strata is at least in fact permanently protected by its own power and position, but that is not the case at all when examined more closely. And that simply, a drone class or an underclass of serfs albeit urbanised serfs in an urbanised serfdom, will forever supply the needs of the over-class and be expendable but also quite easily replaceable.

...It is what is never envisaged though, which always upsets the apple-cart, as it were.

A simple compound, using molten salts inserted into silicon dioxide nano-particles was being scientifically researched from as far back as the Nineteen Eighties. It can be produced as super-coiled nano-packages, and unfold under the right circumstances, and recruit adjacent materials from substances such as concrete, even iron and steel too as they spiral open, next reacting to catalysts to produce massively incrementally rising heat – and if managed in one way they can slowly invade a structure, causing ‘spalling’ over time, leading to the collapse of the structure. Certainly, some people had tried to make such reactions happen in, oh, um, maybe a few hours or so too... Well now but that would be very aggressive and so terribly dangerous and destructive, whereas if it could happen over months and a few short years, then storeys of tall building could selectively fall apart, leaving the building owners with some problems, and not necessarily really actually killing anyone as such.

You know, if you were an ET Alien civilisation seeking to overpower the planet this is how you would do it, until eventually, you would literally have them all on their knees.

The ‘society with secrets,’ the Freemasons, would be in quite a tizzy. All the senior judges, lawyers, bankers, politicians who organise things behind your back at what they figured was the ‘limited hang-out’ of Davos, ever since they realised the internet would sooner rather than later ‘bust their secret criminal conspiracies’ – would be fcuked.

In the first place they never foresaw it, and that, given that they think they are getting ‘mysterious inside info’ from that ‘primal reptilian being’ who is known to their highest brothers of that vicious and wicked order, that ‘brotherhood’ of thieves of widows and orphans.

In the second place, they are far too far behind the scientific eight-ball to have access to quick and easy solutions - even while their world is falling apart, literally, around them.

So, yeah.

EOTW – as you knew it.

But funny you know, you will still be able to get your favourite ramen noodles in your city as the walls all fall down.

World war can disrupt global supply chains. Economic disruption can occur through stupid, errant, reckless and foolish provocations of nation-states by various power Blocs seeking to steal oil and energy for cheap or for free. Look, if you yourself believe the Arabs under the imprimatur of ARAMCO (the American technical and technology licence and know-how holders) really have been and are producing the volumes they declare and claim then you are an idiot. The Eastern Bloc countries following the break-up of the Soviet union have been the swing producers all this time, because they have the cheap labour and the innocence to produce real volumes of output – for the artificially suppressed prices despite the real demand is huge and persistent and persisting.

Thus... War.

LOL

It’s all it is.

War equals organised national and sovereign state theft; thieving.

I’m not sure who said that first, but it wasn’t me. I know Adnan Khashoggi said ‘war is good marketing for me’ though. I know that much.

...Stealing money, capital, ships, diverting containers, oil ships.

It’s called thievery.

Ah well, risks taken lead to results also being incurred that were likely not foreseen in all ‘risk’ situations and scenarios always.

It’s just the way it is. I mean, hey, if people were clever enough to realise consequences, or if they perceived those consequences as actually hurting them -, well even psychopaths are not that silly.

What you are dealing with is silly foolish people with no sensibility and who lack so much integrity but yet have been given the keys to your life and to your wealth and well-being -, so naturally they are going to try and enslave you for their own gain. That’s all they know.

Which is not to say such miscreants are not extremely sophisticated because they are. They most certainly are. They have intact, all the best instincts of a simple predator that has survived the Ice Age and the ‘K-T’ extinction event – and none of the elements required for self-preservation as a society, even if it were to be one of symbiotic relationships only.

Thus everything in modern society is structured around ‘transactions.’ But that ultimately means the termination of the ‘leaders’ or those having the most transactional entropy. Why? Because they do not have the internal, intellectual processes and methods of their own to fall back on when the overcoming by power and position is not a valid pathway any more.

You can ‘transact’ favourably when you are in a position of strength.

You cannot transact at all when you are the prey, possessing all the ‘fat,’ but having no means of protection against a never-before-seen, new, ‘adversary.’

...Aaaargh, never mind all that. Because here I was, sitting at a table outside of a Krispy Kreme place.

Drinking coffee.

So I’m sitting here. Minding my own business, having my note-pad of jotting paper out to write a few notes to a couple of friends overseas, one in California – main address Santa Monica Boulevard – and the other in Ouca, Portugal. So that would be to JES and Nuno.

