From: Daniels, Troya M. <[email protected]>
To: “Material Analysis Project” <[email protected], [email protected], [email protected], dw…>, “Historical Analysis Project” <[email protected], [email protected], [email protected]>, “Style Group” <[email protected]>
CC: Gabriel Macollum <[email protected]>, Seth Hunt <[email protected]>
BCC: <none>
Date: Apr 14, 2008, 9:03 AM
Subject: Unfortunate news
Hi all,
It’s with a heavy heart that I’m letting you know Wes passed away on Friday night. I just got off the phone with his cousin.
It was only a couple years ago that Wes began interning here at SAVARA. He was so intelligent and curious, especially for his age. He would always brighten up the office with his knowledgeable conversation and we could always count on him to do more than his share with any project he contributed to.
I thought it would be nice if we all shared some of our positive memories of Wes during our staff meeting this afternoon. I’ll try to make it clear to Barbelo’s security that they are not involved with our staff meetings following last time.
As such, we’ll need some all-hands effort from both the HAP and Style group. If any of you need special help, ping me in chat and I’ll try to help manage any tasks.
If you need someone to talk to following this loss, please know my door is always open.
Thank you as always for your committed help,
Troya Daniels
General Manager, Project Lead
Society for the Authentication and Verification of American Religious Artifacts
(212)-513-0400
Forensic Toxicology Results
Case #: 1402391107
Case name: Wesley Hermes Ramana
Specimen: Blood, Subclavian
Result: 2DM-A-A (POSITIVE) – 0.455mg/dL
Δ9-THC (POSITIVE) – 0.820g/dL
Specimen: Urine
Result: 2DM-A-A (POSITIVE) – 0.416mg/dL
Δ9-THC (POSITIVE) – 0.754mg/dL
Specimen: Vitreous Humor
Result: 2DM-A-A (POSITIVE) – 0.471mg/dL
Δ9-THC (POSITIVE) – 0.860mg/dL
Analysis: Immunoassay screening was performed for the following drugs or drug classes: amphetamine, opioid, benzodiazepines, cocaine, cannabinoids. If positive, confirmed quantitative/qualitative results are reported above.
Preliminary results suggest a usage of 2DM-A-A (also known as “malachi” or “diamonds”) far exceeding the typical dosage of even heavy users and is consistent with reported cause of death (CMC-416: Experimental Drug Overdose). Results also suggest a usage of cannabis or cannabis-derived products which is within typical bounds.
Although final conclusive results will depend upon the results of forthcoming metabolic and necrovisceral analysis, as little is known about this drug, the measured dosage present is a factor of a thousand beyond any typical dose. Multiple tests using multiple instruments upon multiple samples all confirmed the same thing – this is the highest tissue concentration of this drug, or any similar drug, ever recorded. Quick “napkin math” suggests a gross intake of approximately 5 grams over a period of less than 48 hours.
Recommendations are made to the Nazareth Sheriff’s Office to open investigations into possible drug trafficking activities. The volume of illicit material in this isolated case is highly unlikely to occur without local criminal endorsement and/or participation.
Mara Sophia Ph.D., F-ABFT
Lead Forensic Examiner
4/14/2008
=====
A Journal. October 11, 1769.
ARRIVING back at the fort this evening from our travels in decoding the letters, we have arrived at a scene of utter havoc and chaos, with many workmen packing their goods and shuffling towards different frontiers. The cause of this malcontent environment is quite a morbid one; many of these hardened pioneers are quite familiar with death, but are less familiar with the violation of the dead.
It appears Herr Stüller, having been buried by the groundskeepers of the fort under direction of Rousseau, and further having this burial sanctified according to the traditional canon laws by the local priest, did have his grave disturbed, and his corpse absconded with. Only a portion of his impressive crusader armour has remained as evidence, a glittering breastplate and riveted pauldrons embellished with golden decoration and engravings which illustrate the man’s worldly travels.
James, in particular, seemed quite shocked at this occurrence. He repeated many times that he found it quite incredible, and indeed, it is incredible that such a thing could happen under the eyes of so many without notice or alarm. On the topic of accomplices who appeared to demonstrate particular distress, the Frenchman Du Antioc (whom I have still not forgiven for, with the aid of the Papists Balmetti and Matteo, driving the Gentleman Chevalier from our party) was quite obviously stricken with an anxiety that almost seemed to resemble fear. I would consider this to be fear of the same night-stalking blackguard who delivered Stüller to his end, were it not for one fact: the man demonstrated an almost cooly-reserved tone when the corpse had first been discovered. How could disturbing a grave, even a body, cause more upset than the taking of life itself? Is it not the sanctity of life itself that burdens body-snatching with such horrific connotation?
I am not one to level accusations and initiate inquisition without commensurate cause, and therefore kept my questions to myself, at least for the moment. Not all of our party shared my same considerations, however, and the attitude of the whole encampment became somewhat hostile and persecutory.
Suspicions fell upon Rousseau almost immediately, as it was publickly observed at the time of Stüller’s untimely passing that his attention fell quite apparently upon the finery of the goods of the deceased rather than the finery of his character. What caused him little embarrassment at the time suddenly, on his part, warranted exhaustive explanation. Every minute detail of his comings and goings was put under the closest examination, and unfortunately for the salient narrative of Rousseau acting as rogue and villain, any component of his alibi which could be corroborated by our trusted Swedenborg had in-deed been corroborated.
Upon inspecting the grave, there were many notable facts, which I will attempt to call to memory now; that there were no tool-markings around or near the grave that had not been left by the initial gravedigging; that the exhumation had left the surrounding ground undisturbed, with no trail of a corpse having been dragged; that the improvised mortsafe, constructed of loose and misshapen barrel hoops, had provided no obstruction; that, beyond simply lacking in tread-marks which would indicate men’s foot-steps, the flora surrounding the grave, in-deed, seemed to be thriving beyond natural means, far outpacing what the time and soil at hand would support. Most strangely, there were flowers in bloom months later than one would expect. Most strikingly, rose bushes had appeared and were appearing to bud anew; even with this year’s rather late spring, these same flowers would’ve been approaching their end in August. I am no herbalist, but even I can recognise the jarring idiosyncrasy of bright, blood-red flowers blooming from decaying and cold ground, the autumnal morning’s mist still hanging spectre-like in the air.
I feared this cataclysm bore the potential to uproot the entire expedition, and shared these concerns with Mister Falk. While the others took turns making their share of accusations at each other, many, as a matter of course, aiming at Falk as “his Jewishness renders him prone to thievery and a contempt for Christendom”, in the words of the Spanish Jesuit Anchienta, myself and the Baal-Shem retired to his study, accompanied by Sidia. There, he shared with me an edition of Paracelsus’s prophesies, the Prognosticon Theophrasti. He had taken meticulous notes in the margins, and immediately turned to a section regarding the End Times. It was his belief that the “great calamity” which Paracelsus had foreseen, and which many scholars of our time suppose referred to the Thirty Years’ War, did not in-fact refer to the Thirty Years’ War. It was, in-deed, a forthcoming calamity, or perhaps a calamity we are in the midst of now. As a consequence, there is still among us a “Lion from the North”, in the words of Paracelsus.
These words are not without weight. Of the men living today, perhaps only Swedenborg is endowed with the same learned nature, bequeathed with the same spiritual blessing. Even this is only to say something of the men’s type, rather than their degree; Paracelsus was known not only for his divinations but for his discoveries in many fields. Although it does not constitute proof, there is a possibility that the same faculty of Reason which allowed him to Enlighten the world regarding such diverse Truths would also allow him to Enlighten the world regarding Future Truths, that is, to divinate prophecy. Such a proposition would be violently unpopular amongst those in our company who lend their allegiance to the Christian Church, but it is no secret that many of our group believe that a deeper Illumination is possible than that prescribed by the Holy See. In particular, the Rosicrucians bore a strong affinity for the prophecies of Paracelsus, and hold them in high regard; and, in-deed, Herr Stüller claimed to have knowledge of (and beyond that of) the Bavarian Rosicrucians. What significance does the “Rosy-Cross” have here? Does it exist as more than mere symbol?
I turned to Sidia; he was often gifted with an intuition in moments such as this, either that or a certain rigour-of-mind, wherever it is that insight emerges from; the topic of his trade was brought up. He had told me he was a “jali”, though I had little notion of what it had meant, other than the brief explanation given at the time that it was “like a storyteller”. The French call them “griot”, which I find, like much of the French language, fits poorly in the mouth or out of it. In-deed, as he is wont to do, Sidia sells the work short; now, that its relevance was clear, he informed us that the trade involves much more than telling stories, but actually acting as oral historian, remembering all those folk stories which characterise ones whole peoples, their own Arthurian and Carolingian legends and Bibles and Torahs and Greek pantheons, and none-lesser in scope or breadth or depth or meaning. From these stories and the songs which accompany them, the jali acts as historian, advisor, and arbitrator; they are at-once the professor and the parish record. From their infinite history, the stories they tell realise the past, inform the present, and, too, shape the future. What luck, as we would need all three of these done.
A cross, adorned with rose; it’s a symbol I was sure I had seen in Dee’s writings. Sidia provided some commentary, a tale of the first jali (which, we were told, the name of which comes from the word for “blood”). The man, named Sorakata, was a disbeliever in the company of the Moslem prophet Mahomet, and, horse-back, challenged the prophet, whom he believed to be powerless. He was cruelly stricken down from his horse. Again, he tries to attack Mahomet, and again, he is struck from his horse. A third time, he tries; each time, the sand beneath Sorakata shifts on its own accord, and grips the legs of his steed, throwing him to the ground with great violence. After this moment, Sorakata understands the power of Mahomet, and immediately falls to his knees, singing his praise. From that moment, he would accompany the prophet to every town, and further sing his praise, recounting his valour and greatness.
Sidia posed a question: who is Stüller? Is he the disbeliever, who is violently disarmed until he complies with the power at hand? Is he the steed, frozen in space and time, unable to pursue his duty? Or, is he the power, able to subdue even a charging stallion, able to emerge from death itself undeterred? Christ, too, emerged after three days; perhaps Herr Stüller took a bit longer. The cross, then, could signify the reemergence, the resurrection, the twice-coming, signified by the two beams of the cross.
What, then, of the rose? What is reemerging? The meaning Sidia seemed to be drawing was that, rather than a resurrectionist or body-snatcher doing away with Stüller’s body, we should not discount the possibility of his body moving itself. Stüller is the rose budding in fall.
It was at this moment we heard quite the raucous quarrel in the courtyard. I drew my hand into my satchel, and felt for the book. Recovered from Dee’s library during his itinerant travels, I felt its use would come soon. I will tell you now, journal, that I had come to this realisation, that the book is this: the Book of Agyos. Within it lie the answers to any question of serious import that one may have.
There are no words I can write in this journal which will accurately conceptualise the absolute power that accompanies this fact. It is an absolute and awful ability, that is, to know things which one does not truly want to know. Take this example: through regular use, you build faith in the Truth of what the book informs you of. Very innocuous things at first, that the weather is accompanied by certain signs, that the stars travel a certain way. You know these to be true, and prove it, and have faith in the book which tells you the Truth. Then, one day, you are gripped with a great illness. You are choleric and dying, and ask the book, how can one survive this? And the book answers. There is a page where it tells you.
It tells you of the swelling bud that lies in the viscera of your child; the child who shares your own blood, which is toxic to a person if foreign; it tells you the process of excising and refining this bilious organ, which is necessarily lethal to the child; and, lastly, the manner by which the resulting product will remove your illness from you.
This is a truth that few men would prefer to have knowledge of.
However, it was time for action, as the conflict in the courtyard was developing further. I resolved to share the nature of the book with Sidia and Falk. Both were astounded, and agreed that it might be of some use in resolving this problem; there is, after all, not a single mystery outside of its purview.
Emerging into the daylight, book-in-hand and accompanied by Falk and Sidia, we strode into the tumultuous, bickering scene, interrupting Portollo who was in the midst of gripping a Prussian by his collar. Reading aloud, I raised my voice, and spoke the Illuminating section which held the relevant prayer or chant, which I shall repeat here:
“through the name or in the name of Adonay, that is Lord Shalboath, that is Helos of infinite armies, that is highest Ioth, Heth, He, Vau, the ineffable four-letter name, lord of all virtues, seated in the fourth ring, with eternal power, through the dust of the Earth and the Light of the sky, I ask quickly with all tranquillity and quiet, as you command mountains to crumble and skies to fall, Vau, Vau, Vau, Vau, and his angels Auac, Cechaz, Cora, Eman, Nectar, Senas, Pertar, Tena, Acus, Yx, Pit, Terca, Oeth, every letter unutterable, we record your names and those of your generals and leaders, the son of Heber, the layer of the God Stone, the sower of sound, where is he who tends the fires of your altars? Where is he, who by bitter clash of sword, sends flame into your mouths and hands? Where is he who flies from the east to the west? Where is Yzyzyx who lives in the city in the sea? Where is Magogtha, who sows turmoil and causes the fields to waste? Where are the two halves of Nagdena, who is Nachil and Aaron? Where is he who makes lightning crash and all things fall? Where are the sons of Simon Magus, of Gitta and Samaria?”
I pause, and I ask, “Where is the one who disturbed the grave of Christian J.C. Stüller?”
At that moment, the booming of a felled tree echoed through the forest, causing a great swarm of birds to fly away in a massive, black cloud. In a moment, the clouds had shifted with great speed and had parted, cleaving a bright light into the canopy of the trees. The bickering stopped. There were no more accusations. Everyone looked to me, then turned to the forest. We had all witnessed it. The Illumination, with no trappings or metaphor or obscurity.
I had performed a miracle.
In search of meaning.
Arthur Wickham
=====
NoNaTuS Encrypted Blogging Service
Connecting to blog: e-x-t-r-e-m-o’s trip log
Connected!
[105 comments]
[4/07/2008 22:13]: I’ve spent more time with Swedenborg, attempting to corroborate some of Wickham’s journals, and much of it is verifiable. I’ve had to take some pretty dramatic measures to ensure the success of the mission, though. Despite the fact that Swedenborg is certainly the best vessel to infiltrate the Northern Lodge, as his spiritual “development” or “fullness” makes it simple to differentiate our egos, he’s very infirm. I was observing the fort the other night, to try witnessing who truly disturbed Stuller’s grave, but Swedenborg experienced a seizure.
We were staring out the window of the fort, just a few darts of torchlight illuminating the courtyard. There wasn’t a noise you could hear over the rushing wind and echoes of the falls. There was movement in the darkness of the bushes and treeline, but it was impossible to distinguish from, I dunno, just blowing around. The mist didn’t make it any easier to see anything, either. Then, right as we tried to narrow our vision on the bushes, control was taken away. At the risk of sounding indifferent, the experience was definitely different for me and Swedenborg… I felt able to withdraw “control” and simply experience the “physicality” of it rather than any, like, qualitative aspect I guess.
There’s some guilt I feel, because I didn’t really try to stop it. Could I have? Is that within my remit? