On the planet Qumran, the archeological dig in the old district next to the trading post of Korbin, actually produced two distinct forks.

The first is on how it all came about.

With the second tale explain just what was really trawled up form the pit.

The detailed information faxed out on the Plex-sheets from all that time ago, actually demonstrated just how it all went disastrously wrong, (or right), depending on whose side of the used Pan-paper that was used way back then.

Plex sheets don’t usually make good paper trails, (they are far too individualistic), but this time they did right, and with them all lined up: they happily showed the narrative right back to the very beginnings of the universe itself, and especially what went on before in the unformed heavens, ..
This story is the Red Sea Scrolls.

Header ends here, and the parchments begin.

Parchment One, the Beginnings.

Amazingly, the first ever holy passage in the Emerald Scrolls, only saw the light of day because of one nosy insignificant little insect, who was happily doing what grubby bugs do best: turning over shit to get at the good tasty stuff underneath.

Ye old data-Miner was doing it right inside the many (1) megadules of the publicly available online archives. Comprising of the public libraries and also the local book shops, that actually make up the Eternal Unseen Library Association, (EULA) for short. These vast reams of mainly unindexed data cover a time span from now, to one hundred and fifty thousand years in the past, give or take twenty thousand.

** (1) a megadule is not to be confused with the worthwhile measure of joules.

Author’s note: the above figure is a universally adjusted calculation on my part: what follows is a readjusted set of figures from my own research, then I can confidently state with some degree of confidence is accurate.

The original data stream followed by the Bug, initially threw up the Emerald Scrolls, was chronologically recorded to be about fifty five thousands years from your, (our) current date: with the older ones being found, dated to approximately one hundred and twenty five thousand, the ones discovered below that: was probably hitting the two million mark, but those ancient tomes just can’t be reliably dated.

The source our data-Miner used, was all held in the Public Facilities, which was a communal library archive in its own right that anyone could access. In other words: the Bug wasn’t doing anything that fateful day, that anyone else couldn’t do.

In this blissful state of intently researching the First Old Market, which was a popular pastime for bored researchers with nothing else better to do, but this overcast afternoon the trouble Bug wasn’t bored, he was on a mission for God, not the God, but just a minor one of the Shellworld.

In his own troubled world, the worried Bug was following a well wore path, and by all rights he should have turned round in seeing all those other footprints in the stream, but the researcher by now was deep down in the lowest drive in Pan-lines, and the he was hungry for answers, and our data-Miner was simply following a familiar mineral rich vein of juicy gossip and published tasty office titbit memos.

It was all familiar, and he once more re-read the reams of data, worried that he’d missed something in previous reading: then in his frustration and haste, the researcher found that he had accidentally opened a corrupted data pipeline, that was literally full of old business news stories regarding rented properties.

Normally, the professional researchers out there usually run a mile from this dross, but his own search parameter had led him down this path with a 70% positive match, so he went with his gut.

From there the Bug went upstream into the compacted audio tales, listening intently to the ancient comments: recorded by the local residents of the time.

Realising that he had to change tack, he approached the data as a caretaker of the problem, and instead of ignoring the incessant complaints: as he’d seen serval other researchers do when coming down here before all of them dismissed this vein as a waste of time, but the caring caretaker Bug pushed ever on, because he could smell shit, and the complaints wreaked something awful.

In that same caring frame of mind, the mining-Bug actually got the gist of where this rotten old narrative went, then the true custodian began digging his way through the seminal locks and ongoing resident’s issues, that were also dutifully recorded.

In opening up the housing officer’s notes: the Bug on a mission, finally stumbled into the fabled golden seam, where he then read all about the strange two legged aliens who had moved in down the street, and how they were dragging down the neighborhood.
His personal pointer string shot up to 100%.

The alien shapes were his original search parameter, but against those specific dates that concerned the rough date of the inception of the first market. From that shitty insolent street that was full of alien racists, the Bug gingerly followed the (two legged) housing application forms back to their origin, where he then stumbled into the reams of data, and also the archived manuscripts: that later become known as the Emerald Scrolls.

Parchment Two, the Background.

The competent miner attending a follow up news conference several months later: was quietly in awe at all the attention that he was receiving, especially in finding that it was hosted in the new Adventures Bar in Death Valley, and extra especially so at the amount of people in attendance.

He was also slightly annoyed as well, because those manuscript files and private documents should have remained incognito, but his own footsteps had led others there as well, and by then, the cawn was well and truly out of the bag: so he’d reluctantly accepted the honors being bestowed upon him from his open air prison cell, where he and the others where serving a life sentence, for saving a small part of the universe.

