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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Inspirational
- Subject: Politics / Power / Abuse of Power
- Published: 04/05/2014
THEY ARE NOT ALL AGAINST US
Born 1969, M, from Herten, NRW, GermanyTsunami warnings in Chile, war in the Ukraine, a plane crashing in the Indian Ocean. Fox News was filled with negative news. Actually, I was half in depression already after what Senior Chafferton had told me. Funnily enough, he had spoken against conspiracies, claiming all of them to be frauds and hoaxes. But only because he was at the centre of a conspiracy theory that wasn’t true. You see, we, that is Chafferton and me, we were building America’s first smart home in a sleepy midwestern town named Chadville.
Privately owned condo homes, fully equipped with Smart-TVs checking what you watch, Smart-Fridges that make sure that you buy exactly what you need, thinking clocks and robotic kitchens and automatic bathrooms. The Public thought that it was the last step in a government chain to control the masses. There were demonstrations around the corner.
Senior Chafferton had dreamed up this scenario as a vision to help civilization develop into a multi-functional society.
He had never ever met the president and had nothing to do with conglomerate secrecy.
What he thought would become a great success had actually turned into a flop.
So, he spoke all the time about what stupid conspiracies, just because he was at the centre of one. But he spoke so much about them, that I began believing in them.
Be that as it may, I tried to simply put up my feet and forget about work, my beer cold, my pizza in my belly, forget about all the talk of how conspiracies were bullshit, how the entire world stank and sucked eggs, how the public seemed to make up stories just because they were sceptics, alienating one another.
Damn it. I couldn’t.
My mind was like a dog, chasing its own tail.
The front door closed, the keys dropping onto the copper plate in the hallway.
“I’m watching TV.”
My wife’s high heels clicked against the tiles until it reached the livingroom carpet.
Throwing the handbag on to the dining room table, she flashed me a smile, her black skirt still looking freshly pressed and mangled after seven hours of work. Susie seemed to have returned to our house with more zest than she left. I noticed she was chewing gum. It looked sexy, her relaxed chewing made me want her even more. Her relaxed appearance gave something to shoot for, something to hope I could become. Did that depend on the cool way she chewed gum? No. It depended on the calm way with which she regarded her surroundings.
Her strawberry flavored lipstick tasted as sweet, her magnolia scent was still as sexy as at seven o’ clock this morning. How did she do it?
“Hey, Sunshine,” she said, happily, laying her head to one side, her brown locks falling to one side and showing off her round golden earrings.
I gave her a short smile, one that just as quickly disintergrated into oblivion as it had appeared on my face.
My wife pulled back her head, her eyes opening wide and her lower lip forming a pouting mouth. “Aw, what’s up, Honeybear? Cat got yer tongue?”
I knew she designed her sing-songing tone of voice to calm me down.
In a way, it felt soothing.
In another way, it was irritating.
“Chafferton,” I spat, looking into the Fox Network’s details about the cataclysm of daily life. “He keeps on jabbering about the Illuminati. He keeps talking so much about how the press has made them up that I am beginning to believe in them.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, Roger,” Susie giggled. “Chafferton keeps blabbering about how all that is bullshit and that convinces you of the opposite,”
“The thing is,” I added, “that not even Chafferton is convinced that all those conspiracies are bullshit. He is only kidding himself?”
“Are you convinced that all conspiracies are invented?”
“Does the pope wear a tall hat?”
“Yes or no,” Susie spat, eyeing heavenward.
“No,” I cried. “Of course not.”
Susie’s face dropped, her eyes turning glum, her head looking away into the now soundless blabber of our president on TV, a creation of the magic of me just having controlled the remote.
“Why do they call him ‘Senior’, anyway?”
I stared into the screen, not really registering what was happening or what damn serious news was being presented. “Senior John Chafferton is the oldest of the lot.”
She looked back at me, tried to deciphre if I wanted to kill myself or not.
“Are you guys still really planning to build that huge condo thing by the bay?”
