The Little Purple Notebook On How To Escape From This Universe

The Little Purple Notebook On How To Escape From This Universe
Copyleft � 1998 by Maximilian J. Sandor, Ph.D.
Subscription Information: Maria Loren [email protected]
Website: http://transmillennium.net/pnohteftu/

Log #14a From 'The Logs of JD Flora'

UCLA, On Campus, On Pager, February 14th 1997

I had a dream!

That was last nite in bed when I was supposed to get some sleep.
Actually, it was a _real_ bad dream. It was really bad because it all
seemed so _real_!

The dream started innocently enough with a day at work. The bad part
began with the California freeway traffic info on the Internet showing
a jammed 405 South just when I was about to call it a day and rush
home.

So, what the heck, I thought, after all I got free tickets for the
UCLA vs. Stanford basketball game tonite and Paulley Pavillon was just
a five minutes walk towards the Southwest Campus.
Having ample time, I was early for a change. Nobody in my vicinity
complained about my bad breath and just in case I had stripped myself
of my UCLA Id card and the beeper.

The dream didn't seem that bad after all, especially since the Bruins
did quite well in the first two quarters and pulled ahead of the
Cardinals. Soon, it turned ugly, however.

Very ugly!

The game was about half into its third quarter Tom Bailey (who on that
day inexplicatly and due to extremely bad judgement played center) all
of a sudden broke down in the middle of the court and started crying.

I feared the worst and buried my face in my hands, sighing in despair.
But my right-side neighbor tapped me on my shoulder, saying with a
smile: "Bro, don't you worry - it's just his mid-game crisis. Look at
the cheerleaders. Aren't they something?"

With considerable effort I forced myself to look at the scene: half a
dozen cheerleaders dancing around Johnnson who was still kneeling on
the floor, suffering through his mid-game crisis.

Like fairies... I tried to remember what exactly these beautiful young
ladies remembered me of...

My neighbor rammed his elbow into the area between my 8th and 9th rip.
"Look, dude, there's the Bevery Hills Mazda dealer with a picture of
the new Miata!"

And, lo and behold, a man was running over the field waving a picture
of a red sports car.

That must have done the trick. Bailey got up again, rubbing his chin
and looking more confident than ever.

Everything looked fine even though it was a tight game. But then
disaster struck again in the last quarter.

Bailey was on his knees again, exasperated. "Oh, now, this game will
be over soon! I am a doomed man. Everything is so vain. I don't have a
purpose in this game."

And to the referree he shouted with tears in his eyes: "Lord! Why can
you be so cruel to let this game end so soon? As of now, I only scored
34 points and I made only 4 fouls so far... what have I done that this
game must end so soon?"

The referree shouted something about rules of the game and made signs
to him to get him going again.

I turned to my neighbor to the right side, saying "Hey, what's this
now?", and he answered: "Some players get nervous at the end of the
game. But don't you worry! Watch this, Bro!"

And with a high pitch, he shouted down to the basketball court in the
direction where Tom Bailey was now crawling on the floor:

"Tommy Boy! This is your Guardian Angel speaking. Do you hear me?"

There was no reaction.

My neighbor continued: "Bailey baby! I am Einstein, Nostradamus,
Micheangelo, Archangel Abbadon, the Ancient One of Sirius. We have a
message for you!"

"Don't be silly," I said to my neighbor, "how can you be all these
people at the same time?"

"Doesn't matter, dude. Just gotta play it right. One of the names will
catch his attention."

And, lo and behold, Bailey turned his head towards us.

It was unbelievable, but amidst thousands of yelling spectators he
looked at US and seemed to listen! Then he got up on his feet, ran to
the sidelines, fell on his knees again, and looked towards us.

He couldn't possible have seen us because he must have looked straight
into the powerful spotlights that lightened the arena.

"The Ancient One!!???!!!" Bailey said with a surprised but clear and
distinct voice; his eyes, hit by the spotlights, twinkling nervously.

My neighbor got really going now. "Yes, We are the One. And the One is
We. We are the Ancient and We are the One. If you listen to us, you
will ascend to Us after fulfilling your mission."

Bailey jumped up and ran around in a circle. "I have seen the Light!
The Ancient One has talked to me! I'm saved and I'll save everyone
else! My life has a purpose after all!"

I was flabbergasted. How did that happen? Bailey kneeled down again at
the sideline. My neighbor yelled in a high pitch: "Take a shot from
the 3-point territory, from the left! OK?"

Bailey heard it, bowed down, jumped up, grabbed the ball and ran
towards the Cardinal's defense on the left side of the court. He tried
a 3-point-shot from the left center and succeeded miraculously.

Excited and happy he ran back to the sideline, kneeled down, saying "I
did it! I did it!".

My neighbor shouted down towards him: "Bailey Baby. This is is the
Ancient One! We told you so! It was We who made it happen for you.
Don't you forget that we're the Ancient One and we're here to help you
Earthling!"

Bailey repented immediately. "Yes, yes, thank you! What's next,
Ancient One?"

"Make a 3-Point-Shot from the right!" my neighbor commanded. Time was
running out and the Cardinals still had a two point lead.

Bailey took the ball away from one of his team mates, ran to the right
side of the court and threw the ball, missing the basket by 3 or more
feet.

Five seconds to go in the last quarter.

Bailey was running towards us during the last time-out of the game
while the rest of the Bruins gathered on the other side, near their
bench.

"What happened, Ancient One?" he asked bitterly. "You didn't follow
Our orders correctly," my neighbor yelled.
"But don't despair, there will be another game after this one, this I
shall promise to you!"

"Really? Everything is not over when the time is up? This is hard to
believe! There is no physical evidence of what you're saying..."

My neighbor got annoyed: "Tommy Boy, you MUST believe in US because We
are the Ancient One! There is a game after this game. You must trust
Us!"

Bailey was not convinced. He remained at the sideline, crying,
mumbling something like "How do I deserve this? Oh Lord, why is a game
so short? Can't you send me some proof that there will be another game
after this one?"

The last second of the game was over and the Cardinals had won.

I told you it was a bad dream!

On the way out of the sports arena, I stumbled over a bum that looked
a lot like Tom Waits. The guy was hanging out at the exit of Paulley
Pavillon. He was hitting a trashy, untuned acoustic guitar with dirty
fingers and howled the lines of a very familiar song that I just
couldn't remember.

I chipped in anyway and sang along with my broken voice.

You gotta take advantage of a Karaoke when you can get it without a
cover charge, I thought.

At that point, the dream was rudely interrupted by my better half.

"Did you take a whiff of my bad breath or did I only snore?" I asked.

"Both and much worse," she said with a threatening undertone in her
voice. "You were singing this silly Tom Waits song. When will you ever
realize that you CAN'T sing? Not even as bad as Tom Waits!"

"Well, really, it can't get worse than Tom Waits," I tried to argue.
After she threw a pillow at, I wisened up, shut up, and tried to
recollect the memories of my dream.

And, much to my surprise, I even remembered the libretto of the song I
was singing along with the bum in the dream who looked a lot like Tom
Waits.

It started like this:

"Rusted brandy in a diamond glass
everything is made from dreams
time is made from honey slow and sweet
only the fools know what it means..."
Tom Waits
Temptations
from "Franks Wild Years"
Island 422-842 357-2

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Copyleft � 1998 by Maximilian J. Sandor, Ph.D.