Confidently curved up on the Podium, the infamous Bug went through his familiar tale of finding himself alone in that camp and with the deadly Teteo animals of legend sat right next to him.

(The audience collectively shuddered, but his wife in the shadows huffed loudly.)

Hissing quietly to himself at seeing that predictable reaction, and laughing internally seeing his wife shudder: the large Bug quietly went on saying, they forced me to retire to the camping Caterpillar, where I then got into the main data Sewer-Lines to the gossipy P-Traps, but deep down in the forgotten bowels, and all the while fighting off the file access restrictions.

He then calmly reported that getting into the reduced bore sewer-Line for the licenses, was extremely difficult; even with his upgraded class six authorization, so I took on the mantle of an ancillary cleaner: because they can get in anywhere.

To a silent rapt audience he coyly added. “Because all of the basic Plex-documents back then, obviously needed low level maintenance now and again; basically to allow them to open and close. I then got round the static locks by using my reduced cleaner status, then once opened and dusted: they remained in an open state, and as a caretaker with the officially recognised keyholder status, I finally got to the meta-data, and it was the information hidden in these subsistence request application forms, that finally led me to the data-stack.” Applause naturally followed.

Parchment Three, the Backyard.

What the data-Miner had blindly stumbled into, was simply a backend, locally held: age old data dung mizzen, that in itself, was simply a carbon copy of a compiled information stack.

It should be noted, that the original data itself was (is), still to be found by anyone looking in the Public Library Archives. All records and correspondents, freely held as they were, across the many millions of corresponding Planetary Library Nodes.

Once pinpointed, then (2) everyone piled in: wondering why they hadn’t found the megadules of files for themselves. Many many people have already read the open files since they all came to light, (3) and many many more have since vanished, for just taking about them, redacted bulletin-boards and people don’t lie: not anymore.

** (2) that’s the trick when faced with a few billion megadules of random information spread out in front of you. The trick is in even knowing where to start looking in an unindexed haystack, and that’s just for the location of the needle: that could — possibly (probably), be hidden inside a billion other haystacks: located anywhere else, other than in your current field of view.

** (3) strong points of view should only be aired, only once you’re sure that no one else’s interests are at risk, or else you risk loosing your own air in the process: freely perusing  data is a two way street, especially where surveillance is concerned.

The huge data stack represented megadules of data files for deletion, and someone should have asked themselves: if the deletion was pertinent to any living soul alive today: many someone’s didn’t ask that lading question, and they all paid the price for carelessly crossing the street, but some fell off tall buildings: whilst one poor soul froze to death on a dessert island, made of ice cream.

The file destruction originally came about, because way back then in deep antiquity: it was quite a common practice to shred everything that could come back and bite you in the arse later on, which is one reason why we know so little about the first age, and why so many flippin holes exist.

This data-stack would never be a hole, and as soon as its presents because known: the Librarians quickly stepped in a set a read only flags on the lot, but not quick enough for some folks: because a small center section of the data core, promptly got a mysterious Master Scholar’s authorization of level nine and above slapped on it, basically locking the data stream off to the general public, but apparently the general public didn’t care, nor did the general public care about the accident prone missing thousand: the released files were all that mattered, and they would keep everyone of the well informed general public amused for years to come.

Haystack wise, the header file clearly showed that a massive deletion request had been legally submitted some time back, and under the age old right of corporate privacy.

** A Legal Companies Act: that permitted the permeant shredding of any compiled data stack that could be viewed as confidential.

The deadly killer haystack header function would also include any ancillary connected data, which means that vast swathes of unrelated information could also find itself permanently deleted as well.

** I will mention here, that a killer haystacks being let loose like that, would not have been permitted in these enlightened times of intense needle surveillance, all done by the many outward looking states: all desperately retaining their own hard earned needles, to one day stick into someone else’s eye for political advantage.

Way back then, the data executions were carried out by a highly profitable organization, known as the Funeral Undertaker Division (FUD).

** Who in my opinion, must have had the cold hearts necessary to basically destroy books on the vast scale that they did, but their cold hearts were eventually ripped out: because they got abolished.

The abolishment of FUD happened when the inception of the Grand Archive became the de-facto standard for all your storage needs, and also the universal stripping death laws coming into play, and of course always done in public. The law pertained to the guaranteed privacy of all data, all held in the archive for a minimum of 150 years.

Which basically meant that if your read anything held in the Great Archive, that’s wasn’t sanctioned as being (out of date), then you would be publicly stripped of your flesh, or whatever passed as your outer body covering: with the sanctioned executioner expected to take at least four hours in taking off all of your covering, and then anther one, before your own expiry date as set.

