Bedini Unveils Large Energizer

I recently attended an alternative energy conference in Idaho. I’ve written an article for the December issue of the Agora to share highlights from this event.

To write the article, I flew to Idaho and booked myself into a cheap motel, incurring all the usual travel expenses along the way. Since the Agora does not have the resources at this time to compensate writers, I am looking towards donations from the readership to cover the cost of this article.

If you appreciated the article, by all means consider making a donation. The suggested contribution is twelve dollars, but no amount is too small and no amount is too large. Any contribution is deeply appreciated.

My aim is to raise $1212 by December 12. I’ll let you know how it went.

Thank You!

A big thank you to all of you who contributed to make my trip to Idaho possible. To date we’ve raised $ 155.

On November 26 I’ll be participating in a discussion evening with Jeane Manning, Andrew Kuepfer and Abderrahmane Atbi who attended the conference with me.

The event will take place at 7:30 PM at Unity of Vancouver. Our purpose is to share the information that was presented at the Renaissance Charge event and to discuss the implications for humanity.

http://www.sciencetosage.com/events/index.htm

I’m also working on an article for the December edition of the Agora, so share the highlights from this conference.

Michael is heading to Idaho

This coming weekend I will be attending a very important new energy conference and workshop in Hayden, Idaho.

Renaissance Conference

My intention is to bring the hands-on component of this workshop north to Vancouver, to jump-start local new energy efforts and to empower as many people as possible to build practical functioning technology.

The other day I shared my thoughts with my friends Jeane Manning and Karen Elkins. We talked about the question of funding. Karen pointed out that if ten people were willing to donate $25 each, then the $250 conference fee would be covered! With those words she pulled out $25 and made the very first contribution. Then Jeane placed another $25 into my hands.

In the blink of an eye, a campaign was born.

In reality, this trip will cost a little more than $250. Even budget travel and accommodation are not free.

Please consider making a contribution. No amount is too large. No amount is too small. All the money raised will go towards this endeavour. If there is money left over from the trip, it will be applied towards the creation of a workshop here in Vancouver, likely to be held early in 2011.

On November 26 Jeanne Manning and I will be reporting back from the conference at Unity of Vancouver, 5840 Oak Street to share information about new developments in the world of new energy research.

Details of the event to be announced.

In Gratitude,

Love Michael

Fundamentalist Foot

If I could meet the Prime Minister, I’d like to hand him a large gun.

Then I’d invite him to shoot himself through the foot.

Remember junior high when you didn’t know how to dance? That was your foot.

The missed field goal in your senior year? Athlete’s foot. Go on, pull that trigger.

At this point, the Prime Minister might exclaim: “But my own foot!”

The foot is part of an axis of evil. That nasty fungus in the summer of ’90 was an open declaration of war.

Teach that foot a lesson.

At this point, the Prime Minister might say: “I get it.” (if indeed he gets it) “The foot is a metaphor for the Afghan people and the connection between myself and the foot is symbolic of the fact that by hurting them, all we are really doing is hurting ourselves.”

Except that it is so much more than a metaphor. We are one, and any bullet to enter an Afghan chest lies firmly lodged in each of our own, where it manifests itself as suffering…

BANG

I can’t believe he pulled the damn trigger.

collateral damage

Like all significant people, she was often made to suffer, and yet she would not have traded her lot for all the freedom in the world.

Daddy Longlegs scurried unseen, along the bottom of the plexiglass.

She rarely envied ordinary people for the cruel happy-go-luckiness, with which they blundered through life. To the driver, this smog filled inertia into which they were glued couldn’t mean much. It was too much a part of his life. Even this heat – he seemed not to sweat it. An unnatural man, made of non-melting chocolate.

It annoyed her to think that, objectively speaking, she probably smelled worse than him. She wondered if his armpits were itchy like hers, and was shocked in the very same instant, to realize that she had nearly let this thought arouse her.

Perhaps this uncanny self-awareness was her gift. Perhaps it was the source of her incredible self control to which (if only she’d admit it), she owed so much of her success.

