Remember the Dead.

George Bush Body Count

9-11: 2,996 Civilians, Katerina: 1,302 Civilians, Texas: 155 Executions, Iraq: 150,434 650,000 Civilians, Iraq: 2,649 US Soldiers, Iraq: 17,869 US Wounded, Iraq: 87+ Journalists. Iraq: 210 Coalition Troops, Iraq: 318 Contractors, Afghanistan: 377 All Troops, Afghanistan: 718 Wounded Troops, Afghanistan: 49,600 Max. Civilians, Guantanamo Bay: Unknown (3 Recent Suicides)

Total: 226,706-776,706 and counting ++++

As a result of policies and the long term effects (100 years) that the above deaths will have. Including unborn, suicides, current wounded, etc: 76,162,758 Humans

06-09-06

Terrorists: 1 Abu Musab al-Zarqawi

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED !!!

No one has a problem with this?

Pogrom in Iraq 136

IMPEACH BUSH and DICK

Not necessarily in that order

ARCHIVE JUNE 2006

Made these for my SX-1. You can use them too. As always, enjoy!

SUNSET JUNE 04, 2006 Moscow, Russia

ARCHIVE APRIL 2004

The Slaughter Continues in Iraq 7

More Innocents Die/More Soldiers Die

For ~~9-11~~ ~~Saddam~~ ~~WMDs~~ Nothing

724 US 8918-10769 Civilians

The Man Responsible: "Bush"

Bush: "...empty words would embolden the actions of those who are willing to kill indiscriminately." He should know.

04-21-04 Sniper Rifle for Special Purposes. SEE backfire SEE:

Word of the day/week/month:

Politically Correct Truth (coined by me)

1. The stating of selected facts in a manner designed to not offend or to avoid litigation.

Copyright 1992-2006 by John A Robles II This is a work in progress and may not be used in any way whatsoeverwithout the expressed written consent of the author. This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to parties, events, places, organizations, or people living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights to this work are claimed by the author John A Robles II. For commercial use please contact the author at www.jar2.com or e-mail him at jar2@list.ru.

THE MAN WITH FOUR SOULS

THE CONTINUOUS MOTION MACHINE CONSPIRACY

DOORS and the MULTI-VERSE

PHOENIX and the WITCH of EZERBIAN BAY

CHAPTER ONE INTRO

I am not sure how to start my story, maybe starting at the beginning would be the prudent thing to do as there is too much to tell and not a lot of time left for me to tell it. All previous work was lost and I have been forced to put down what I am about to tell you from memory, memories of events that happened decades ago, and what follows, hopefully is true to the original, but I am afraid, as with anyone, some of the details have become slightly blurred by the perpetual passing of time. As of today, this begins my umpteenth attempt at putting all that I hope to put down on paper. I have often wondered about the strange nature and improbable difficulties I have had since I began trying to put this work together more than ten years ago, but now the shadowy figures behind them has become apparent. Having had the first draft fall into the hands of the US government and the second and third along with all of the backup copies mysteriously fall out of my possession makes me believe, even more, in the fact that what I am about to impart to you has earth-shaking ramifications and that with urgency I must make this story known lest I depart this world and take all of the knowledge of what I have witnessed with me. Lest thou begin reading this work with the preconception that I am paranoid or suffer from some other disorder of the psyche let me be the first to warn you that what you are about to read is a true story. I have changed the names of some of the principles and some of the places, in order to protect the innocent and it is up to you, dear reader, in some cases, to sort out for yourself what the truth behind what you are reading truly is. Thus we start on our journey, a re-telling of what I have witnessed with my own eyesGod help us

The weak summer light sparkles on the statuette nestled in its corner of the vast windowsill. The quality of the light brings back memories of the tender hands that had carved it. The memory seemed as much a fuzzy dream and as subtle as the small compartment hidden inside and the mechanism that allowed access to it.

Copyright 1992-2006 by John A Robles II This is a work in progress and may not be used in any way whatsoever without the expressed written consent of the author. This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to parties, events, places, organizations, or people living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights to this work are claimed by the author John A Robles II. For commercial exploitation please contact the author at www.jar2.com or e-mail him at jar2@list.ru.

