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The memory maker

By Nicky Nustar All Rights Reserved ©

Fantasy / Scifi


In a number of cases, most notably Anders Behring Breivik killing of 77 innocent people in Norway in 2011, lone gunmen have issued 'books' or at least 'lengthy scribings', often considered mad ravings by professionals. But what if you had to 'understand' this psychological phenomena, in order to PREVENT it from happening? Well, that's what's going to happen to Si Coe...

What triggers a man?

1. The Narky Christian

“Bahhh... Humbug...” thought the slimy wretch, as he garbled in his own fluoride bingo.

“Pish and pash... Bally ape shits and mungos in all directions... CAN’T FECKING SEE THE WOODS FOR THE TREES”.

“She’ll have you sliced open upon the apex for breaking her heart, romantic hero...”

“Oh REALLY? Well... A) How do you know? And b) What a ‘mungaza’ she is...”

“What is a ‘mungaza’?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know... Listen. Forget the whole ‘mungaza’ thing... You never knew her like I knew her. I know her ’intimitly... Oh, and screw you, ‘intimately’, is a difficult word to spell initially after a night of holy prayer and some survival juice. Especially when I’m experimenting in my laboratory with free form holy conscious honest flow of TOTALITY OF ACTUAL REALITY... It’s a sacred thing... A blessing... To wield the powers I wield... I have previously sustained from being brutally frank, and attempting to teach my powers... For my powers are not magic... They are ‘sacred’... ‘holy’... ‘Given of Christ’.

Don’t for a moment think I, or you, should be fooled. Christ’s Bible says we should indeed be fueled with God’s divine power.

And an aspect of that power is the written word.

My very surname means: “Scribe...”

So here I go... I don’t know what it’s going to achieve, but right now, I’m feeling like one of those bravehearts in that flight suit... Soaring through mountains flying with precision using technology partially inspired, I believe, by the squirrel.

Not kidding.

And quite rightly so... The squirrel is an incredible little woodland chum, and whenever I’m visiting Mumsy in the sacred forest, and I see a squirrel, a little part of me goes ‘Ahhhhh... How cute’, and I chuckle with Disney anthropomorphic happiness, as I consider them my friends.

But there is a dark side to where I live. A dark side I shall not disclose. For to disclose such, breeds notions. Ideas. And ideas are powerful. I deal in real ideas obtained, sustained, and projected from ‘the light’. I rudder my visions using higher morality. This gives me an awesomely super human and creative mind.



So what is ‘morality’?

Well, we know a few things it isn’t...

Such as violence, perversion, lies, and other grim shit.

We must move on though... From that quagmire of daily sin and nonsense... We must all help each other help one another consistently find the road to redemption... And it IS true... In Christ there is hope... And a future for a ‘countless number’...

Be ye not fooled by false prophets proclaiming ‘they know when the end will come’... FOR IT IS WRITTEN... THAT NO MAN, NOR EVEN ANGEL, KNOWETH THE DAY... ONLY GOD.

So what do we learn from this?

Well, one thing, is that ‘not even angels know everything’. I.e. ‘They are not omniscient’.”

Two) God is an absolute singularity of mega proportions.

Three) Mankind doesn’t know where it’s at on the cosmic divine time scale.

And it’s number three I’d like to draw your attention to...

You see... Many people are declaring ‘The end times’, and ‘so and so’ is the Anti-Christ. (Often Obama and the Pope, for instance).

This is not only an absolute disgrace, but a false accusation.

It’s frankly holy disgusting that so many people can believe it’s these two men, out of two thousand years of false accusations and ‘being wrong’.

LISTEN... According to the prophecies, the ‘Anti-Christ’. (I.e. ’the second beast of Revelation 13. The word ‘Anti-Christ’ isn’t even in the book of Revelation)... will ONLY RULE IN ETERNITY... FOR A SUM TOTAL... OF 42 MONTHS...

Now, as you know, if you’ve done your basic infinity sums, that is ‘bugger all’. Hell, I’ve ruled longer than that myself for free, and no one branded and fried for eternity. I just do it the same reason a dog licks its genitals. Because I can.