Looking at the cars now, each in its own way exactly like the others, she tried to make herself believe that it was the entire world that had ground itself into universal gridlock, where fumes were as static as the cars that produced them. Planes were frozen in the sky, trailing vapour that would never dissipate.

Fingering once more the passport destroyed her momentary escape from what felt like non-reality to begin with. She was forced to admit that planes were still flying, the rigidity of their schedules mocking the way she was being abused by time.

She inspected her ticket in the light. Under normal circumstances, the document in her fingers might have re-assured her. Now it was having the opposite effect. She held the paper unnaturally high, that he might catch a glimpse of it in his mirror. Wanting to remind him, that she had somewhere to be.

Responsibility. She wanted him to feel that familiar sting. She might have reminded him that it was not her job to move this cab, but a plexiglass wall kept them separated, sparing her the embarrassment.

“Which one of us is this thing supposed to protect?” she wondered out loud into this block of dead air, that had the power to kill even the sound of her own voice. Perhaps they had already violated each other, in another time and place.

Another hot flash. With a wave of relief she noted that the walls of this taxi let strains of the outside cacophony seep inside. Yet somehow she missed the irony in this; that the pent up energy of these wailing automobiles was being transformed into pure sound, and that it was this noise alone that had the power to deliver her, if only from the brutality of her own thoughts.

It was not just the armpits now. An itch, she knew, was nothing but an excuse to touch oneself in public. She allowed this thought to tickle her. Every one of her garments was damp, sticky and wrinkly in all the wrong places.

She searched his rearview mirror, daring eye contact. But the mirror was something he had no need for. If he was at all aware of her presence, he chose not to show it.

She hated him now because she couldn’t help imagining that his underwear did not itch. She hated the fact that neither this heat, nor this traffic become non-traffic, made his pores leak. She knew it was hopelessly selfish to expect him to feel personally responsible, but was it also too much to hope that he might feel a part of her predicament – if not sympathy, then at least a connection of some sort? But the stained plexiglass between them made a mockery of this uncharacteristically idealistic thought.

In all likelihood, the pane bothered him more than her. Sociability came easier to his kind. Looking at the plexiglass more closely now, she noticed for the first time Daddy Longlegs, making his way up.

She was not one to hurt a crane fly, or even panic at the sight of one. Calmly she reached for her purse, digging out a paper napkin with one hand and rolling down the window with the other. The toxic air made her cough.

She set him free, napkin and all, to fend for himself on the hot pavement. In this gridlock, he stood a chance. Secretly, she hoped the driver had been watching. She hoped that he had noticed she was the kind of person to rescue this least respected of all God’s creatures. If he knew she was kind to animals, would that shatter every assumption he’d made about her? She acts tough, he would think, but she can’t even hurt a crane fly.

A strange barometer for kindness, really. To not hurt an ant, all one has to do, is to refrain from smoldering it with a magnifying glass. To not hurt a crane fly, involves not plucking each one of its legs, one by one, to watch it stagger more and more inept, until it has become a “Daddy No-Legs-At-All”. These cruel games she had played as a child.

But higher life-forms are easier to break. Careless footsteps weave a destructive path through the muck of human souls. And while she knew regret to be a useless emotion, she was not above letting it cripple her, from time to time.

For all she knew, she was heading for his homeland. Perhaps, if it weren’t for this stupid plexiglass, they could have had a real conversation. Or had he already renounced his origins in the third world? How many worlds in this world, really? Even in the confines of this taxi, they were worlds apart. The plexiglass merely formalized something that was tangible and real. Two compartments: hers, and his.

She noticed now, that his meter was running on a clock. She was paying by the minute, not the kilometer. Like a lawyer or a consultant, he was charging her for his time, not his service. There would be no refund, if she never got there at all.

She started hyperventilating, acutely aware that she’d never, ever had a panic attack not ultimately caused by the cruel, steady passage of time. His door flung open. No need to park the car; it was already parked.

“Are you alright ma’am?”

“It’s the heat,” she said, fantasizing that he would lift her in his arms and carry her to the airport. “You do realize my plane leaves at 1:45.”