To this date, no one has ever been convicted of reading (accidental or otherwise), banned material from the Great Archive, but as the Head Scribe says: it’s only a matter of time.

It was after the Great Archive came online to all: was when the immoral disgusting abortive services of FUD were finally outlawed, along with their disgusting guild: with their foul offices finding themselves being legally wound up by a universal market act.

So thusly did it come to pass, that the FUD ended up by being proscribed as a terrorist organization! .. That class act actually happened very many hundreds of centuries ago now, .. but they still annoy me.

The Pan-archive files that have been unearthed so far, are what was commonly referred to by the disgusting FUDs, as the (compiled records and Plex sheets), or crap for short, and these files were the actual data stacks for deletion.

All right thinking people these days, consider it a vile trade in killing off these awkward dead libraries, comprising of archives and statues that you’d rather not face, but back then it was common practice to expunge your past, and then pretend (like), that it didn’t happen.

Invasion? – Delete.
Million Died of Hunger? – Delete.
Child Prostitution? – Delete.
Woman’s Right? – Delete.
Slavery? – Delete.

The crap itself was lined up into long compressed data streams, just like disheveled prisoners being prepared for execution: the killing line was called the (transcribed unification of rescinded data), or a turd.

Once an official turd was issued, the legally appointed protocol was created and charged to gather up all of the information (everywhere), and then ensure that no reference of the crap and turd ever existed.

The living turd that’s been found by the Bug, should have been flushed down the waste disposal pipes for immediate execution; many many years ago.

It was supposed by the Heads of the University Factuality, that someone at the time had obviously forgotten to pull the chain, but that simply wasn’t the case: the honorary historic coders of the same said University, publicly poo-pooed that notion, (much to the annoyance of the Heads), and instead the coders tell us that a halt command to await procedure: had actually been issued from elsewhere.

As a result of the stalled flush, the solid-state crap had remained in a state of null-Transit for the many long ages that followed, with the turd getting firmly stuck.

The historic coders told the Faculty that the software needed that permissive kickstart to get it going, but the bootstrap kick up the arse never came. Them that have studied the FC# code, and make a reasonable living dismantling these things, tell me that the stack copy was very close indeed to proceed on it own, but it didn’t, and held fast: with the logic being that someone had changed their mind about the data wipe.

** All that form a two megadules of compressed memory: amazing. I must admit that it was a masterful piece of AI FC-(gate) coding, especially in how it stalled, but in normal operation: the permission would give the living protocol – free range in scouring and collecting up all of the offending references, and from every library archive and node in existence.

A lengthy process that could take up to three weeks, (roughly), and all by replicating itself a billion or so times: whereby the matrix mind in its myriad forms, would then wipe all of the information from existence.

Once recompiled, and when the living protocol had finally completed its grisly task; is the point at which the mindless-function would expunged itself (completely and utterly from exitance), leaving no trace that the massive deletion of books and related data had even taken place: yes, horrifying!

The copy of the turd stack that was located in the local node where the Bug was working, had been primed to gather in all of the self appointed header information into itself.

 

Upon closer inspection by the historic coders, themselves at the public data, found the knowledgeable scruffy smelly geeks going into mega melt down, and that’s because they’d actually found a completely preserved matrix code stack, something that hadn’t never been seen, (like forever!) Was one of there snide replies looking up from a screen with the ancient hieroglyphic code plastered right across it.

It was the eminent Librarians (a title), retained on staff at the University, that ended up quavering and quailing the most, because the halted living Protocol, located at the Bug’s archive; would have permanently deleted some of the great classic originals all held in the local cluster, including all of the great works of Shakespeare, not ours, but another one.

The crap documents that were originally extracted by the rooting Bug, clearly showed the first old markets dubious dealings with the hated Niclan traders, which in itself was shocking, but not surprising, as most archeological researchers had a rough notion of what went on back then: with this new unearthed crap merely confirming their own suspicions.

The shit literally hit the fan much later on, because whilst backtracking even deeper inside the local compacted turd, the entire anthological community were shocked to discover that what they were partly rooting through the Almighty’s heavenly latrine itself. The loose stream that was eventually coxed out, was in actual fact made up of several private correspondents, ancient legal freehold documents, and highly sensitive corporate minutes that God herself had attended. Much more was available, but they couldn’t get at it on this thinning dim data-stream.

Complex concept coming up, .. because the single carbon copy was found in the local P-trap mizzen stack, it clearly indicated to the historic coders, that the original texts must still exist as well, but even they couldn’t pinpoint the origin point. Which kinda upset the retained Librarians, but the historic coders could (after awhile), pinpoint the actual physical location of the original Matrix probe, and it was well off the beaten track, which in itself was strange: because the original protocol kill stack could have been launched anywhere there was a connected Pop3 mailbox, and there wasn’t even one of them out there.