Because that’s part of being a faithful believer in Christ... You CAN work miracles, you CAN feel divine fellowship with others, you CAN live as though life is truly an epic love romance...

And plenty of other stuff too...

“Peace out y’all”.

But there was a stiffening... A hardening of his ligaments, possibly due to his arteries being overly used in the sedentary position. ‘That’ was surely causing the build up of muscular confusion... Or was it remaining static, hunched over a keyboard, for days on end, moving only ones fingers with rapid dexterity, and, of course... One’s mind?

Which reminds me of rugby... <Sigh... Venezuela...>

“Listen, Jimmy, he’s going into ‘spazz mode’. Ye have to do something...”

“No Tuxon Creed... I’m seeing him just the way he wanted to be deployed... He’ll thank me for this some day... Some day when, I don’t know... but soon... ish... or not... WHO KNOWS? But one day, ye, he will...”

“Okay... I think we got that...”


“Go to print...”

“Second unit standing by...”

“I want that reel archived, and analysed for perfection ASAP...”

“Don’t dice with death, danger boy...” came the random hustle...


“Christ... Fred Flintstones daughter is awake again...”

No one knew... No one could possibly begin to understand, the true breath and the power of the sensation of being healed by God himself... AGAIN... It was so soothing to know, there was a higher power, watching, somehow, amid the immaculate, intergalactic quanta... And ‘God’ was his name... And all things considering, it was quite an interesting name.

I wonder what it sounds like in the Yiddish breath? You know... Like ‘Jehovah’ and ‘Yahweh’ are actually the same word originally, only, spelling differences over time alternated due to changes in the modern alphabet as they attempted to ‘hone the pronunciation’.

The truth is, the ‘Jeh’ / ‘Yah’, is pronounced with a gutteral ‘Yuh’ sound, followed by a ‘ha’, and then almost a ‘vah’ to finish as one recites the name in a breathy middle eastern timbre.

But is this all I hear you ask?

The grandfather of all puppies was just getting started... Looking out over yonder vale. His young children sat beside him at the hearth, as he gazed out over the Christmas night, they all began to feel a blossom of ‘specialness’ come the Yuletide hurrah... But only Grandpa knew things the children would thankfully never know...

Thanks to a different time, a different generation...

And a different set of values... For all...

“We creep on... After night fall... Inspect the huskies for ticks, and cruise the alpha planes...”

“No Nustar... You’re not doing it right. You...”


The shot rang out through the air... ‘Manny’ was down... but who was he? And how did he cope with the crisis that was existence?

So many confusing questions already, and we weren’t half way through the first chapter... Like a stoic vagabond warrior, who’d never known riches, I stole away from the brink of my demise, and decided to follow Jesus.

He was the one, after all, who could save me / us.

No one else could, if the prophecies were true.

And we had no reason to believe the prophecies weren’t true, however abstruse on initial perusal.

Lengthy analysis of the journalism of St. John the Divine, when reporting on ‘the colossal of all human experiences’ as granted to righteously by God, for being righteous... And in that righteousness, he wrote down the things God wished to show him... And they were immense visions, which require lengthy examination, meditation upon, and the realisation that it’s thanks to St. John the Divine’s writing of what he witnessed, came the subsequent rise of civilisation.

It could be argued, civilisation was originally conjured as a huge, vast, holistic dream largely inspired by ‘practicality’, ‘the desire for efficiency’, and ‘improvement on what is already known’.

The universities were rammed to the knuckles with interesting young bright minds, who had showed acumen at school in a discipline, and gone on to pursue their dreams in a legal framework of what ostensibly amounts to ‘apprenticeship’ in a chosen field.

So much, so obvious, but did you know... There is much confusion in the ranks regarding quantum science? It’s the most blisteringly difficult thing I’ve ever known. I have a new book called ’A ‘gentle’ introduction to quantum computing’.

You need a degree in advanced maths to comprehend it... I am not that man.