’Hi JES – your pack of Celebritea is in here.′

’Hi Nuno – was at the Darude show last week. He knocked ’em dead, man! Was amazing. Such a nice guy, too. Did his re-mix of ‘If You Just Believe.’ Absolutely crazy mad audience here. Your friend Tyson had an adverse reaction to the vax by the way. But he still played live on stage with Toni-ville in Brisbane. Wasn’t able to make it to out here though.′

To say the two Chinese girls breezed in then would be some kind of understatement of the year.

You could hear them talking from thirty yards away up the street. They were talking to each other loudly, and one was particularly loud. They were holding hands as they walked, as many Asian culture women and girls do. But the volume of their voices was much higher than those of the people around them, and generally, than the volume levels of people anywhere in the city.

They were certainly not attired like fish-stall owners in a live market. They were dressed in extremely short Chanel fuzzy tweed high fashion skirts, and both of them had long long legs and they would have been physically overall not short in any ethnic grouping. Except maybe the Dinka or the Maasai. Beijing privileged rich kids.

My first thought was that without even being consciously aware of it, they felt that they dominated in this place. And they did too of course, we here being the loyal Southern Leopard Province.

Without even eye-balling me the one time, they both just strolled in, right up to next to me, with one pulling a cheap chair around to place it at my table to the front of it, and sitting herself down in that, and the other, the louder of the two loud women, literally sidling up to oh, um, maybe two feet to my left on the long bench seat where I was and which had a wall right up to behind it.

“Hullo.”

“Hullo,” I replied.

“May we sit with you?”

“Of course.” I was not totally ignorant of these sorts of encounters, and immediately stood up like a proper Eton genetleman, although I had never been to the place having been privately educated in the East India and ShellTrust family system. No such things any more...

Well, may-haps on some modest level somewhere.

And then I sat back down again.

“Is the coffee here any good?”

Her English was remarkable.

“It is indeed very good. Would you like some?”

“I already phone ahead and arranged it.” She said curtly.

I raised an eyebrow, in some respect at that too I must say. I never phone ahead for anything, but then -, I hardly even know how to use a phone these days.

These were young people, and they looked young, but, it was quite possible that they were in their late twenties rather than what they came across as being – which was teenage.

Across the street at an angle straight ahead from me, literally virtually trying to hide at the side of a large stone pillar, was a tall powerfully-built and neatly-cropped straight black-haired Chinese military-type in street clothes, with a long lens video camera. And not ten feet to his right, taking a seat at another ‘al fresco’ table, was an austere, very serious-looking older Chinese woman with here handbag carefully placed long-ways on top of the table, let’s say, ‘pointing’ directly at us. That’s if you thought she had some kind of other recording equipment or device inside the handbag.

I jotted down some words onto a note page and handed it across to the girl on my left.

‘Are you aware that there are two people across the road watching you?’

“Yes yes. The coffee will be here soon. I don’t have to go up and collect it.” She cleverly responded.

The other lady looked down to one side at my feet.

“You have very nice shoes.” She said. “They are not R. M. Williams.”

“No. They are not. They are just Lloyd’s. German shoes. Not very expensive.”

The woman on my left was waving the note around in front of her.

“Nice paper. Expensive.”

“Hmn. Well, not really. Not like Velin d’ARCHES.”

“What is it?”

“Bohemia paper. From Czechoslovakia.”

“Oh. Czechoslovakia. I have been to there. Good beer.”

A young man in a Krispy Kreme apron turned up with a tray of coffees – three cups of.

Okay so this was all planned then.

He said: “Regular cappuccino with one sugar?”

The girl to my left pointed to me.

It was difficult for me not to smile and toss my head just a teensy tiny bit.

“And two long blacks.” The young man added as he served the remaining two paper cups down and went away as quickly as he had appeared. Although I caught the look he cast over the lot of us; clearly he was somewhat intrigued, even for a Millennial.

The women exchanged some chatter in Mandarin.

“So.” The louder woman said.

“So.” I mirrored.

“Okay so you have a friend called Vera from America.”

“Is she my friend still?” I chuckled.

“Yes. She is your friend. She told us about you and that it would be all right if we came to see you and talk to you about something important and sensitive.”

“Oh. Important and sensitive.”

“Yes, sensitive. Very sensitive.”

“Well I didn’t think anyone would want to talk to me about anything important.”