THE MAN WITH FOUR SOULS

THE CONTINUOUS MOTION MACHINE CONSPIRACY

DOORS and the MULTI-VERSE

PHOENIX and the WITCH of EZERBIAN BAY

CHAPTER ONE INTRO

CHAPTER TWO

It is late Saturday afternoon. Another in a long series recently spent engaged in the same tedious activity, waiting. Awaiting the arrival of a messenger who would no doubt be bearing bad news, such activities always made the time seem to crawl to an almost complete standstill. I was used to it but this time the news promised to be especially bad and my patience had long since run out.

I am sitting in the nook near the window in the small room next to my bedroom that I use for a study. The light, having the same quality as it did the last time I had sat and waited all night and into the dawn, brought to mind the events that had surrounded the last meeting. That time it had been in a small town in South America. I had waited for days overlooking a square for a lone figure to detach itself from the crowds long enough to make a signal to someone he thought was in one of the shops across the street.

Near me on the huge windowsill amidst the clutter made up of an overflowing ashtray, a half pack of Nevsky Menthols, a directional mike, a starlight scope, a silenced German automatic and three bottles of medication, sit the rolls of microfilm. I wait.

10-06-05 10-15-05
GOODBYE to ANOTHER

The Monster Within 1

It crawled through the slime and the filth, moving slowly so as to make minimal noise. Unrecognizable as a living being in it's present form it's jet black eyes peered into the darkness, ringed by the caked blood and internal matter of it's previous host. It waited and watched the street beyond. 0

Jake had just gotten off of work and was headed for the 7-11 around the block to grab some nachos and a beer before he headed home. He had had a horrible day and having to put up with his boss Mr. Kramer and his eternal bitching and moaning, which always made the days seem endless, had made his head ache.

His shoes seemed ready to stick to the hot black-top as he stepped off the curb and past the entrance to the alley which led to the backs of all the seedy little restaurants and dying businesses that lined the streets of this part of downtown. He paused for just a second because at that moment he had the strangest feeling that he was being watched.

Jose 2

It was a hot day like every other day, these were the tropics after all and although everyone lauded the beaches and the "wonderful" weather, living on an island had its drawbacks; constant sunshine which eventually blinded the eyes as it glared off of the white-washed concrete edifices, flat roofed and squatting like bunkers, humidity in the high 90s, perpetual rain that might pour down on one side of the street while the other stayed as dry as the Sahara, insects the size of mice, mosquitoes that grew fat while spreading disease from one host to another, but for little Jose these were just part of the world that he had been born into three months earlier. Jose was the pride and joy of his parents, a local Pastor and his young wife, and had just learned how to walk.

Several days earlier he had taken his first tentative steps in the living room of the low one story cement family home, a room he would always remember even as he reached his waning years. The flag of the republic over the hearth, the storm blinds that served as windows in this part of the world, high and unreachable on the right wall, letting in little light. The near gloom and the cold tiled floor, with its throw rugs and glossy finish, made the room seem cold and hard, an omen as to what the rest of his life had in store for him. He had not had a choice as to where he had been born so this was his lot and he would have to deal with it, and thus it would be for the rest of his life.

His parents were pleased that he was learning so quickly, sometimes they thought that his development was much to quick, it was almost scary for them at times. He sometimes made the other children nervous when he looked at them because he had a knowing look in his eyes. One of them the lightest shade of blue, but that too would come to pass as it would change to brown like the other one before he reached his first birthday.

Now he was walking, and oh it was great! He was free from the crib and could explore all of the interesting little corners of his new world. His mother, a doting young woman who fawned over him endlessly but who had too much responsibility placed on her young shoulders which at times caused her to have to attend to other matters in the home thus not allowing her to pay full attention to Jose, loved to sit in the back yard and watch as Jose and his older brother, Rafael, played with their little trucks and shovels in the sand.

She had not wanted the first child, in fact she had played a nasty trick on her, now husband, so that she had gotten pregnant. He had been getting ready to leave her she had found out, and he, being a Pastor and a solid member of the community, could not have gotten away unscathed in the puritanical community were he to have fathered a child out of wedlock. It would have been the end of his career and his service to the church. Abortion was acceptable in general in their society at the time, were one a member of the lower classes, in fact it was so widespread and so pushed by the colonial powers that some of the more radical locals were starting to scream about ethnic cleansing. Nevertheless it was not an option that a man of the cloth could force his young, soon-to-be-wife, into exercising. So they had been married in the local church, his church, and had settled down together. Things even went well for the first few years. Until the pastor's philandering brought and end to everything. But wait, I am jumping the gun....