I nodded. “He insists on it,” I said, slouching in my chair. “Besides, we are well into it by now. The press can’t stop us now. We can’t back down. If we do, the public will think we really are the Bilderberg Group. The CEO of the other company that works with us, is an old college buddy of Senior’s. Once he agreed to work with us, there was no stopping him. The whole idea of individually old apartment buildings with smart fridges and built in fingerprint locks really gets him in gear. He feels like he is a forerunner of a new era.”
“Who?”
“The other guy,” I answered. “Senior, too, of course. He is happy about it.”
“Really?” Susie asked.
I reached for the remote and turned the TV off, looking at her.
I shook my head. “He used to be.”
Susie gave me a knowing grin. “You know what they are saying.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What?”
She put a hand on my lap and drummed with her fingers gently on my leg.
“That the entire project is designed by the Illuminati.”
I sat up and buried my head in my hands.
“I know, Susie,” I muttered into my palms. “Jesus, it is driving me nuts. There is a whole damn industry now in the web with people signing petitions against us, saying it is some darned plan to overtake the universe. I know it isn’t, girl,” I said, looking at my wife, laughing. “I mean, Chafferton planned this to the last detail. In fact, he even went straight to the mayor and begged the city to finance the project and the mayor laughed in his face. It has only been realized because of his adamant belief in pushing the sponsors to give him money. If this is a conspiracy, then I am Arnold Schwarzenegger.”
“What does the mayor say now that the project is running?”
“His office sends spiteful e-mails to our firm – daily, because of all the blogs that are appearing that the whole thing is planned by the mayor’s office. Most of the press against the project say the mayor secretly planned it, because the mayor knows the Rockefellers and the Vanderbilts or someone, I dunno. In fact, they even think Mark Zuckerberg of Facebook and frigging old Henry Kissinger is in on this. This is turning into such a media event that it is beginning to look ridiculous.”
“All because of these smart fridges and smart phones?”
I nodded. “I used to believe in conspiracies. Now I know it could be all bullshit.”
“Why?”
“Well, first thing is that I know how our project started. The president hasn’t even been to our city. In fact, the politicians were against it. The second thing is that the public now really believe that the Bilderberg Group chose this sleepy little city to build America’s first smart homes. FEMA, how are you? I know that isn’t true. The president doesn’t care. Chafferton and I sat in the frigging pub, drinking four Buds when he came up with the idea. He drew the stupid thing on the back of a pizza menu.”
The long pause in the conversation sent our concentration out toward the street. The cars, the birds, the occasional kid playing baseball, the odd siren, the belching drunk and the laughing teenager. One moment of calm overcame us, where I am sure we both wondered if our time as Editors of the High School Paper had been overshadowed by an insecure feeling of political espionage. I mean, every damn month we had some piece about where the Illuminati were at work. Now that I was in public life myself, I began seeing how random and crazy administration could be. Could one group really control everything when it was hard even to control the administration of one single company?
“In fact, it was hard to control a small firm like the one I had worked for ten years ago,” I continued. “Remember that place?”
Susie’s gaze was empty, her eyes staring into the nothingness of the floor.
She nodded.
“Yeah,” she said. “Real airheads. Twenty people and not a single smart thought among them.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if people were coming up with conspiracy theories about them, too, back then.”
Susie looked at me, her gaze now awake. “You think?”
I shrugged. “You know William Cooper's book, Behold a Pale Horse?”
Susie nodded. “I read it in college.”
“The former CIA agent reveals secrets he was told during his time as an agent. It is an eye opener. At first, the book certainly remains believable, even if some of it is extraordinary. Toward the middle, it gets scary. Then it gets weird. Genetically manipulative aliens and bases on the moon, underground bases and nuclear time travel. When I arrived at the chapter where Cooper actually claims that driver William Greer shot Kennedy while driving the open limo, I was terrified.