Just then, a group of three men in overalls arrived on the scene off the back of a small pick-up truck, and unloaded a set of ten foot tall clear glass screens on casters. And they positioned these literally right around us from the front side, so that if there was anyone with a long distance sound mic they would not get anything. The glass panels had little black resonator boxes which vibrated the glass in randomised patterns so that those laser dot acoustic techniques could not be used either.

So now I had two coffees in front of me, one half drunk, and the other still quite hot but definitely with its frothy head completely intact there. Two-gun, I guess. Awesome. I just had to pick up the new coffee and have some of the frothiness inside there, beneath the plastic lid.

The two women also picked up their cups and drank a sip or two each.

With her cup still up close to her mouth, loud girl said: “We work for someone you see -, who is very wealthy, and very powerful.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The coffee was good, the company very cute, and the conversation entertaining.

“Nice shoes.” The woman said again.

“Yeah they are nice but what’s with the shoes now?”

“Not R. M. Williams.”

“No. Should they be?” I gestured with one palm upwards.

The girl on my left touched me on my forearm, sort of, thoughtfully...

“See, our boss lady, well, see -.”

“Yes?”

The other girl spoke: “She has become obsessional. She’s obsessed with Australian men.” And she tapped her head like a Britney Spears dance gesture.

“N-o-o. Really?”

The one one my left next spoke again. “Yes really. She thinks you all ride horses, wear R. M. Williams boots and water-proof overcoats and hold up stage-coaches and ride off into the night. And go camping and whatever. Under the stars. Make little fires for tea.”

“Well we do!” I protested. ...Smiling just a little.

Now I must, simply must phone Vera-Lucien. What are we doing now, Vera? China oligarch dating services, Vera?

“The trouble is though, ladies. I don’t speak much Mandarin at all. Some Cantonese -.” Boy I caught the disdain about that when I said it! So I hastened to add: “But pretty much only Cantonese swearing though.”

“It’s okay,” girl on left said. “Our boss speaks really excellent English.”

“Of course, I should have guessed...”

What the heck was I being ‘expected’ to do here now, with their ‘boss.’ I kind of had already figured who this was so I hung out a line.

“I suppose I do know a few Mandarin words. Modern Mandarin though.”

I waited.

“What words?” The louder girl inquired.

“Baby baby, ama ama, ama ama...”

Only the briefest of frowns. And then a burst of roaring, literally roaring, almost snorting laughter.

“Back Fire. Back Fire.”

She touched my sleeve again. “Oh. You one funny guy for sure.”

I have a phone. It isn’t that I am a Luddite – that I haven’t a phone or any kinds of technology around the place. I have lots of very sophisticated technology, actually.

It’s that I never take phone calls unless I know who is calling first and even then it depends on a lot of other things as well. I like to read SMS things.

Vera-Lucien doesn’t clog up the line at all, really. And for her side, she virtually never sticks anything in writing, wonder why is that? LOL

She used to be really high up in – in fact more or less ran her very own little specialised ‘unit’ - in the US DNI.

I virtually always take calls from her.

“Hi Vera. What are you doing down there? Trying to get back into the good books with your China-people opposites?”

“John. How were they? Easy to talk with?”

“Oh sure. Very easy. And they bought coffee.”

I knew she was going to tell me what this was all about soon enough. I kept silent on my end.

“Are you there?”

“Yes, Vera. I am here.”

“John I want you to go to the private flights reception at your airport there, and just tell them your name. Go and pack a weekend bag right now and go to the airport. Please.”

“What? Right now? You mean now right now?”

“Yes. The plane is there waiting for you. Just for you. Oh, and -, better take really warm clothes, you know, outer wear, puffy jacket, that kind of thing.”

“Where will I be heading to, Vera? Am I allowed to know this?”

“Your boss’s old place – Myrtleford Ski Lodge.”

“You mean my long long time ago, now ex-boss’s old place.”

“That’s it.”

So, we were talking political connection stuff, very high level, VIP no doubt about it at all. This place, when you got there, looked like it was right out in the open, on the side of a mountain in Victoria, Australia, no gates, no cameras that you could see, bushland in summer and completely snow-covered ski bunny territory in Southern Hemisphere winter - which was now. The girls had just had their ‘Solstice meet-up’ somewhere – somewhere cannot say where exactly – but not in Alberta Plains where they had all been saying, because right at the last minute when twenty-odd different national security services from a bunch of countries where all gearing up to ‘secretly’ cover the place, they switched the location to ‘elsewhere.’