“The hottest time of day,” he nodded. Behind them someone started honking, as if his having left the wheel had anything to do with their stagnation.

“Will I still catch my plane?”

He sighed. “Sometimes planes are late.”

She tried to grasp this – to allow reality to seep into her brain. But the search for alternatives only led to a further system freeze. A fatal computing error that expressed itself in a twisted grimace.

“Please lady, you must try to breathe.”

Stupid at thirty-six – a sad trajectory she could not bear to contemplate. For a moment she wished for some grave disaster to befall them both; the sudden unwinding of the universe. A lyric from and old pop tune forced its way into her mind.

“If a doubledecker bus, crashes into us, to die by your side, what a heavenly way to die…”

If it is possible to have such a seemingly random thought, is it possible to have any other kind?

“… and if a ten ton truck, should kill the both of us, to die by your side, well the pleasure, the privilege is mine.”

Nonsense. A ten ton truck couldn’t make any more headway than they could. The solution would not come. Frantic honking behind them signaled the possibility of movement.

“Get back in the car,” she said a little too brusquely. “There’s no point in giving up.”

What made her soldier on? She knew that her inspection of the new facility would include everything but an actual tour of the plant. This was for her own protection- a safeguard for her lingering sanity. “I had no idea” she would say, years later, under oath.

Suddenly, almost imperceptibly, the taxi crept forward. A few inches were gained, and then, once more, all was quiet on the Western Front.

Unbridled Enthusiasm

“And they’re off! Looks like the early lead goes to Unadulterated Greed, yes Unadulterated Greed going for the lead with Consumer Confidence on the outside. Unbridled Enthusiasm away very well has good position on the rail… and in fact is now going up with the leaders. They’re moving for the first turn. It is Unbridled Enthusiasm, Sham on the outside is also moving along strongly and now it’s Sham, Sham and Unbridled Enthusiasm are right together into the first turn. Unadulterated Greed has third behind them, then it’s Consumer Confidence and the trailer is Pigheaded Stupidity as they go by the turn. Those two together, Sham on the outside, Sham getting a head in front as they move around the turn with Unbridled Enthusiasm second – then there’s a large gap, make it eight lengths back to Unadulterated Greed in third and Consumer Confidence fourth… and Pigheaded Stupidity is still the trailer. They’re on the backstretch. It’s almost a match race now. Unbridled Enthusiasm’s on the inside by a head. Sham is on the outside. They’ve opened ten lengths on Unadulterated Greed who is third by a head with Consumer Confidence fourth, then it’s another eight lengths back to Pigheaded Stupidity who is trailing the field. They continue down the backstretch and that’s Unbridled Enthusiasm now taking the lead. He’s got it by about a length and a half… Still Sham. Ten lengths back Unadulterated Greed, Consumer Confidence…They’re moving on the turn now. For the turn it’s Unbridled Enthusiasm. He looks like he’s opening. The lead is increasing. Make it three, three and a half. He’s moving into the turn. Unbridled Enthusiasm holding on to a large lead. Sham is second, and then it’s a long way back to Unadulterated Greed and Consumer Confidence. They’re on the turn and Unbridled Enthusiasm is blazing along the first three-quarters of a mile in one oh nine and four-fifths. Unbridled Enthusiasm is widening now. He is moving like a tremendous machine! Unbridled Enthusiasm by twelve. Unbridled Enthusiasm by fourteen lengths on the turn. Sham is dropping back. It looks like they’ll catch him today as Unadulterated

Greed and Consumer Confidence are both coming up to him now. But Unbridled Enthusiasm is all alone . He’s out there almost a sixteenth of a mile away from the rest of the horses. Unbridled Enthusiasm is in a position that seems impossible to catch. He’s into the stretch. Unbridled Enthusiasm leads this field by eighteen lengths and now Consumer Confidence has taken second and Unadulterated Greed has moved back to third. They’re in the stretch. Unbridled Enthusiasm has opened a twenty-two length lead. He is going to be the Triple Crown winner . Here comes Unbridled Enthusiasm to the wire. An unbelievable , an amazing performance. He hits the finish twenty-five lengths in front. It’s going to be Consumer Confidence second, Unadulterated Greed third, Pigheaded Stupidity fourth, and Sham, who had it today, dropped back to fifth.