My degree is in the arts... And not a very good degree it is either, since I was marked down on at least three large assignment reasons by the tutor who didn’t like me because I confessed to believe in God. She was a dark minded left wing intellectual, who also had a problem with comedy. So when an industry professional chose my script out of the WHOLE CLASS, and showed it to the entire year saying ‘THIS... is genius...’, it nonetheless garnered me a poxy ‘C’ grade, as the head of year was the one doing the marking, and not the industry professional.

You have no idea how gutted and wronged I felt.

But this was not the only time.

There was the time I got a lower mark than I should designing a movie poster. One guy who got a first even admitted he’d ‘stolen the idea’, whereas I was the only one in my year to attempt a DVD cover in Photoshop, and made a pretty good job of it.

Then there was the time we had to make a film entitled ‘Personal political’, and my film was the only one of two, out of about thirty, to get a round of applause. I had used some ‘found footage’ however, after being CATEGORICALLY TOLD I could by one of the teachers. It was only during the presentation that the same woman who marked my ‘genius’ down as a ‘C’ grade declared found footage was not allowed, and again, I got a ‘C’ for a cinematic reaction that, had it been a Hollywood film, would have set me up for life.

There was another time with her also, but frankly, she gave me such a humiliation that I don’t wish to deign to waste any more mind space in thinking upon her.

I got the fifth highest grade in the year for the ‘end of course major assignment’ however, but that was being marked by a man, a man with no known fixed agenda that could thwart my methods. A man who possibly even quite liked me.

I wrote the dissertation on the future of the Internet. (This was back in 1999).

I pretty much got it all right, and 17 years later, I can recall the last line, and the message inherent:

“With so much access to content and entertainment of a varied nature, what we examine will be down to us, thus we would ostensibly be left staring into our own souls”.

Perhaps this was the plan... The Internet serving as some kind of ultra high tech series of home based Buddhist prayer wheels?

It was partially feasible. Who knows the influence in the Western world by Buddha on the minds of the others in an unknown and secret history of the world.

But ‘secret’ isn’t perhaps the right word, as it’s not at all times ‘intentionally undisclosed’, it’s just not seen as the rigorous power of influx it has actually been, ‘subliminally’, and oozing through the rafters.

Everyone’s hear of Buddha in the West beyond the age of about ten. Some can even recall one or two of his wisdoms.

My personal favourite is an alleged story involving the Buddha which goes as follows:

“What is the difference between ‘like’, and ‘love’?”

“Easy,” replied the Buddha. “When you like a flower, you pluck it. When you love a flower, you water it and nurture it. Whoever understands this, understands life”.

Now, I’m not certain whether this beautiful exchange are legitimately words of the Buddha, as it’s a rather powerful Facebook meme, and half of them are made up, but it’s a beautiful little quip nonetheless, and even if it WASN’T by the Buddha, it is the sort of thing he would have said, and thus, I consider it valid... Valid for this tome... This historical work of art... Which I am attempting to write in mere hours... An experiment, you see... An experiment like no other... A one off, half cock, one in a million hot shot body rock.

See, I can rap too... I don’t like to brag about it. I’m not a bragging rapper. I’m a wordsmith, and I consider ‘rap’ to be an interesting form of the spoken word, as long as it isn’t evil or nefarious. (Which it often is, hence damaging their own fruits). Some rap though, is extraordinarily good music.

I cite the following songs as examples:

Young MC - “Know how”.
The Sugarhill gang - “Rapper’s delight.”
Age of panic - “Senser”.
Music by The Red Hot Chili Peppers...
Music by Linkin’ Park (Especially ‘Looks like we made it’, featuring Busta Rhymes).
The Stereo MC’s.
‘Stayin’ alive’ by N-Trance.
“Summertime” by Will Smith.

And a host of other stars, possibly too numerous to mention in fact right now, so I’ll stop while I’m ahead, and slide the mind display system to the next visual file which is... Well, that is interesting, it’s ‘the mechanism of thought’ itself the mind file display system has brought up as the ‘main current cathexis’ of analysis... That’s a new thing in itself... I’ll swipe it away nonetheless, could be an anomaly in the system... Unless... Unless it IS the point of the system, and I’ve realised pure thought? Thought within thought? Imagination functioning as absolute essence of self.

I sometimes feel like I know how Jesus felt.

You have these awesome ideas, and you just want to make the world a better place... When people misunderstand you, attack you in their numbers because you’ve proven to wield extraordinary abilities and then cast, CAST I SAY, to the fates of the baying mobs ill will, which in Jesus’s case, was ritual torture and humiliation unto death.

Not a pleasant way to go... At all. f you’ve seen Mel Gibson’s ‘The Passion’, you will see just how horrific Mad Max in his Catholicism envisages the fourteen stations of the cross.

(I always thought it was ‘twelve’ from school, but perhaps I’m confusing the ‘stations of the cross’, with the ‘twelve steps’ alcohol recovery program).

“You should meet some of the English, you really should. They’re a hoot. Some of them believe the most outlandish things...”

It was true... Like a thorough rump of mind biscuit, he’d used his cahoona’s to change the world in some part for good.

Jesus was the legacy. I, Nustar, was the modern day comprehender of many fixed beliefs and dreams. Beliefs and dreams I wouldn’t wish to sully your mind with should you not find them in keeping with your delicate persuasion.

But here’s the thing:

My dearly departed Grandpa once came back to me in a dream. The dream was set at the very elite private school I attended in Berkshire, with Apache war helicopters coming over the top of the woods, and firing lazer bolts that appeared as if circles of light projected outward and expanding so towards wherever. My Grandpa, who always did have a mustache, but this time it was green, simply said ‘When you grow up, you’re going to be a doorman.’

It settled me his return. The dream was an important one. Do you think some dreams are more important than others? I do... Same goes with film and TV... Some films are way more important than others... Having Grandpa return to me was as if he was communicating to me from the posthumous plane of conscious existence within another ‘dimension’.

After many years of sadness, it nonetheless occurred to me that ‘Well, at least he wasn’t in Hell’. Although some say ‘War is Hell’, the place, feeling and experience in the dream was not ‘Hell’. If anything it was a place of power, knowing, and inner peace.

I didn’t immediately associate it with Heaven either... but then it dawned on me many years later... Maybe it WAS Heaven? GRANDPA’S OWN VERSION? Grandpa was born into a time when the modern mind wasn’t as advanced as it is now. Grandpa had also heroically stepped up to defend nation and decency during World War Two. What would have been his hope / his dream in the midst of fighting a war in the brutal heat and radical weather of Burma, WHILST being shot at by Japanese? (He one day saw a friend get lacerated in half by machine gun fire from a Zero fighter whilst on a boat).

Well, I imagine, a ‘dream within war’, ’a notion of ‘Heaven’, in a world turned evil’, was ‘To be the master of war, thereby controlling it’ from an imagined and vicarious position of optimistic projection.

Thus leading to the idea that ‘Heaven is what YOU desire’ for leading a good life in the vast mysteries of the higher realms and planes.

‘Hell’? Well, dear reader, that, on the other hand is an experience I never wish to endure again, having spent ten hours there once on the worst LSD known to man.

I won’t extrapolate further on what an horrendous ordeal it was, but let’s just say, most people on this planet don’t yet know the true pain, horror, and agony I went through for ten hours.

God taught me a lesson. A lesson I needed to know.

But that was my daily ‘Hell reminder’ flashback. It keeps me to some extent on the straight and narrow. I do not desire evil things. Immorality doesn’t please me. The little niceties and decencies of normal everyday people in their droves do though. The believing English walk happily, lovingly, and partially knowingly through a modern multicultural landscape. They are like beacons to humanity and light, in many respects, and not the ‘Satanic oppressor’ certain strange conspiracy theory neophytes will declare in their delusional ideologies.

But I digress... Digress like the best... Everest... Until time is taken through zest... And I collapse, weary, deflated, beaten by life, a dead pile of corpse just exuding its own last pungent smell as potently as an emetic.

“Richard the III’s remains eh?”

It was fairly grim a notion, but the method had to be employed. This was the whole point of doing this. OF undertaking this mission... To ‘implement the method’.

The mind controller knew all about the importance of ‘method’.

Unless the ‘method’ wasn’t amplified, then the hypothesis originally considered would begin to be proven, and we’d just be shitting on each other’s doorsteps. Which wouldn’t be wholesome, pleasant, or in anyway a fine thing to do.

So we pressed on...

“The method? Sir?” came the distant voice in the future asking questions about the process of the now.

“Ahh... Yes, glad you reminded me. The ‘method’ is subliminal. It is written into these pages... YOU have to spot it... Understand it... And let it work its job... BECAUSE... What is my job description?

“The designer, Sir...”

“Yes... And what do I design?”

“We don’t yet know Sir...”

“GOOD... Because?”

“It’s a highly secret Government project, and you’re one of the best ideas men in the business...”

“CORRECT! Now... Whilst I shan’t be telling you ‘the method’ outright, I have established certain elements and truths that prove how the method is done. Capiche?”

“Yessir...” whinged the moaning lot.

“Good. Now analyse carefully, understand deeply, read WISELY, and ye shall come upon ways and means to open ‘portals’. Portals to the mind, and ‘insight’, which is the cradle if wisdom...”

He didn’t like to strut his stuff in public these days. He’d realised his place on earth was too important to be a disco dancer. Dancing in nightclubs was often dangerous anyway, because one would often be utterly inebriated, and believe they’d ‘found the soul of Michael Jackson’, when spazzing ones limbs at random, high velocity angles and generally looking like Taz the Tazmanian devil cartoon character.

Speaking of ‘angles’... Do you think it’s interesting the words ‘angel’ and ‘angle’ are so similar in the English?

I’m not certain of any known links between them etymologically.

But that’s not to say there isn’t one...

“All units... On me... We knuckle down here for the night, and up at 0600 hours to investigate the village over there by the large outcrop...”

He was vicariously back in Nam again. He’d never even been to Nam, but had spent years thinking about it as a teenage boy, and even made ‘one of the worst films ever made’ called ‘The Hunt 4 Nam’ with two of his best friends from school. D, and ‘The Vilkan’.

He didn’t quit on initial failure however... He continued to make films, all of them rather awful, with other friends at home for the occasional weekend, until he had enough spare footage including ‘the good bits’, to make an entire music video only including ‘the good bits’, set to beautiful music (‘Brothers in arms’ by Dire Straits, in this case), and played in slow mo...

It had become early home user 90′s video gold... And got him an A at art A-Level, and therefore straight into one of the world’s best film schools.

It was there he learned the difference between ‘reality’ and ‘inner self’. And quite a grueling lesson it was too, looking back...

Anyway... Sadness fills my eye even recalling the horrors of what he endured, for seemingly nothing but to continue to exist... And exist he could... And would... and DID...

So it was on speaking of ‘the method’, which triggered a flashback in his mind. A ‘flashback to imagination’.

Which, as far as I know, doesn’t have an official word in the English language, so I shall attempt to coin it:

‘Recallision’ shall be the word, and it is etymologically comfortable also.

Thus... We stride on. Unknowingly... Through the ardent mist of seers... Who spend their life staring within, to control without, and hence why they are respected as ‘seers’.

“Johnny... We ride out at noon today...”

Johnny cultivated his posture and hat, and leaned smoothly against a real issue.

“I ain’t doing that shit on top of skyscrapers, okay? It’s MADNESS... MADNESS... It’s just a question of time until some idiot dies...”

“Unit one to echo base... He’s just projected a quasi-prophecy... We may need back up. Looks like he’s going into his ‘zone’ again...”

The star cop, who knew all things, and was trained in deep psychology, knew the warning signs.

“We gotta clear and present danger... EVERYONE TO YOUR STATIONS...”

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