I don’t even think those ‘secret intelligence’ groups had the foggiest clue how the women were able to communicate so fast like that because none of the agencies got wind of anything.

Hey I could tell you. A few guys get invited along. I couldn’t make it this time. Definitely got invited though.

‘The girls.’ ...I don’t mean the two Chinese kids. I mean the women into the real real super-real ‘Tuleloits’-type stuff. Those girls. Of whom Vera was one of.

There most certainly are Chinese women who go too, but not those two at the coffee place...

Well maybe they will go though, one day.

The security service people were schooling around those groups out at Alberta Plains because they literally thought they were planning to, or making some plans to - poison Justin Trudeau.

That’s how stupid all of these ‘security’ and national ‘intelligence’ people are.

They have all kinds of data and all kinds of advanced technical equipment and all kinds of ‘academic’ support and advice and the total combined brain-power of a gnat.

It’s like how they are putting this Marina del Rey producer woman up to ‘filming objects’ out near Catalina Island recently. Honestly, what do they think? SMH.

‘Oh here we are, we ultra-intelligent ET Aliens, just flying around for you, because we think you are so smart, you Pentagon and Washington people...’

I think it was the sense of reality that finally dawned in Vera-Lucien’s mind, that set her not so much at odds with her political and ‘unseen power level’ administrative bosses, but put her ‘on the outer’ as far as they were concerned ‘going forward’ as they say. Those guys want to have their cake and eat it too, see. They already know there are ET Aliens around, but then, somehow, they want to try and dominate, control the narrative as well, even despite they were told to ‘f* off.’ Or did you not know this?

Yes well, during the time of Thomas C. Schelling’s running of the US Defence Science Research Board way back in the early Sixties, the US military was indeed contacted by ET Aliens, and told expressly not to ever attempt to use nuclear weapons again, because if they did the weapons would all fail long before they were ever even launched. And a range of nuclear weapons launch systems and missile facilities, silos and radar control and tracking systems all failed in line with a designated top secret fore-warning given to certain key individuals in government, academia and the military.

And have they learned anything since? Not a bit.

Modern-day witches are going to poison Trudeau and ET’s are going to show up just to be filmed by government and their designated film production teams but not necessarily physically contacted ‘in actual person’ by anyone. D’you think this makes much sense to someone who can reason logically?

What? Are you needing some help with this?

Modern-day witches are a long way further ahead than poisoning anyone, and ET Aliens who have come here from light years away literally, are light years in advance, intellectually, of Michio Kaku and Neil deGrasse Tyson and Joe Biden and Antony Blinken and Jake Sullivan and George Soros and Klaus Schwab and whoever else is in that lot of self-involved selfish morons.

And there is no point Kaku et al giving themselves air and graces about what they think they know about ‘sci-ence.’ Not in company of people who actually can and have come here from 17 trillion kilometres away. Not in context of such a thing being true and a reality – as it of course most certainly is. US Navy is as to no doubt.

A much more important question, boys and girls, is whether or not the Beijing CCP has had contact too...

So anyway I did what I was told and packed some things -, some warm clothes including salopettes and ski boots and went to the airport directly.

And sure enough, there was a note in the reception to advise the crew of the Embraer Praetor 600 that this guy they were holding for, had turned up. And I could wait in the First Class lounge too. Cool.

There’s food in here. The figs and cream looked pretty good. The rest was all ‘fusion’ stuff but not bad at all. Just kinda your typical Australian/Asian fusion style. Strips of batter fried white fish, for example – with Thai dipping sauce and thin-sliced red chillies that were very mild.

I had a concierge person at the First Class lounge counter there stick my two letters into the post for me.

Someone came up to me and handed me a note that said that the flight was going to be ready for me (’ready for me,′ wow) in fifty minutes. So that was still a while off. Time for you know what – neck and hand massage, that’s what. And fruit juice. Cannot forget that. And rich people water.

The plane’s livery was pretty out there, really – it was almost bare metal except really silvery, or liquid chrome-y and shining very brightly in the late afternoon sun, with a couple of grey and blue painted stripes, motifs designed like lightning bolts, at an angle a bit tilted but then more or less still running vertically up and down at the middle of the fuselage.

Pilot. Co-pilot.

And me. That was it..

Dark ambient interior. Dark wood veneers and coal grey seating and liners. Thin-strip lighting.

More food and drink. Literally had my name on things. That was so cool. Impressed.

