Image

Deal 1163: Watson may have watched Cthulhu dressing

The wise man once said something about not remembering the past meaning you were doomed to repeat it. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

Although, “doomed” isn’t the word I’d choose. “Able” might be a better choice.

Repeating the past is our whole secret. And the ability to do so with open mind and a memory of what is or might have been to come. Because, while history has a certain weight and inevitability to it, nothing is writ in stone.

Another wise man said something about the moving finger writing. Probably not referring to the fickle finger of fate, of course. But he too had a finger on the pulse of truth. Perhaps he was one of us, I certainly don’t know us all. I don’t really even know how many of us there are.

Counting temporal technicians is tricky, of course. First, we must agree on a baseline timeline in which to do the counting.
But time isn’t so conveniently arranged. Another wise man wrote about the “trousers of time”, and perhaps getting both feet in the wrong leg. He wasn’t entirely wrong either, except of course that the trousers were made for a non-spacial many legged creature that might as well be Cthulhu. You really don’t want to look too closely at his legs without his pants on. Trust me on that.

Madness is too kind.

But I digress.

The phone rings.

An auspicious start. Or end. Either way, Watson answers. Is it Holmes calling? Only in a past where Holmes was real and the phone was invented before the gaslight. That is a very narrow leg indeed. No, this is Thomas Watson, barely remembered in most histories. And it might not be strictly correct to say that his phone rang. It was early days, and the operator hadn’t been invented yet, just the telephone.

And the wonders of the infinitely legged trousers unfolded in new and intriguing ways.

Just remember not to peek inside.

Because that way lies the kind of madness where people put oranges or even peanut butter in their beer.

Oh, that is already happening?

Maybe that really is Cthulhu wearing the trousers.

And maybe we are all mad here.

New plates?

No?

Well, then, time for a new phone.

Advertisements
Image

Deal 1155: Pandora’s mine?

A diamond mine is in many ways just an industrialized version of hope. Workers sweat in the darkness for the chance at surviving another day or two with a few spare dollars in their pockets. From their toil, the reward is the occasional sparkly prize. But even that doesn’t look like much more than occasionally shiny gravel until it has been cleaned, graded, cut, and polished.

At the end of the day, the product has value because it is rare and hard to find.

A value that the cartels reinforce through campaigns of intimidation against any who would find markets for the stones outside of their control.

The mine might as well be Pandora’s box. Wars break out over it. Men fight tooth and nail to control it. Lives are spent with abandon in its depths.

And yet, there is always hope.

At least until the mine is worked out.