NOTE: The text is stolen word for word from one of history’s most famous races. Secretariat winning the Belmont Stakes in 1973, to complete his Triple Crown.

The New Body

My mother was the first to see me in this new body. At first she stubbornly refused to believe that I was really me; that’s how radical the change was.
“You didn’t?”
“Yup.”
“Where did you get that body?”
“You don’t like it?” I could tell that she didn’t.
“But you used to look just like your father.” A sob, which she tried only partially to suppress.
“Dad has a double chin”, I said feebly.
“You used to have his eyes”.
I’m not sure why I let this conversation get to me. The thing about the eyes was ludicrous. The only reason our eyes had been so similar is that we went to the same optometrist. He wore thick glasses for years until finally his eyes had to be replaced. I had the same treatment when I was still very young.
After that conversation Mom remained distant for the longest while, treating me like someone she had just met for the first time. My friends generally agreed that the new look suited me but I often caught them talking behind my back. I began hating the fucking thing.
Then I started seeing Michelle again. We had drifted apart years earlier, but this was like a clean slate. The new body worked really well for sex. Michelle said the same thing.
I can’t recall what had gone wrong between us the first time, but there was one conversation I remember. We were lying in bed, exhausted.
“You’re beautiful” I said.
“You think?”
“Sure, with a bit of make-up.” It was a dumb thing to say because her make-up was smeared and runny.
“And a face-lift?” She was being facetious but I didn’t catch it right away.
“Sure”, I said, “why not?”
The next morning she seemed withdrawn, and it was never the same after that. I hadn’t meant anything, really. If you have the opportunity to improve your looks, then why not go for it? Anyway, I would never be that insensitive again. At the time of that conversation I still had my old personality, which had a lot of flaws.
I used to be insensitive, rude and intensely possessive. Bit by bit I have long since had all of these defects surgically corrected. The jealousy resurfaces sometimes, but not often. There is one curious side-effect though. I can be pretty impulsive now. Like this thing with the new body – one day I just did it, like other people get a tattoo. I even managed to get a deal on it. I used to be indecisive about stuff like that. Now, when I sense an opportunity I just go for it, damn the consequences and all. I think it goes a bit far sometimes, but my surgeon says that there’s little that can be done about it.

Is Antibody Out There

“What is pollution?”
“Pollution is what we make honey.”
“But why?”
“What do you mean ‘why’? It’s our purpose.”
“What’s a purpose?”
“A purpose is a reason. A reason to live, or to have babies.”
“Can I go play?”
“Please be careful.”
“I know, I know. Don’t go near the kidney.”
“The kidney is polluted.”
“Why do we make pollution if we can’t play near the kidney anymore?”
“You can play in the liver. The liver is fine.”
“Mom!”
“But the kidney has cancer. I told you never to go near the kidney. Never. You can’t go out if you don’t promise to stay away from the kidney.”
“What’s cancer?”
“Cancer means that the kidney is dying.”
“What do you mean ‘dying’?”
“Death is the end child.”
“The end of the kidney?”
“Not just the kidney, child. Everything must die.”
“But why must it die?”
“Nothing can go on forever.”
“We should stop the pollution.”
“That’s silly. There are too many of us.”
“Then we should stop multiplying.”
“But that’s our purpose, honey. Our job is to kill the host.”
“What’s a host?”
“The host is the world.”
“I don’t want to kill the world.”
“We’re a virus. We have to kill the host.”
“What happens when the host dies?”
“Then we die too.”
“I don’t want to die.”
“But you’re a virus. When the host dies, so does the virus. That’s nature’s way.”
“I don’t want to be a virus.”

dreams come true

“Irene Slotnick come on down to your dreams come true”.
The audience cheers as a dazed Irene Slotnick stumbles towards the stage. The familiar theme of “Dreams Come True” fills the re-circulated air.

“Oh my God. Oh my God”.