Then, a question arose in my mind. Didn't Jim Garrison actually have the original Zapruder film in his possession? Abraham Zapruder filmed Kennedy's motorcade. Didn't his team study this thing thoroughly? They couldn't possibly have missed that driver reaching over his right shoulder and shooting the president. What about Connelly, who was sitting right next to the driver? He claimed to have heard the shot coming from the right. There is no way all those people in the car could have missed that. What about the people? They would've seen it. I mean, this was on an open street. A secret service agent would never agree to killing the president in the open, if this was supposed to be a secret conspiracy. The odds of someone noticing it are huge. Okay, I believe it was a conspiracy somehow. But that film, the film of the driver in the front seat killing Kennedy, has got to be a fake. No one could pull that off. I mean, why would conspirators take such a ridiculous chance?”
Susie took a long look at me, seemed to be studying me from top to bottom like a statue, leaning against her open palm and playing with the buckle of my jeans.
“This stuff really gets to you, doesn’t it?”
I sighed, looking out the window onto the open road.
“Chafferton is angry at all the people that say that our project is a conspiracy, because the project is his baby, it was his invention and his initiative. He just started it so that he could build a better world. He had no idea that this would happen.”
“So he now says that all conspiracy theories are bullshit, because he is a suspect of being in the middle of one.”
“Well, I think it is understandable. It is just that he talks so much about it that you actually begin to wonder what is true or not.”
“That is the issue, isn’t it?”
I looked at her. “What?”
“We don’t know. That is the issue. Because we don’t know, we speculate.”
“What about this Kennedy thing? We don’t know.”
“Well, that drives me nuts. This new version of the Zapruder film, the only evidence in the killing of Kennedy, shows the driver killing Kennedy. Another agent claims that the shot came from the front, from the grassy knoll. There are at least five different names mentioned, all agents. One guy claims that the new version of the Zapruder film is a phoney. It has to be. Everybody, including Garrison and the Warren Commision, they were studying this film. I mean, I am not in the know here, but that little detail with Greer reaching over his shoulder and shooting President Kennedy from toward the back seems like an awfully clumsy way to assassinate someone. Just picture it, you are a political conspirator aiming to kill someone. Would you really choose the guy sitting in the front seat of the open limo to kill the president, when thousands of people were standing around and watching. I mean, the chances of the First Lady actually seeing the driver shoot him or the driver missing his target are humungous. The chances of hundreds of people catching that are so huge. No secret government could hide that kind of action. What is the rule of a conspiracy? Try to conceal the action and give someone else the blame.”
“So,” Susie responded, “if Garrison had the original Zapruder film in his possession (he must've had it), then the film with the driver reaching over has to be a fake. The driver reaching over his shoulder and shooting the president from the car itself had to be added afterwards. No secret service agent or conspirator would take such a huge risk and be caught as to shoot him in the absolute open. It has to be a fake. Old Clint Hill claims that the shot was accidental. Another agent says that someone was riding on the bumper of the limo. A third says that there were shots coming from the fence. Another mentions a completely different name.
As I said, these are all theories. Who is telling the truth? No one?”
“If it is a conspiracy,” I continued, really catching Susie’s attention now, “I am sure they did it so that no one could see it. I mean, I am not sure, but the world is very chaotic and random. I am not really sure if such huge conspracies as are presented in today's web really are possible. Maybe they are. Maybe not. There is even a movement online that says that Obama and Osama are the same guy.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No. Look it up. It’s out there.”
“There is a deep paranoia today to see the negative sides of politics today,” Susie spoke. “There are questions, certainly. Why? 9/11 entails so many questions that it drives you crazy. But we don't know. As one person pointed out, the official version is just a theory and the Illuminati version is just a theory. That is why it is called a theory. Because we don't know.
The fact is that there are positive people, who want to do good. There are also people who are greedy, sure. There are both.”
“We have to remember that, although we are afraid,” I added, “we still have to think positive and try to concentrate on not seeing conspiracies everywhere we go. Who are the politicians anyway? Just people who lead the country. Do we need them to live and eat and drink and love each other, go to school and sleep in a bed and believe in God? Does our soul need them?”
“No.”