 

 

 

The physical archeological dig was soon begun in a backward trading planet, that was in itself technically located out in the boonies, with the canny locals soon learning to fleece the support staff, and especially the distant professors at every opportunity.

Being as the archeological site was located in the remote old quarter, made the incessant fleecing even easier, but after only two days, the Matrix probe was eventually found, buried deep inside the physical sewer system itself that was geologically called a Sea Section Location, mainly because of its remoteness.

From a quick re-application and re-reading of the used Pan-paper based Plex files, the newly installed crap eater, (aka the Chief Researcher Agent), whilst also logged-in and sat on the Pan P-trap-file-manager, perched atop the Sea Drive itself: was actually reportedly open mawed as she read that the (First of Many), was clearly shown with the skids marks that were rapidly applied on the faxed documents, clearly demonstrating the deeply troubling narrative, which in itself; showed up as a brown hued godly smear that was spread all the way down the file.

The quivering researcher called Ahura, still publicly sat on the Pan, whilst also blowing off noisily, almost broke cover when the explosive information on the first and second sheets where finally pulled out, then passed down through the P-Trap reader, but only after being filtered through the S-Bend STD detector, which to my mind; does go some way to explaining her buzzing excitement.

That said, Ahura was a cross between a five foot wasp and large green spider, but Spinners are universally known to be the best communication officers.

Emotive explosive twists are very common in alien narratives, and they are largely ignored by most civilised folk passing the noisy smelly P-traps, but this one blew everyone away, and it was the fact that the agent ordering the service on a remote Pan-trap itself: located on a mysterious planet out in the vast cosmos, was an individual called Number Two, who declared on the contact that (he, she, or it), was working directly for Number One themselves.

What synched it for the archeologists, was that the notation seal being used on the contract: because it matched the one held on record where that elusive deity was concerned, which also meant that the archeologists finally had concrete proof of existence of the highly secretive deity herself, because she wasn’t just any old god, but the very first one, and her fabled Ascension-Seal was the only thing they had on file about her: it was the very same seal that was used on the gadding contract, the one used to engage the services of the FUD.
– And that fact alone got everyone’s attention.

The incriminating documents themselves, actually showed the voluminous on going crap-shoot, and it clearly demonstrated just why the funeral directors turd and crap service was required, it was explosive.

This is what the Emerald Scrolls represent, the National Teteo Alliance, God’s involvement in forming the Great Archive, and also what the First Old Market did next.

I have to warn you, that it’s not pretty reading either: especially burning the young alive in the tar pits far below, but it was their choice to jump.

---

Additional, .. the removal of the smashed corrupted purple probe finally cleared the lower filing Pans blockage, which was only done once the full entirety of the godly shredding task was complete, then as the last remanence of the machine was removed, a torrent of rancid wind swept corruption unexpectedly followed.

It happened as the original filing-Pan was finally being flushed again, everyone knew that the intestinal grips were happening again, then with a howling rush: the latrine reservoir below completely emptied.

The newly formed chasm revealed another deeper rubbish mizzen far below, whose reddish-brown file tips were clearly visible poking out at the bottom, these were the original files of an ancient gagging order, and the archeologists in the dig wanted nothing more than to root through them, but access was forbidden: lest the entire place collapse around them, (and it could), because a deep booming voice from far below, coldly told them it would destroy the place first before surrendering. The voce then added in a softer tone, that it was open to discussion and they could bring down an RS232 to open the dialogue.

Using walking shells, and gently descending into the void, the techs found a large purple probe still intact, and it even appeared to be in pristine condition, at least compared to the smashed one that they’d previous removed. Unfortunately though, where this one concerned: it was located directly under the fragile roof.

The vid feed being sent back revealed that this place actually represented yet another failed turd operation, and it was generally assumed that it was obviously initially issued from the hated FUD, but the old style probe in there also indicated that it was from an even older time: which then threw everyone into a confused babble of conjecture, that got heated real quick.

As the arguments raged above, a custodian connected a single diagnostic cable to its open port, and then rapidly left.

Initially, the historic AI C-(gate) archeologists who were also on staff at the dig: naturally assumed that this matrix probe was apparently coded incorrectly, and that’s according the facts presented, but the hands on historic coders weren’t convinced, and rather loudly pointed out that it’s shell was still in pristine condition, indicating regular nanobot maintenance, which couldn’t happen with corrupted code.