Many hours from here to Mount Hotham Airport in Victoria, in the snow fields. Australia’s highest altitude airstrip... Maybe four hours and a bit in fact, depending.

Don’t imagine I was not fully aware of who I was going to meet and what she was all about. They were the ones who thought they had ‘found’ me, albeit through Vera-Lucien, of course.

Right now all I was interesting in was what they had on-board as far as videos and games and stuff was concerned. Transformers - Age Of Extinction. Hmn. Well that was a while back... Not to say it isn’t still good.

‘Citizen Sleeper’ on a prototype, I guess, Huawei gaming laptop. Wow, that was pretty subversive.

I watched some of the intro cinematic scenes for the computer game.

‘Sleeper,’ all right – not the game, which seemed pretty cool -, but me. They had these satin and goose-down comforters and Venetian velvet throws inside the cabin.

Well that was that then.

Lights were well down anyway.

There was a separate vehicle waiting for me at Mount Hotham. The crew were staying some place other than where I was going, evidently.

Ford Timberline SUV, the high end one, absolutely brand new. Huh. They were going with the Ford down here. Interesting.

Typically gleaming Chinese piano black though -, CCP ‘official’ style.

Ended up it didn’t seem to me though like we were going to Myrtleford, because the driver said we would be ’getting there in around ten minutes.′

And that would make it Dinner Plain, not Myrtleford which was way way further down the track.

It was Dinner Plain. Well here we go again then, switching locations last moment.

But wouldn’t she class though, as someone who would automatically get an Australian Federal Police protective services 24/7 detachment? Maybe she didn’t want one but still, the Australian government would insist on their own people doing a soft watch. Would have been a massive international issue if she got abducted for ransom or something.

Dinner Plain was this comparatively smallish, off-piste mainly private place with quirky little resort facilities – old ‘cubby-house’ style chalets although actually new constructions though -, a few very good quality restaurants. And not much else.

Bushland trees surrounding... Lots of snow.

So here we were then, drifting up slowly to this slightly-larger-than-all-the-rest resort chalet arrangements, no fences, nothing that even remotely looked like ‘security,’ no posts with video cams, nothing - and with the front door at the expansive porch totally wide open in the crisp cold air of the night-time.

I open the car door on my side and get out, hitch my modest ‘Blackwater/Academi’-style (lol; but me not them though!) sling bag across my shoulders and crunch the snow underfoot towards the verandah entrance. Literally, immediately I do that the driver just takes off in the black Ford SUV and I never see him again. Bye dude. Happy trails.

I step up onto the wooden slat verandah and I can hear some movement from inside, the shutting of an oven door, and then before I even get right to the doorway, this girl with white flour all over her hands and forearms and some on her face, is coming towards the front room from somewhere quite dark to one side and to the rear. She looks about mid-Twenties maybe late Twenties.

Annoyingly, I just had to say ‘Hoy moon’ (Cantonese). And pretend to knock at the trimmer of the door jamb.

She ignored my silliness and strode confidently forward.

“Hi. John. How are you? Good flight? Please do come in. I am baking damper. You eat that, right?”

Well, no; not really. Not everyday but I have had it. And yeah, it is part of the Australian tucker scene, traditionally, although maybe a little bit tilted these days over to the more recent arrival Australians given that the actual indigenous tradition culture form of damper – bush bread – was made by crushing native seeds rather than grinding imported bleached white wheat into white flour as such. Which was the stuff she had all over herself.

“Yeah sure. It’s good. I like it.” And that was true.

“Anyway what are you trying to speak, Mister John – Chinglish?”

She grabbed my hand and shook it warmly. So I continued my silliness: “Hao la, hao la. Nei hao.”

“Stop it.”

“Okay.”

“Because anyway, you have to teach me Australian-ese. This, I understand is very different from Bronx or Brooklyn-style English language.”

“Oh, very different. Yes. It is not the Queen’s English and it is not Queens’ NYC slang either.” I opined, very learnedly, I thought.

She ushered me inside, and close the front door.

“We go out the back, okay.”

I followed her through the main front lounge area, past a computer room, and then down some small steps to a large outside area, part of which was under cover, and the rest completely open to the night-sky and of course to the weather.

There was a thirty-foot long granite stone-edged hot spring pool there, half under cover, half exposed to the elements, the steam from it rising visibly at the far end. Not much swirling, just slow rising thick clouds. Hmn. Second Law of Thermodynamics – the change in entropy delta S is equal to the heat transfer delta Q divided by the temperature T.