“Think positive, be sceptical even to the conspiracies and believe in the power of positive thinking. There is hope. You don't need the politicians to get dressed, listen to music, love each other, write a story or meet friends. They think they have power over us. Forget it. They don't. Everyone is human. Everyone is unique. Everyone needs sleep. Everyone eats, drinks, loves, has friends, interests and doubts and worries.”
“Are they better because they sit in parliaments? No.”
“La vita é bella.”
“Life is beautiful.”
“Everything is not a conspiracy.”
Susie looked at me, letting her eyes drift across my face, still holding her hand on my lap.
“So, how are you going to answer those conspiracy theorists?”
“I won’t,” I answered truthfully. “I’ll just grin and bear it, build my condo complex and let the public decide what they meaning of it is.”
“Is there a meaning to life?”
“Loving each other and experiencing your soul. To provide people a good life.”
“You might be right.”
Susie’s chest was heaving and falling.
“I love you, Roger,” she told me. “That is the real issue, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “It doesn’t matter what happens or what those stupid politicians do or don’t do. If we have love, that’s all we need. And all love is spiritual, even physical love is founded on spiritual love. Sex is not a sin. It is a part of human contact.”
“What?”
“Well, it’s all emotion. And emotion is spiritual.”
Susie unclothed. The nipples were big as cherries now on two honey melon sized breasts. She saw my long gender rise. As the moon shone upon us as my princess knelt down, embracing my waist with her hands and my manhood with her lips, I knew her to be right. She felt the perfume of my manly odour in her nostrils. I picked her up gently by her waist and she spread her legs. I caressed her body as she lay there on the couch enjoying the sight of her man. Then I entered her slowly and she felt every inch of my masculinity sliding into her body. Her head slightly bumped against the edge of the couch again and again as she looked out the window, seeing Orion in the sky and her own home upside down, feeling my sweat drop down on her skin.
She wondered what was up there in those stars, I saw it, if someone else was looking at her from up there. She felt herself getting so excited looking up at the stars and being loved to at the same time that she had to sigh, giggle and cry all at once. I was going harder at it now, much harder, grabbing her. Making love had always been a great inspiration to Susie. Love. She had heard of the wealthy Romans doing it. She felt spiritual and decadent at the same time doing it. I convulsed several times, seemed to jerk back and forth inside her and the speed seemed to increase every time he entered her opening. She groaned several times, felt the marble couch under her squeak and rattle, her body slightly wobbling with every blow. From inside an eruption came and vibrated in her from head to toe. It started in her bowel and went like a tidle wave to her toes and up to her head. She threw her head back, arched her back and shook her hair back and forth. Her high voice moaned in rhythm with my low baritone and now at once love came flooding from inside both of them like apricot juice pouring into a gold cup. She closed her eyes and felt her genitals contracting around my gender. I started pumping faster and faster, sweat dropping onto her belly and down between her legs. Now at once love juice came flooding from inside both of them like apricot pouring into a gilded furry oyster cup.
“You know what arouses me, don’t you.”
”You know what arouses me.”
Slowly panting, I lingered inside her a few minutes before carrying her to the bed. She remembered hearing me sigh as she lay there on my chest. The last thing she remembered feeling before they both entered a land of mutual dreams was the hauntingly warm breeze from the open balcony door against her right cheek and my scratchy chest hair rubbing gently against her left. She closed her eyes and imagined walking among the sunflowers, faithful, loving, peaceful and happy.
“What do politicians know about love, anyway?”
I smiled.
“Nothing,” I answered. “Where there is love, there is a way. Life is individualism in togetherness.”
“You know what the greatest conspiracy is?”
“To think you are not worth anything. The greatest conspiracy is still forgetting how much you are worth. Every life is a wonder. A king or a president has nothing to do with that. Even he is a wonder, but not because he is a king or a president, but because he is a soul.”
“Life is extraordinary.”
“We should never forget it. We should love each other and live in the now.”
“Let’s do that.”
“Let’s make love again.”
“My pleasure.”
We fell asleep in each other’s arms and dreams that night, dreamt of love.
I have never felt better.
The project was realised and the masses realized we were not part of a conspiracy.
We were just a couple of humans trying to make a good living.
THEY ARE NOT ALL AGAINST US(Charles E.J. Moulton)
Tsunami warnings in Chile, war in the Ukraine, a plane crashing in the Indian Ocean. Fox News was filled with negative news. Actually, I was half in depression already after what Senior Chafferton had told me. Funnily enough, he had spoken against conspiracies, claiming all of them to be frauds and hoaxes. But only because he was at the centre of a conspiracy theory that wasn’t true. You see, we, that is Chafferton and me, we were building America’s first smart home in a sleepy midwestern town named Chadville.
Privately owned condo homes, fully equipped with Smart-TVs checking what you watch, Smart-Fridges that make sure that you buy exactly what you need, thinking clocks and robotic kitchens and automatic bathrooms. The Public thought that it was the last step in a government chain to control the masses. There were demonstrations around the corner.
Senior Chafferton had dreamed up this scenario as a vision to help civilization develop into a multi-functional society.
He had never ever met the president and had nothing to do with conglomerate secrecy.
What he thought would become a great success had actually turned into a flop.
So, he spoke all the time about what stupid conspiracies, just because he was at the centre of one. But he spoke so much about them, that I began believing in them.
Be that as it may, I tried to simply put up my feet and forget about work, my beer cold, my pizza in my belly, forget about all the talk of how conspiracies were bullshit, how the entire world stank and sucked eggs, how the public seemed to make up stories just because they were sceptics, alienating one another.
Damn it. I couldn’t.
My mind was like a dog, chasing its own tail.
The front door closed, the keys dropping onto the copper plate in the hallway.
“I’m watching TV.”
My wife’s high heels clicked against the tiles until it reached the livingroom carpet.
Throwing the handbag on to the dining room table, she flashed me a smile, her black skirt still looking freshly pressed and mangled after seven hours of work. Susie seemed to have returned to our house with more zest than she left. I noticed she was chewing gum. It looked sexy, her relaxed chewing made me want her even more. Her relaxed appearance gave something to shoot for, something to hope I could become. Did that depend on the cool way she chewed gum? No. It depended on the calm way with which she regarded her surroundings.
Her strawberry flavored lipstick tasted as sweet, her magnolia scent was still as sexy as at seven o’ clock this morning. How did she do it?
“Hey, Sunshine,” she said, happily, laying her head to one side, her brown locks falling to one side and showing off her round golden earrings.
I gave her a short smile, one that just as quickly disintergrated into oblivion as it had appeared on my face.
My wife pulled back her head, her eyes opening wide and her lower lip forming a pouting mouth. “Aw, what’s up, Honeybear? Cat got yer tongue?”
I knew she designed her sing-songing tone of voice to calm me down.
In a way, it felt soothing.
In another way, it was irritating.
“Chafferton,” I spat, looking into the Fox Network’s details about the cataclysm of daily life. “He keeps on jabbering about the Illuminati. He keeps talking so much about how the press has made them up that I am beginning to believe in them.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, Roger,” Susie giggled. “Chafferton keeps blabbering about how all that is bullshit and that convinces you of the opposite,”
“The thing is,” I added, “that not even Chafferton is convinced that all those conspiracies are bullshit. He is only kidding himself?”
“Are you convinced that all conspiracies are invented?”
“Does the pope wear a tall hat?”
“Yes or no,” Susie spat, eyeing heavenward.
“No,” I cried. “Of course not.”
Susie’s face dropped, her eyes turning glum, her head looking away into the now soundless blabber of our president on TV, a creation of the magic of me just having controlled the remote.
“Why do they call him ‘Senior’, anyway?”
I stared into the screen, not really registering what was happening or what damn serious news was being presented. “Senior John Chafferton is the oldest of the lot.”
She looked back at me, tried to deciphre if I wanted to kill myself or not.
“Are you guys still really planning to build that huge condo thing by the bay?”