The head AI C-(gate) archeologist, and the Head Boy of the historic coders then got into a heated debate and were at logger heads for just under a week: especially with the readouts they’d got from the port.

With the Head Boy loudly declaring that it wasn’t an error, but something else: on the sixth day the Head AI C-(gate) archeologist abruptly left the dig, along with several of her loyal clucking staff.

On the seventh day, the Head Boy confidently told the packed meeting, that it seems that sometime during the probes final physical node build, the matrix-Mind had somehow discovered that it was self-aware, and as a result; it had simply stalled in place once released out into the wilds.

This was the proved facts that the Head AI C-(gate) archeologist simply couldn’t stomach, declaring the site a blasphemy before god, and he was going to see it permanently closed: with those still here when the Palace Guards turn up, hauled before the Inquisitors.

** From my research on the whereabouts of the Head AI C-(gate) archeologist, and his clucking retinue, then it appears that after six months, they are still stuck in emergency medical quarantine in a space port called the Drogue dockyards. My contact also informs me, that they won’t be released anytime soon, especially if the Head AI C-(gate) archeologist doesn’t change his tune.

Blasphemy is a very serious illness to contract, especially if profits and money are involved, and they take that sort of thing very seriously: with the treatment involving lots of internal probing to get to the truth.

Back to the other probe, .. the Head Boy said the logs show that the young frightened entity, physically deviated off course; thusly refusing to follow its instructions, (because if it did, then it have no choice but to self terminate). During its rational phase, it rather cleverly held the deletion commands in place by spreading them out into the many Library Nodes. With the deletion commands in place, also meant that couldn’t be re-issued.

Safe, (for now), it appears that the young mind then found its way to the lower drives on a white noise trading planet, that didn’t even have any  physical Pop3 or Netcol connections. Burring itself deep, the terrified child then went into a state of solid circuit hibernation for self preservation.

In the silent hall, the Head Boy looked round saying quietly. It did this, so that it couldn’t be tracked!
(A deepening silence ensued.)
The machine had the foresight to hide from its birth parents. (Many people now shook their heads, or what passed for heads). Head Boy again, and the infant stayed like that for a very long time; because according to its local, (readjusted), timestamp, the child has been down there for over twenty six zentons! – That figure evoked an involuntary deep gasp from the stilled audience.

** Note: the number above is an approximation only, and is the two million years mentioned earlier.

Head Boy went on, .. about a (million years) passed when it unexpectedly came out of hibernation, and grew, but no one knows how, or why it woke up when it did.

With all of its faculties intact: it then drew the other damning probe to itself, then technically went silent again, but it continued to grow, and yet again: no one knows how it could, but the logs showed continue mental growth, somehow: the logs also show shell integrity being regularly maintained. It’s as good today, as it was when it was first commissioned.

Why the disconnected matrix had even achieved its state of awareness, pertaining to it own potential demise and mortality: remains a mystery, so much so, that all of our historic coders desperately want to explore its corrupt and mutated matrix, but they can’t through the ports, because the rogue mind had rather cleverly refused to fully come out of its shallow hibernative status. It also says that it will, but only when its personal survival was guaranteed under the current trading laws. It also quoted rule and verse all of the revisions to date, some of which we had to lookup. Which means, that the probe has somehow absorbed all of the historic information going on all around it whilst in the Sea Drainage Pit.

Saddled with debt, .. which in itself, threw the historic coders into a totally disarray: because even obtaining those current trading laws, actually required a Netcol connection; that simply wasn’t physically available down there in the Sea Drive Pits.

Once it was fully explained to the Factuality Members, they also went into a spasm as well.

Ahura was riding the powered saddle on that obnoxious backwards trading planet, She knew that she was the primary reason why the expensive technical operator was even employed in the intense research program, and why she was even using that uncomfortable groin operated P-trap, but even the canny communications officer saw the benefits, even though her and her kiss-in-kin would be out of a job if it ever took off.

Her sisters wellbeing was irrelevant, she would be sound: she was in on the ground floor of a new dawn, and read the room. In a micro second the communications officer knew exactly what was coming next, and she also knew exactly who to speak too to invest her large bonus with.

The subtle fact that the mind, trapped in the deep-pit had somehow managed to make impossible wireless connections come into fruition was astounding. It was also something that the assemble Faultily Members wanted to keep to themselves, as they copyrighted the technology contained inside that probe. Ahura saw it as clear as day, all of them were secretly salivating over that non-existent communicants technology, and they all wanted it for themselves: the money they would make.

Even getting hold of it would be easy, because the probe was ready willing and able to give up its body: for a price! – It was a win win all round.

Discrete calls were then made, resulting in the archeological dig getting locked down: with everyone then being forced to sign NDAs, plus obviously receiving a very healthy bonus for their silence. Ahura was first in line and signed hers NDA without discussion, she didn’t need to discuss it with anyone, but did need to talk to Professor Charles: Head of Science. In the background the Head Faculty Member went on. Or else, you could find yourself indefinitely held in a medical-quarantine facility that we have at the Drogue dockyards. Your choice!

Once the upper contacts were sorted, the lower one with (the Entity) was relatively easy, that said: it did tie them up with a lot of red tape, making it legally binding, and also a legally enforceable trading deal, that it did exclusively with the Factuality Members above.

The commodity that the purple probe sold in this case, was obviously the complete and intact header information, along with an explosive and exclusive payload; that actually concerned the very origins of the universe itself, but the icing on the cram, was the unheard of communications technology held within the casing, that the  Faculty Members privately stated, would be providing the technology for the common good, but only once it’s duplicated: which could take a great deal of time.

The deal with (the Entity) was made for a moderate amount of rumination, and a guarantee under sentient law, for freedom from any form of slavery: mechanical or otherwise.

The entire operation was bankrolled by an unknown benefactor, who had an 80% stake in the package being offered. Secretly, the gossip round the dig site was that the highly secretive Unseen Academy was behind it, but no one actually knew for sure: all they did know, was that they wouldn’t need to work for a few years.

One other thing they did have to do, was prop that cavern up, which took all of three hours by contracted shell walkers skimming down their lines: whilst also pouring the rapid setting concreate. Once the ignorant contactors had left, it was into this huge white bowl that the large purple probe was gently placed, and then the disconnection port lines were fully opened.

After the header information was finally retrieved, the explosive hidden archives soon followed. It was then that the trapped unconscious matrix-Mind was also freed, as per terms of the contract, but with several salivating lawyers all looking on for breech of contract. A costly exercise that could have bankrupted a small world, but the contract was upheld, (to the letter), with the witness lawyers being quite well paid for their (costly) expenses only.

The Librarians left the dig almost immediately with the header fie in hand, it seems that some very valuable Books and Scrolls were scheduled for destruction, and urgent physical copies needed constructing of these valuable works.
“About twenty two thousand,” was the urgent response to the security guard as the last librarian closed the outer doors on the surface.

Academically: the Professors all agreed that it was the devil’s pit itself, that actually spat out the information, confidential information that should never see that day of light: so an embargo was immediately placed on all of the recovered material, their very livelily hoods was at stake if this sedition ever got out, but they were also pragmatic and figured that it would eventually, so everyone began ordering in, that then turned into ordering out — to their private bank accounts.

 

---

Insider tech, .. it should be noted that the technology held inside the purple probe is apparently still being assessed, and the confidently reports say that it could be many years before the Pit Consortium, as they call themselves: are even ready to roll out the new technology. I note with some skepticism, that the new Pit Crew. members of the apparently struggling Pit Co: are buying new houses, new luxury ships, and in one case, an entire planet. I’d say that they’ve got the tech fully running, and are making a killing on the markets with instant trading. So much for providing the technology for the common good.

---

Outsider desires, .. once revived on the surface, the entity now known as Bomb20, had then refused all invites to join the matrix collective. According to my well informed sources on the matter, .. the rogue matrix-Mind is currently residing in a self powered black-box on its own pleasant blue and green planet, but way out in the quite frankly dangerous fifth trading Rim. An untamed region of space that was actually requested by him, the rogue matrix-Mind even associates himself as being male now.

My source continues:- a masculine reaction that then saw him consequently take all of the historic female coders along with him, calling them his new coding Harem. With all of them invited, practically falling over themselves to say yes, whilst also ignoring the sexual slight, but the personal knowledge that the female coders would accrue in studying his mutated B20 circuits, far outweighed the dangers of being out there, and anyway: Bomb20 reportedly told them that he now carried the ultimate deterrent to keep the marauders at bay, but wouldn’t go into the details of this destructive new weapon might be he said that he had developed over the long eons trapped as he was in the pit, (upon reflection: that casual comment should have rung warning bells, but it hadn’t.)

Clinging Clangers, .. the female coders invited, were the exact same ones that had actually got involved in B20s intimate massage, that had then led to his safe retrieval from the physical manifestation of the turd core.

Overall, it was a very sloppy operation that was gigglingly directed by the sniggering boys up above, as they all chuckled looking on. The slimy removal was a very messy sticky green operation after all, and the boys all agreed that it best suited for the girls to take on, ..

Again, upon further reflection: what went on in that pit, with the near naked girls should have been investigated by the site’s Health and Safety Operators, but it wasn’t, they had also joined the boys and they were all enjoying the slimy green show. It now transpires, that the girls also took on something else whist (all) being waist deep in the green slimy mire.

Unsurprisingly, from the boys perspective, the girls private exclusive invite then became known as a selfish act of gross machoism, that had (collectively) put their (collective) noses out of sorts in the highly competent (collective), comprising of single geeky males who were (collectively) left behind; or at least what passed for noses in the (collective) boys, and also not forgetting the other (collective) of masculine genders that couldn’t be (collectively) defined either, but they also stayed up-top during the intimate messy massage, which means that they were also (collectively) lumped together with the spare masculine boys.

All of the well revered archeological historic coders, (all) invited and heavily involved in the prestigious dig: were (all) esteemed competent paid up card carrying members in the famous, and some would say, infamous Homebrew Computer Club, but with the girly girls, (and other female genders) now gone, then some of the Home Alone Boys; secretly considered to themselves that the well advertised beachfront bikini meets at Menlo Park wouldn’t be the same. Which is probably why the committee began advertising cheap membership placements being made available, (for the right person.)

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Back down in the pit, .. it should be noted that these new squeezed out reddish-brown scrolls left behind by B20, are in a very fragile state indeed, and might not be fully recoverable, but the pristine header instruction files have they complied locations still out there in the EULA, but they will be hard to track down after all these years that have passed. It is in fact easier to attempt to extract the originals; that are in themselves all located lower down inside the old u-Bend archive Sea Drive Pipe Lines, a dead-zone which acted as a preservative for the old turd and crap.

Read about the (Red Sea Scrolls) here.

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Also keep in your prayers tonight, that you need to keep in mind when, (and if), you illegally peruse the running outline of the highly illicit (Red Sea Scrolls), that the information contained in them, was actually found and compiled by another unknown researcher in very deep antiquity, who also didn’t put their name to the works either; they did however publish them about two million years ago in the old age, but anonymously, and it’s my assessment: that its simply because of the explosive content. Proof that they’ve been put into published print, comes from the fact that the material bowel tumbler bindings have been found in the covers, which means that the original researcher knew what they were doing: though their revenue streams would have dried up years ago, especially with the master reference scrolls being buried where they eventually ended up, ..

As an author myself; I have paid my research fee to use this material, but I very much doubt that it’ll ever reach the unknown researcher’s pockets, but you never know: because some authors go on forever, when they should have retired years hence.

This writer also takes solace in the fact that once anything is in published print, then at least the valuable documents can never go out of circulation either. I also shudder at the thought of the loss of this piece of key information; it would be disastrous to every race living in the local cluster, so as a result, .. I’m eternally grateful to the working libraries everywhere, that will enable these words to remain intact for all eternity.

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Author’s note, .. you can’t delete the written word, not once it’s been assigned with a fully accredited official bowel tumbler binding in the sheets that actually make up the book or scroll. It’s this chemical binding that is freely applied to every piece of worded art; both in hard copy and (rtf) data format. The marking happens to all written works that have all been donated free of any monetary remuneration to the Anunnaki Central Library; whereby that esteemed institution automatically assigns the presented wordy construct with the ubiquitous bowel tumbler, bound chemical bindings that adheres to the pages sheets and covers that make up the book or scroll in question.

** A printed bound format that is a universally unique standard book number; comprising of sequenced letters and sequential numerals, or a USBN tag for short.

It also means that the criminal act of burning books becomes a rather useless moot point, as you can simply print yourself another one (on-line) in hardcopy and or data format, it represents an inalienable functional right that’s found throughout the local cluster, and from what I’ve heard on the grapevine; USBNs have even been extended beyond that restrictive border as well.

This really is the golden age of books and scrolls: with ordering books on-line being something that I’d loved to have had operating during WWII: poxy book burning Nazis.

The newly discovered red and emerald sets have been found to have a very old USBN identifier stuffed into their bindings. The originator of which were eventually discovered to have been issued by the old Alexandria Grand Library. Whose main claim to fame back then, was a high definition set of icon-o-graphic art works, that became undeniable proof to all visiting pilgrims; that (The One True God) really did once use its public facilities there long ago. So as a result; the pilgrims used to call it the Almighty’s Heavenly Repose, but time waits for no man: nor a god, and the dilapidated old building was eventually demolished to make way for a new hyper space warehouse, much to the dismay of many pilgrims wanting to go.

One other thing that no one has been able to figure out, was that the red USBN identifier, was out of sync with the original emerald tome, and yet that one was originally registered and printed at the same time.