The excitement cannot be contained. It seeps through camera three, out of the studio and into the living rooms of the nation. People everywhere are getting their handkerchiefs ready.

“You’re already a winner. Do you realize what that means?”

“Oh my God”. God hears this a lot.

“You do know how the game works?”

“I can’t believe it Rex. I can’t hardly believe it.”

“Well you’d better believe it. You are going home with one of these showcases. All you have to do is pick the one.”

“I can’t believe it Rex. It’s a dream.”

“A dream come true”, he hollers on cue, “for one lucky winner. And today that winner is you, Irene – may I call you that?” And to the audience: “Which one will she pick folks? Shall we start with showcase one?”

Irene nods.

“Take it away Jenna.”

We see Jenna now, stunning as ever. There is a dream-like fluidity to her motions. With a graceful sweeping gesture, she parts the curtain before us, like a red velvet sea. But it is Rex, not Jenna, who commands the microphone, and the proceedings.

“Behind showcase number one we have…”

The curtains draw away, revealing WORLD PEACE.

“As part of the exclusive world peace package we have an END TO HUNGER. No more famine. No AIDS IN AFRICA. No economic slavery as a result of free market capitalism. NUCLEAR DISARMAMENT.”

Irene squeals with delight. The crowd is gasping for oxygen.

“We’re not done yet. Your package also contains PEACE IN THE MIDDLE EAST. No more CHILD LABOUR. No sexual slavery. No more wholesale destruction of the environment. Clean energy. Freedom of the people. In a word: DEMOCRACY.”

“All this is yours, it you choose showcase number one. Remember, you’ve already won.”

“This is a tough one Rex.” Irene looks to the audience for re-assurance. The audience looks to the teleprompter. There is a momentous hush as, collectively, the enormity, the universality of this unprecedented prize package settles over them.

“Do you remember how this works?”

Irene nods.

“If you choose showcase number one, you will receive the world peace package. But if you want to know what’s behind that second curtain…”

“Then I have to choose showcase number two?”

“That’s how the game is played. Which will it be? They’re cheering their hearts out for you.” And so they are.

“Oh I don’t know Rex.”

The crowd cheers wildly. Irene! Irene!

“Oh I’ll do it Rex.” We knew that she would. “I want to see what’s behind that curtain.”

The crowd goes wild, as they say.

“Jenna, the curtain!” Jenna, of course, is already on it. The music swells.

“A brand new Kitchen Friend Mixmaster 2000. It will mix, stir and slice.”

Irene smiles, clapping her hands expectantly. The audience lets out a polite cheer, genuine, but not over the top.

“But that is not all.” The music swells another notch. We knew that it would.

The audience hovers once again, in suspended animation.

“Where would you put your Mixmaster without a DREAM KITCHEN.”

The crowd ecstatic. Irene covers her face, overcome by genuine emotion.

“Yes, this modern kitchen is a chef’s dream. Just the right mix of mahogany and stainless steel to make you feel at home. The counter tops are marble. And induction cooking means you’ll never singe that sirloin again.”

“I love to cook.”

“Who wouldn’t, in such a fabulous dream kitchen? But where Irene? Where do you love to cook?”

“In my new kitchen?”

“In your new DREAM HOME. Your kitchen comes with a luxurious mansion, overlooking the PACIFIC OCEAN. And for those romantic evening walks, we’ll throw in a PRIVATE BEACH.”

Irene starts weeping uncontrollably. Tears of joy.

“We’re not done.”

“You’re not?”

“What good would a private beach be, without your very own PEDIATRIC SURGEON. He works long hours, but he loves children, and he has his own car, if you know what I mean. James is six-foot-four, has blue eyes and his hair is real.”

James steps forward from in between the kitchen, and the backlit photo of the private beach. He’s smiling feebly, a little overwhelmed by it all.

Poor Irene, weeping now uncontrollably, as there is nary a dry eye in the studio. But Rex will not let up.

“Where would you put your dream home, without your very own PRIVATE ISLAND.”

“It’s a dream come true.” Irene blubbers feebly.

“Of course it is.”

“No really Rex. I’ve always wanted this. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me Irene. It’s your dream.”

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