I nodded. “He insists on it,” I said, slouching in my chair. “Besides, we are well into it by now. The press can’t stop us now. We can’t back down. If we do, the public will think we really are the Bilderberg Group. The CEO of the other company that works with us, is an old college buddy of Senior’s. Once he agreed to work with us, there was no stopping him. The whole idea of individually old apartment buildings with smart fridges and built in fingerprint locks really gets him in gear. He feels like he is a forerunner of a new era.”
“Who?”
“The other guy,” I answered. “Senior, too, of course. He is happy about it.”
“Really?” Susie asked.
I reached for the remote and turned the TV off, looking at her.
I shook my head. “He used to be.”
Susie gave me a knowing grin. “You know what they are saying.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What?”
She put a hand on my lap and drummed with her fingers gently on my leg.
“That the entire project is designed by the Illuminati.”
I sat up and buried my head in my hands.
“I know, Susie,” I muttered into my palms. “Jesus, it is driving me nuts. There is a whole damn industry now in the web with people signing petitions against us, saying it is some darned plan to overtake the universe. I know it isn’t, girl,” I said, looking at my wife, laughing. “I mean, Chafferton planned this to the last detail. In fact, he even went straight to the mayor and begged the city to finance the project and the mayor laughed in his face. It has only been realized because of his adamant belief in pushing the sponsors to give him money. If this is a conspiracy, then I am Arnold Schwarzenegger.”
“What does the mayor say now that the project is running?”
“His office sends spiteful e-mails to our firm – daily, because of all the blogs that are appearing that the whole thing is planned by the mayor’s office. Most of the press against the project say the mayor secretly planned it, because the mayor knows the Rockefellers and the Vanderbilts or someone, I dunno. In fact, they even think Mark Zuckerberg of Facebook and frigging old Henry Kissinger is in on this. This is turning into such a media event that it is beginning to look ridiculous.”
“All because of these smart fridges and smart phones?”
I nodded. “I used to believe in conspiracies. Now I know it could be all bullshit.”
“Why?”
“Well, first thing is that I know how our project started. The president hasn’t even been to our city. In fact, the politicians were against it. The second thing is that the public now really believe that the Bilderberg Group chose this sleepy little city to build America’s first smart homes. FEMA, how are you? I know that isn’t true. The president doesn’t care. Chafferton and I sat in the frigging pub, drinking four Buds when he came up with the idea. He drew the stupid thing on the back of a pizza menu.”
The long pause in the conversation sent our concentration out toward the street. The cars, the birds, the occasional kid playing baseball, the odd siren, the belching drunk and the laughing teenager. One moment of calm overcame us, where I am sure we both wondered if our time as Editors of the High School Paper had been overshadowed by an insecure feeling of political espionage. I mean, every damn month we had some piece about where the Illuminati were at work. Now that I was in public life myself, I began seeing how random and crazy administration could be. Could one group really control everything when it was hard even to control the administration of one single company?
“In fact, it was hard to control a small firm like the one I had worked for ten years ago,” I continued. “Remember that place?”
Susie’s gaze was empty, her eyes staring into the nothingness of the floor.
She nodded.
“Yeah,” she said. “Real airheads. Twenty people and not a single smart thought among them.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if people were coming up with conspiracy theories about them, too, back then.”
Susie looked at me, her gaze now awake. “You think?”
I shrugged. “You know William Cooper's book, Behold a Pale Horse?”
Susie nodded. “I read it in college.”
“The former CIA agent reveals secrets he was told during his time as an agent. It is an eye opener. At first, the book certainly remains believable, even if some of it is extraordinary. Toward the middle, it gets scary. Then it gets weird. Genetically manipulative aliens and bases on the moon, underground bases and nuclear time travel. When I arrived at the chapter where Cooper actually claims that driver William Greer shot Kennedy while driving the open limo, I was terrified.