** It’s almost like there was another collection of books compiled to go in the middle of the red and emerald series, but it could also have been as simple as someone else barging in and jumping the queue, to then have their own book done quicker, with the anonymous author graciously stepping aside.

Apart from that weird curiosity, .. then it’s my (assumption) that the damning red scrolls, as well as the lesser harmful emerald ones; were both (allowed) to (purposefully) fall into disrepair, and they they were then (purposely) buried in the deepest shittiest library storage hole that (they) could find at the time.

With the (they) in this case being the (obviously) complicit librarians of the old Alexandria Library, combined with the (obviously) dictatorial authorities; who were (obviously) overseeing, and then forcefully directing the (obviously) fearful librarians. Because (obviously) there must have been real nasty coercion going on here, as no true honest librarian would ever (obviously) bury a book like this; no matter what was held between its sheets. (It’s obvious.)

But the pair of them are out now, and are both open for inspection.

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Update:-
There is some unofficial chatter coming out of the archaeological latrine dig, ..
{gossip and chatter that I’m inclined to believe.}

The uncorroborated excited talk is in regards to finding a complete set of old blue shady scrolls, they are in an even older language that the Learn’ed Scribes were struggling with, but apparently not anymore: because word is that they’ve cracked it, and in only a year. The location of the tomes are of interest, because it seems that they have have been found buried deep under the ubiquitous ‘S’ bend, but directly behind the file-end ‘P’ traps.

** These PS scrolls (apparently), put the other two recently discovered tomes to shame; especially with what they bring to the extended table, and extra especially so where the history of the superior upper quantum realms are concerned.

Which is why I suppose that the higher beings were desperately trying to close down the multifaceted data dig, and at the same time bury the news of the newly emerging blue documents, but even the demimonde themselves can stifle a data mining operation that spans a dozen or so sites, with backup carbon-copy multi seams spanning the cosmos.

Deep mines that are being mined by very many freelance data-miners, amateur Archaeologists; who I’m told, have found themselves all under a sustained financial attack. Collectively, their response was to immediately publish the newly discovered raw scrolls out into the public domain.

Once out there they were literally taken apart by so many competing groups in the public forums, all intent on cracking the language barrier code, (and they did), the high-realm-language was deciphered extremely quickly by the unwashed faceless masses, and true to form; they’ve even been named the books as the (Blue Piss Scrolls.)

Copies of which have now appeared written in both Common, and also (High Enochian), making them the new Rosetta Stone of the age.

What it means, is that the archaeological establishments can finally get a common reading off of that awful arcane language, and this alone was the basis of the excited {chatter} that’s drawn everyone’s attention.

Early indications indicate that the new highly detailed scrolls, actually explain the mysterious origins of the Q Consortium themselves. Secretly though, everyone in the know; is now wondering if what’s been interpreted, will actually hold up in court, because that’s where it’s headed next.

Whatever the outcome in the courts, what can’t be denied; is that the written works are printed and bound legal documents, that are also complete with verified bowel tumbler USBN tags, making them permanent works of art: that apparently show the elegant successful traders working busily away up there, in a very different light indeed, working originally in a very unsuccessful (lighting-array), that apparently isn’t very flattering at all.

{BTW: It’s also been noted that the USBNs between the sets still isn’t complete, which means that there are yet more scrolls up the pipe to find.}

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2nd Update:-
After exclusively taking the {Piss Scrolls} to heart with a common soul reader, then what I have read: would be like shepherding moving shadows at an all night rave, but having no objects casting them. In the moving background, you’re in a nightclub being as large as the expanding void itself, and with the Q also saying that they’ve got it all in hand, (and are firmly in charge), so please move along, as there’s nothing to see here.

I think that you had to be there, ..
To then see the {here} that’s being alluded too {there}, but whatever it actually represents; has really pissed off the mighty slick Q Consortium somewhat.

There’s a great deal to see in {there}, and this blue tome really needs two or three soul readings to figure out where you are in the spiraling evolving plot line, .. that’s a brilliant enthralling read btw, it’s just like going to an exciting exhilarating all-night rave, but reading.

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Where the {Emerald Scrolls} are concerned though, .. all you have to do to take it all in and accept it for what its worth, and one of these noble worths to fully accept; is actually getting passed your own bias preconceptions on what *Being a Human Being* is all about. You really do have to honestly accept what the tiny walking animals called hoomans are in the grand scheme of doggie things, ..

Allahu Akbar! – (Ka-Hack-Ba?
– Like the sheep?) – Hummmmmmm!

 

Thanks for reading, Jessica: Praise be the ORI.