Probably the ambient atmosphere above the water was quite uniform and also warmer than the air towards the rear which was also fully exposed to the elements out there. So the steam clouds were forming more easily down there -, but there was not much wind though. Yes, it was a very still night.

There was ambient lighting around the pool’s edge. Not a lot of, however. The only thing was very very ambient. In the sense of like, well, kind of scary, really. It was all relatively dark, we are very much alone. And quite a bit removed from the next nearest chalet, well and truly separated by a line of bushes and a lot of snow.

“Call me Anna, okay.” She said. She was taking off her zippered, lined, Polar Flare check jacket.

She extracted an iPhone from a pocket and somehow kept that in a hand while she removed items of clothing deftly. Firstly thick, fluffy, what they call now-days ‘reading socks.’ There were piles of large white and cream cotton towels folded and stacked up neatly on the granite floor. She took one of those and wrapped it around her shoulders and continued to undress fully, removing her lined pants with the lowest edges of the towel maybe around the centre of her hips at most. “We eat later, okay.” She added, matter-of-factly. “Do you have swim gear?”

“I have a pair of shorts which will do the job.” I said.

“Well... Then...” She gesticulated with a hand, still with it’s white flour dusting all over it.

I placed down my sling bag and and unzipped that and rummaged around to find something appropriate. Jesus... Lucky...

At this point I’d have to say the hot spring pool was looking pretty inviting, because I was becoming very aware of the vivid coldness of the surrounding air, despite there was no breeze.

Even just also picking up one of the large towels and attempting to follow suit with what she had done made me conscious number one that the towel was cold! And number two that I was being expected to bare my skin to the freezing air now. How the heck she had managed to slip on a one-piece swim suit I will never know, without really giving too much of a show of everything. I saw curves that was about it.

I picked up another towel and wound that around my waist before going the full tilt here.

She was washing off the dust from the cooking flour from her hands and forearms in what I can only assume was a cold water tap next to the wall around the edge of the hot spring pool.

Frankly I could hardly have been more glad when she got in and turn around and beckoned me in as well.

I have borderline low body fat and higher proportion of fast twitch muscle fibres, so cold is not ‘friendly’ for me.

But hot spring pools are very friendly.

I could see her – Anna – looking me in the eye, trying to get my eyes to stare back into hers.

“It’s so beautiful, isn’t it? Out here...” She commented, gliding her arms about a bit just beneath the surface. “Look at the stars.”

I couldn’t see any stars. There was only heavy thick blackness which I could only think was low and heavy cloud.

I tried to see into her eyes -, what was in there. Oh goodness, there was your starriness, and your pensy. Proud, maybe conceited too, but also deep.

“So. I tell what I want to do.”

Okay it was coming now.

She said: “Do you know about – two armies in the mist?”

“Yep.”

“What?”

“Well, there are two armies in a mist confronting each other, but neither one knows exactly the position strengths and the locations of their opposite numbers. So one of them sends out a fool, sorry a hero, who gets shot at promptly but then this reveals the position of some elements of the other side. This is counter-battery tactics.”

She had put down the iPhone against the edge of the hot spring pool next to where she was and next to where she had left her towels. Now she moved to that and wipe her hands dry and lifted the iPhone up into them and started tapping and swiping away.

“What do you think about this?”She posed the rhetorical inquiry form of opening sentence. “Wikipedia says... About the founder of Falun Gong, Li Hongzhi: ‘Li has stated that he believes extraterrestrial aliens from other dimensions walk the Earth and are responsible for introducing technology, war, and immorality.’”

She looked up at me from the phone.

I couldn’t help smiling. I raised both eyebrows.

“Could be.” I offered.

“We here is what I want to do. I want to begin a ‘beyond 5G technology centre’ in Beijing, and then have branches all over the world. I want you to help me exactly copy the inner secret real ‘Stargate/Gateway Project’ system techniques, because your friend Vera said you know about that intimately and are honest. But we should not even get close to using words or phrases like that to describe what we are doing. You need to come up with something more materialistic, down-to-earth, and different.”

“Wow. I’m impressed.”

“Do you have any moral objections?”

“Nope. Not really.”

“So you know that Li is CIA-backed.”

“Ah, totally. I know it.”

“But you have friends in CIA.”

“Sometimes.”

“What about this time?”

“No not this time. Unless they come speak to me directly. Which they would have to find me first though.”

“Or go through your friend.”

“Yes. Or go through her. And then that would mean they would have to ask her for a favour. So that would be a good thing. But they are unlikely to do that though, I wouldn’t have thought.”

“So are you going to help me?”

“Sure. No problem.”

“Awesome.”

Never even had thought about coffee for a good few hours until just right then.

“We are having camp-fire baked and charred, paper-bark wrapped mountain trout. With lemon myrtle bush spices seasoning. You like that?”

“Are you kidding.”

You know I really didn’t want to get out right away though. I still wasn’t completely warm all the way through, even though the temperature of the water was nice and hot.

I said to Anna (which wasn’t her full and complete name, by the way; I knew what her name was): “Your colleague Kerli says she like sweat and I like it too, but not necessarily from working out and all of that.”

“My colleague? I don’t... Know her... Who is this, what did you say ‘curly?’”

“With a ‘k.’ Kerli, the Estonian trance singer. You’re a singer, right? So I figure she’s your colleague in that line of things. So anyway she says she likes sweat - and I do too and I am not yet at that level of ‘hot’ in here so can we stay in here for a while longer?”

“Oh certainly we may. Why don’t you like working out? All your friends like working out all the time I think.”

“My friends? My friends who?”

“Like that other trance singer in Santa Monica that you know. I don’t know that Kerli that you mentioned, but I know the others you know...”

“Oh. Yes, the Energiser Bunny. Ha ha ha. The respectable sweat of work, of working out, of doing work. It’s not really what Kerli was referring to.”

“What was she meaning then?”

“She was meaning sensual sweat. That kind of sweat.”

“Oh.”

There was this sudden gust of wind that went across the walls, and swirled in where there was one section with no wall that lead out into the snowy bushland. The steam plumes started to swirl around their distinct centres of rotation, each one, where they previously had just wafted upwards.

And now there were flurries of little snow flakes, not many, in gusts, but there was a particular oncoming sound in the air too. I placed my hand out and caught a few. They were slender and light and quite small.

But things were changing. You could here something – it wasn’t a particularly strong wind as such... It was a sort of shushing noise. And tinkle tinkle crinkle crinkle in heavier and heavier intermittent shots onto the steel-roofed chalet.

Nothing like howling and real solid pelting or anything like that. Just a strong gust and then a break and then another strong gust.

The spiralling snowflakes did seem a bit unusual though. They had stopped just spin-floating around, and almost drifting back up again just a touch when they fell into the rising steam.

Now they seemed large and heavy and were spinning fast and falling downwards much more as if in straight columns and not meandering about. And then next there were lots of them all tangled up together and they actually noise falling into the water of the hot spring pool.

I caught some of these falling snowflake clusters. These were your classic fern-like stellar dendrites. Heavy, solid, thick, and making some noise as they hit into the steel roof.

She looked at me and said: “Should we go inside?”

“Ah no we don’t have to. But we can whenever you want. I like to watch the snow flakes fall into these hot springs like this. You can try and catch them on your tongue.”

You can use partial differential equations to try and describe some aspects of spiralling snowflakes, and of course, certainly the expansion of steam and swirling vortexes – people do it all the time in fluid dynamics, but really, in the end with things like snowflakes and swirling steam plumes you are trying to employ chaos theory to salvage some conclusions about such systems.

These dances are unique. And their components are also unique.

Just like every single fully-integrated human soul is completely unique despite that miscreant religious philosophers and religions ideologies continually try to impute this nonsense about ‘all is one’ into the matter. ‘All,’ is very highly complex is the truth of it. ‘Consciousness’ per se of course is a categorically amorphous and interchangeable thing, yes – and that is why there can even be such a thing as a ‘hive mind’ – but personalities are all totally individual and unique. And oh yes, there are strictly limited discrete ‘tranches’ of personality type, with specified identifiable characteristics, but these were ‘carrier wave filters,’ not intrinsic personal identities.

So what was that though?

My turn to ask ‘Anna’ a rhetorical question: “Have you heard of six poisonous snakes striking mist?”

She had a look as if surprised. “No. Yes. No, maybe. What is that? From martial arts films or something?”

“Very good, very good.”

There was plenty of mist – steam – rising up and lingering over the hot pool.

“Look. What you see is the mist, the water droplets. But if something is hiding behind every single one of them, still all you can see is the water droplets only. If something is hiding in the water droplets, even worse.”

“You mean like, could be germs.”

I laughed. “Well yes okay, but that’s not – well, hmn, yeah okay that kind of thing too. Could be for sure that kind of thing.”