Then, a question arose in my mind. Didn't Jim Garrison actually have the original Zapruder film in his possession? Abraham Zapruder filmed Kennedy's motorcade. Didn't his team study this thing thoroughly? They couldn't possibly have missed that driver reaching over his right shoulder and shooting the president. What about Connelly, who was sitting right next to the driver? He claimed to have heard the shot coming from the right. There is no way all those people in the car could have missed that. What about the people? They would've seen it. I mean, this was on an open street. A secret service agent would never agree to killing the president in the open, if this was supposed to be a secret conspiracy. The odds of someone noticing it are huge. Okay, I believe it was a conspiracy somehow. But that film, the film of the driver in the front seat killing Kennedy, has got to be a fake. No one could pull that off. I mean, why would conspirators take such a ridiculous chance?”
Susie took a long look at me, seemed to be studying me from top to bottom like a statue, leaning against her open palm and playing with the buckle of my jeans.
“This stuff really gets to you, doesn’t it?”
I sighed, looking out the window onto the open road.
“Chafferton is angry at all the people that say that our project is a conspiracy, because the project is his baby, it was his invention and his initiative. He just started it so that he could build a better world. He had no idea that this would happen.”
“So he now says that all conspiracy theories are bullshit, because he is a suspect of being in the middle of one.”
“Well, I think it is understandable. It is just that he talks so much about it that you actually begin to wonder what is true or not.”
“That is the issue, isn’t it?”
I looked at her. “What?”
“We don’t know. That is the issue. Because we don’t know, we speculate.”
“What about this Kennedy thing? We don’t know.”
“Well, that drives me nuts. This new version of the Zapruder film, the only evidence in the killing of Kennedy, shows the driver killing Kennedy. Another agent claims that the shot came from the front, from the grassy knoll. There are at least five different names mentioned, all agents. One guy claims that the new version of the Zapruder film is a phoney. It has to be. Everybody, including Garrison and the Warren Commision, they were studying this film. I mean, I am not in the know here, but that little detail with Greer reaching over his shoulder and shooting President Kennedy from toward the back seems like an awfully clumsy way to assassinate someone. Just picture it, you are a political conspirator aiming to kill someone. Would you really choose the guy sitting in the front seat of the open limo to kill the president, when thousands of people were standing around and watching. I mean, the chances of the First Lady actually seeing the driver shoot him or the driver missing his target are humungous. The chances of hundreds of people catching that are so huge. No secret government could hide that kind of action. What is the rule of a conspiracy? Try to conceal the action and give someone else the blame.”
“So,” Susie responded, “if Garrison had the original Zapruder film in his possession (he must've had it), then the film with the driver reaching over has to be a fake. The driver reaching over his shoulder and shooting the president from the car itself had to be added afterwards. No secret service agent or conspirator would take such a huge risk and be caught as to shoot him in the absolute open. It has to be a fake. Old Clint Hill claims that the shot was accidental. Another agent says that someone was riding on the bumper of the limo. A third says that there were shots coming from the fence. Another mentions a completely different name.
As I said, these are all theories. Who is telling the truth? No one?”
“If it is a conspiracy,” I continued, really catching Susie’s attention now, “I am sure they did it so that no one could see it. I mean, I am not sure, but the world is very chaotic and random. I am not really sure if such huge conspracies as are presented in today's web really are possible. Maybe they are. Maybe not. There is even a movement online that says that Obama and Osama are the same guy.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No. Look it up. It’s out there.”
“There is a deep paranoia today to see the negative sides of politics today,” Susie spoke. “There are questions, certainly. Why? 9/11 entails so many questions that it drives you crazy. But we don't know. As one person pointed out, the official version is just a theory and the Illuminati version is just a theory. That is why it is called a theory. Because we don't know.
The fact is that there are positive people, who want to do good. There are also people who are greedy, sure. There are both.”
“We have to remember that, although we are afraid,” I added, “we still have to think positive and try to concentrate on not seeing conspiracies everywhere we go. Who are the politicians anyway? Just people who lead the country. Do we need them to live and eat and drink and love each other, go to school and sleep in a bed and believe in God? Does our soul need them?”
“No.”