Anna 3

My son was growing fidgety with the exercises that I was trying to get him to do. He was antsy and did not want to read anymore and was on the verge of being openly confrontational. He sat on the little stool near the doorway to my room and muttered now and then as he read the thick book that I had given him. I, lying on the big white bed in the middle of my room, the late afternoon northern sun shining weakly in through the windows; the diffused light giving the room a bright dreamy quality, was losing my patience.

I dont want to read this anymore!, he said angrily.

Okay, thats it, Ive had it. Five minutes in the corner for you young man.

I stood up and began leading him to the corner where he would stand but as soon as I passed the threshold something caught my eye. I was momentarily stunned by what I saw, and then everything for some reason just clicked into place. There she was, just sitting there, in her favorite light blue turtle neck, her hair in a bun as always. She looked up at me with her big brown loving eyes, the sadness racing away from them as she took me in. Her soft lower lip quivered as she asked me what was wrong.

A thousand thoughts raced through my mind. How had she come to be sitting here? How long had she been back? How had she come in so stealthily? Was I going mad?

I leaned my head down towards hers, dumfounded with joy, and she raised to meet my lips as I kissed her ever so sweetly on her soft inviting mouth, a mouth whose every curve and line I knew better than my own. Her upper lip was so thin that you could say she did not have one but her kisses were the sweetest things in existence in the universe. Our kiss was long and soft and wet.

Whats wrong honey? she asked me softly.

NothingAh, everything is fine..." I uttered stupefied, " he just doesnt want to study.

Why dont I read with him she offered, her voice soft and caring.

My son looked up at her and she at him, I could see the love in their eyes for one another, and as the sun shined on their smiling faces everything was all right in the world.

Yeah, ahemOkay. I said in a daze, Thats a great idea. Hed like that.

So would I. she said.

Everything was all right in the world. She had come back. She looked so sad at moments, but she had come back. She still loved us and still cared, and she had come back My joy was monumental. The sun shone, but the clouds were forming...

Legless 4

A voice was ringing in my ears as if from far far away. It seemed to be pulling me away from the sunny room and the bliss I felt surrounding her return. I tried to fight it and ignore it knowing my efforts were in vain, but for a few minutes there was a reprieve.

We sat and talked for a few minutes and then all of a sudden I was being pulled and jerked around and my eyes opened to the room I had just been in, only now there was no sunlight. It was dark and cold and the furnishings and the walls were dingy and worn with time. Unlike the dream room where everything had been fresh and clean and bright, the way it had been when she had been around.

" Wake up you lazy old sack of bones!", the screeching voice screamed at me.

" Yeah, right, I am up, hold on", I said speaking Russian.

" Come on you've slept enough!", she screamed.

I tried to get her to leave me alone but she was insistent. All I had wanted to do was to say goodbye. I had never had that chance and had never been able to come to terms with the way she had just left me. I still loved her even after all those years and wanted so badly to stay asleep whenever we were together, which only happened in dreams, dreams which were becoming so real and vivid that I sometimes doubted the reality of my waking life, and that was what my life had come to, I lived for my dreams; for that was the only place we could still be together. But how could I tell the woman who was waking me to leave me alone and let me continue dreaming of the only girl I had ever loved. She would never understand and I could not hurt her that way. She was crude and had bad manners but I knew in her own way she loved me, and besides what was I supposed to do at my age. There weren't too many women out there who would want broken down old me so I had to tolerate her abuse and put up with the constant insults.

I felt around on the old and dusty nightstand for my old broken spectacles and still half in dream put them on. I then tried to stand but could not for some reason. I tried again and fell to the floor. I looked down at my legs but there was something wrong with them, the pajama pants seemed empty. I looked down and then tried to feel my legs in the gloom, when my hands reached the spot where my knees should have been I started screaming. I had no legs. I screamed in horror and tired to wake up. this could not be real, it had to be a dream too...

" Stop your damn screaming you Goddamn idiot!", the screeching voice again. In Russian. "Are you stupid or something, I cut your legs off three years ago you old fuck! Get over it and shut the fuck up!"
Then a million stars lit up the gloom and pain cut into my brain like a knife. She had hit me in the head and a trickle of blood ran down my forehead and into my right eye.