As far as I could say I thought we were very much alone up here. There was no security people around, not in close proximity.

“I know this place,” I went on. “Where they also have hot pools, hot tubs, steam showers – aromatic steam showers. And they have these packets of like, bath crystals, you know, bath salts.”

She was watching my face closely. And I was watching her back.

“Many many kinds of bath salts, and on packets some will say ‘empathy,’ and some will say ‘comfort,’ and some will say ‘attraction.’” I looked very purposely at her -, watched her face, her expressions.

“And some will say sweat.” She announced decisively. But she winked at me too.

She still seemed to like the lights fairly low inside. There was real ‘ambience’ in here now, and not least of all because you could really hear the snow falling. And there was a hint of a howl now and again in the stiff wind outside now.

Real highest quality plates and cutlery. Gold inlaid cream porcelain. Glasses. Wine glasses. Oh, that was a good sign. I had thought maybe she was some kind of complete fitness person with all of their usual rigid rules and stuff.

La Boheme Act II dry pinot noir rosé. Oh boy. Now that was interesting.

The paper-bark char-grilled and baked, mountain-caught fish was superb. Simply superb.

When we were having the damper with loads of thick yellow butter melting on it, she said, almost insouciantly: “You know I am not a smart-alec person. I don’t think I know more than the next person, especially not someone like you. You will have to show me.”

“About what things though? I already said I would help you with the project you want to run.”

“Not about that. For that I will pay you.” She literally leapt up from the table and went somewhere and came back with a not-too-big, slim depth, lidded box. And when she opened it there were neat rows of small coins in there, inside plastic protectors.

“I will pay up front for a start – how about two hundred dollars.”

And sure enough, right there in front of me, with her pushing the slim box towards my fish plate, was one hundred Australian 2 dollar coins. All the same kind, the 2017 Australian Mars 2 dollar coin.

She continued speaking. “Me and Elon, we buy these all up in the market. There’s not many left out there.”

“Two hundred whole dollars. Okay.”

“Now what about the other things?”

“The other things? The what ‘other things?’”

“The sweat things.”

“You mean the sensual sweat things.”

“Those things.”

And then she came right up close to me, to my right hand side and leaned across so that I could sense the warmth from under her breasts. And she poked me with a very well-manicured, French-tipped finger in the soft part of my right front shoulder. “I have, what you say? Sweat equity. Plenty of sweat equity to offer.”

END OF PART I

Those of you who already have been following my little escapades around the world, who know about my background under Lincoln Gordon, the political administrator in the US way back in the WW II years -, ‘War Production Board’ vice-chairman ’44 to ’45 (well before my time, of course), then Marshall Plan director after that, and then early Sixties to late Sixties his really big deal time in the most highly-placed, and top-secret in some cases, US government endeavours, mostly all still classified, mostly all military-linked – those of you have been following all of those things that I have been able to slip across, to put ‘out there’ as it were, well you will know that poor old Li Hongzhi and his modern-era CIA masters were not too far off the track there with their most silly pronouncements!

I wouldn’t give you even a plain ordinary 2 dollar coin for what any of the current iteration of public ‘experts’ on this much-vexed matter (did I say ‘vaxxed?’ No, I said ‘vexed.’ LOL) ‘know’ about it all.

Funny how with all of this official disclosure and Congressional Inquiry BS, you are yet to hear now today, from any of those from the original Professor John Mack Study – and they’re all still very much around. Why is that?

So I guess I can tell you guys though, that I think that what ‘Anna’ was also really asking me, was for a straight out direct meet with a ‘creature’ at least. And she had her information pretty up to scratch because what they (the people in them) do all up in those large craft, the ones that suck water from lakes in Alaska and the Himalayas and wherever, is um, you know, take a lot of ‘aromatic bath-crystal showers!’ Besides the usually thirty or forty ‘abducted’ kids (who are none of them, really ‘abducted;’ they go there – they wanna go there) from the music festival Raves, and all of that dancing and screaming and singing and whatnot. Sweating. Sweating activities. You can’t just recycle the water from the showers all the time, you know!

[The ‘out there’ I guess fully ‘adult’ version of this is available on Amazon Kindle. So you’ll have to go there to see about all of that side of things with our ‘Anna,’ billionaire Chinese oligarch girl. It’s going to cost you 2 dollars there though. And that’s a clue. Doesn’t need to be the stoopid Elon ‘Mars’ 2 dollars though. Here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0B6S3X39Q/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i7]