“Think positive, be sceptical even to the conspiracies and believe in the power of positive thinking. There is hope. You don't need the politicians to get dressed, listen to music, love each other, write a story or meet friends. They think they have power over us. Forget it. They don't. Everyone is human. Everyone is unique. Everyone needs sleep. Everyone eats, drinks, loves, has friends, interests and doubts and worries.”
“Are they better because they sit in parliaments? No.”
“La vita é bella.”
“Life is beautiful.”
“Everything is not a conspiracy.”
Susie looked at me, letting her eyes drift across my face, still holding her hand on my lap.
“So, how are you going to answer those conspiracy theorists?”
“I won’t,” I answered truthfully. “I’ll just grin and bear it, build my condo complex and let the public decide what they meaning of it is.”
“Is there a meaning to life?”
“Loving each other and experiencing your soul. To provide people a good life.”
“You might be right.”
Susie’s chest was heaving and falling.
“I love you, Roger,” she told me. “That is the real issue, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “It doesn’t matter what happens or what those stupid politicians do or don’t do. If we have love, that’s all we need. And all love is spiritual, even physical love is founded on spiritual love. Sex is not a sin. It is a part of human contact.”
“What?”
“Well, it’s all emotion. And emotion is spiritual.”
Susie unclothed. The nipples were big as cherries now on two honey melon sized breasts. She saw my long gender rise. As the moon shone upon us as my princess knelt down, embracing my waist with her hands and my manhood with her lips, I knew her to be right. She felt the perfume of my manly odour in her nostrils. I picked her up gently by her waist and she spread her legs. I caressed her body as she lay there on the couch enjoying the sight of her man. Then I entered her slowly and she felt every inch of my masculinity sliding into her body. Her head slightly bumped against the edge of the couch again and again as she looked out the window, seeing Orion in the sky and her own home upside down, feeling my sweat drop down on her skin.
She wondered what was up there in those stars, I saw it, if someone else was looking at her from up there. She felt herself getting so excited looking up at the stars and being loved to at the same time that she had to sigh, giggle and cry all at once. I was going harder at it now, much harder, grabbing her. Making love had always been a great inspiration to Susie. Love. She had heard of the wealthy Romans doing it. She felt spiritual and decadent at the same time doing it. I convulsed several times, seemed to jerk back and forth inside her and the speed seemed to increase every time he entered her opening. She groaned several times, felt the marble couch under her squeak and rattle, her body slightly wobbling with every blow. From inside an eruption came and vibrated in her from head to toe. It started in her bowel and went like a tidle wave to her toes and up to her head. She threw her head back, arched her back and shook her hair back and forth. Her high voice moaned in rhythm with my low baritone and now at once love came flooding from inside both of them like apricot juice pouring into a gold cup. She closed her eyes and felt her genitals contracting around my gender. I started pumping faster and faster, sweat dropping onto her belly and down between her legs. Now at once love juice came flooding from inside both of them like apricot pouring into a gilded furry oyster cup.
“You know what arouses me, don’t you.”
”You know what arouses me.”
Slowly panting, I lingered inside her a few minutes before carrying her to the bed. She remembered hearing me sigh as she lay there on my chest. The last thing she remembered feeling before they both entered a land of mutual dreams was the hauntingly warm breeze from the open balcony door against her right cheek and my scratchy chest hair rubbing gently against her left. She closed her eyes and imagined walking among the sunflowers, faithful, loving, peaceful and happy.
“What do politicians know about love, anyway?”
I smiled.
“Nothing,” I answered. “Where there is love, there is a way. Life is individualism in togetherness.”
“You know what the greatest conspiracy is?”
“To think you are not worth anything. The greatest conspiracy is still forgetting how much you are worth. Every life is a wonder. A king or a president has nothing to do with that. Even he is a wonder, but not because he is a king or a president, but because he is a soul.”
“Life is extraordinary.”
“We should never forget it. We should love each other and live in the now.”
“Let’s do that.”
“Let’s make love again.”
“My pleasure.”
We fell asleep in each other’s arms and dreams that night, dreamt of love.
I have never felt better.
The project was realised and the masses realized we were not part of a conspiracy.
We were just a couple of humans trying to make a good living.
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