I closed my eyes again and prayed that I was dreaming... Then mercifully lost consciousness.
After and indeterminate period of time, I opened my eyes again to the dingy room, I half hoped that my legs would be where they were supposed to be but knowing that the pajamas bottoms were empty I did not look down again.
I looked for my glasses again but could not find them, there was the smell of crusted blood on my pillow and the pain in my head had not retreated fully. I felt nauseous and tried to look around for my glasses, finally finding them between the mattress and the bed frame. I put them on in the gloom and tried to get my bearings.

"Hello?", I called out quietly, not really wanting to hear an answer.
There was none.

I called out again, "Is anybody there?!"Silence...

Could it be that she had actually, really left? I felt energized by the prospect. I quickly put on my old sweater and crawled into the corridor. The house was so dark on this level, and if she was on one of the upper floors she would not even hear me, yet I tried to crawl quietly to the door which led to the garage. Maybe now was the chance that I had been waiting for for years.

It seemed to take an eternity to crawl the length of the corridor and down the two sets of steps which led to the garage but after what seemed like an eternity in the gloomy musty corridor I finally reached the oak door which led into the four car garage, one of three garages in this monstrosity of a house. It was there that the old dark-green Ford Taurus, which had brought me here years before was still parked and still ready to go. Sometimes on the rare occasions when she would go out she would, if her mood was generous, lock me in the garage and let me polish the Ford and clean it and even start the engine. I had hooked up a hose to the exhaust pipe and it led outdoors so this was possible even though I would be locked in. You're probably thinking why didn't I just drive it through the garage doors to freedom. Well, because the doors were massive and steel plated and even such a sturdy car would not have been able to break through the steel reinforcements, but, I had had time over the last few years to make a radio transmitter which would turn off the alarm and open the massive doors. I even had a spare car key which I had made myself and which I hid under a broken tile in the garage.
I reached for the door knob which most surely was locked but it turned freely in my hand. Then I heard a noise behind me....

Hammer Down 5

The deep blackness of the moonless desert night and the bone dry air taxed the senses. His bloodshot eyes burned from the dryness as he strained to see into the darkness, the very night seeming to absorb every particle of light tossed ahead by the beams of the headlights. It seemed to have a material quality of its own, moving in pitch black waves across the highway. His eyes were beginning to play tricks on him. He had not slept for forty-six hours and the lack of sleep was starting to take its toll on his other senses as well. He had picked up a load of electronics in Massachusetts on Friday and had dropped it off in Salem, Virginia where he had a switched trailers at the drop yard in the woods on the outskirts of town. That was early Saturday morning. His new trailer, a fifty-three foot reefer, which was supposed to help cover the fact that it carried a load of cigarettes was supposed to be in Los Angeles on Monday morning. Apparently the team that was supposed to have hauled it had gotten too drunk at the hotel and one of the drivers had been carted off to jail after punching some guy in the jaw. Whatever the case was he was stuck with it and there was one minor problem. You were not supposed to stop with cigarette loads. Most teams fueled up before picking up the trailers and the wheels did not stop rolling till the load was backed up to the receivers dock, they even switched drivers without stopping, not too hard in a conventional but pretty tricky in a cab-over. The problem was that he was not a damn team and he desperately needed his shut-eye.

The company knew that but they also knew they could count on him, he had not let them down in over a million miles regardless this was almost too much. Jake knew he was being followed as well, the black Suburban which had been leap-frogging him for the last two thousand miles was supposed to be non-descript, changing plates with every state line, but for the trained eye it was so obvious as to be insulting. They always followed the cigarette loads lest a driver take a left turn onto a reservation and the entire load of cigarettes disappear without a trace. The secret that you were not supposed to discuss with anyone was that the cigarettes left the factory sans the tax stamps and as they were not taxed on reservations, it would have been easy as pie to make a couple million dollars worth of fine Virginia tobacco disappear without a trace.

Jake loved it, he loved the road, it was his life. He was at his best under pressure. He became an extension of his large-car, the trucker term for a truck that would go as fast as you wanted it to. It was a joke between drivers, a big-truck went as fast as it could and a large-car went as fast as you wanted it to. He was a machine behind the wheel, a technician, the Cat V-8 twin turbo, with the jakes and the fifteen-over became a part of him. he double clutched and split gears without even thinking. It was an adrenaline rush at first, pure and simple, 80,000 pounds, 80 feet, and 80 miles an hour, flying through the night, hammer down. Then it had become a money making formula. Triple 8 Jake called it, that was his handle and that was what was pinstriped on the hood of his Peter-Car. Now it was a way of life.

His eye-lids were growing heavier with every passing mile... Hammer down...

" How 'bout that west-bound large car ya got a copy", Jake's CB crackled.

" Go ahead east-bound, ya be lookin good all the way back to the state line, I ain't seen a damn thing..", he drawled into the microphone. Even though he was a pure dyed-in-the-wool northerner down here it helped to add a twang to your voice and talk like some country bumpkin, it helped hide the fact that every driver out there was taking care of serious business and handling millions of dollars worth of freight and equipment.

" Roger that big buddy, ya got some strange goin-ons back there at the 423 yard stick, some four wheeler was doin sumthin out in the desert on your side, looked like some woman runnin around and some guy chasing her. Didn't look too friendly"

"Appreciate the info driver, keep them eyes open. Gotta be on the shaky side by Monday morning. Ya got the the Triple Eight here, n I'm back out."

"Roger all that, toodle-doo." was the reply.
Just what he needed some all night tweak freaks fighting it out in the middle of bum-fuck Egypt. Lover's spat no doubt, but he backed it down a little just in case as he passed the 422. That's when all hell broke loose...

Anna 3

I opened my eyes and saw her sleeping beside me, her skin pale, her breasts cupped in my hands, the soft skin of her back pressed against my chest as she breathed deeply in sleep. I smelled her brown hair as it softly caressed my cheeks and seemed to wrapped itself around my sleepy face. She moved softly against me, rubbing her back closer into me and made a soft sleepy groaning sound. I looked at her and smiled and knew that these were to be the happiest moments of my life. I do not know how I knew that but even then I knew that my time of bliss was limited. Despite that knowledge or perhaps because of it I tried harder to treasure our time together, I closed my eyes and fell happily back asleep.
What happens next? You tell me...

The intrepid young man, naïve in his unawareness of the ramifications of his actions, boldly proceeded with his as of yet unsuccessful forays into the black arts. Machiavellian manifestations stemming from previously attempted spells only served to obfuscate the true source of the evil permeating his life in myriad ways. Were he to have believed in ancient Egyptian curses, the source would have been clear, but as with the other victims of the curse of the boy pharaoh enlightenment only came at the moment of death.

Into the darkness he drove, through the mists and the fog which played tricks on his eyes. He had been driving for six hours through the forest and was becoming increasingly nervous as he drove deeper and deeper into what was becoming pure wilderness. The trees had become stranger and stranger as he drove on, at first he had dismissed the moss and the weird limbs as nothing to get excited about but now he was becoming afraid. The trees were twisted and gnarled and were beginning to choke in on the road which had become a narrow one lane path through the thickets. The forest here was so dense that he could not see into it at all now and the trees, whose limbs now met above the road were getting closer and lower. In effect making a tunnel through which he tried to maintain a healthy rate of speed, something telling him not to dare to slow down. It had become so narrow that he could not have turned around had he wanted to and want he did.

Anna 4 He had long ago grown tired of allowing others to use and victimize him and was not about to let it happen again. She was just like all the others and they had all become nothing more than one single face in endless line of women all demanding the world and none giving the slightest damn whether he was alive or dead. That is the way it was and the way it would always be, he had learned that the hard way but had come to terms with it.
She sat next to him pretending to sleep, so as not to have to talk to him. She often did that when they went on long car trips. When she was awake she sat in arrogant silence or made snide remarks about his cigarettes and about the myriad other ways in which she thought she was so superior to him. She always did that, and no matter what he did she always saw the negative side of everything. Even on the Christmas when he had spent half his monthly salary on an expensive suede coat for her, she had complained that it was not "exactly" what she had wanted. It was that way with everything he did. She complained so much that he often wondered what in the world she was doing with him. Apparently he surmised she was only interested in the sex, like all the others had been, and knowing that didn't help matters but only made things worse.

Copyright 2005/2006 by John Robles II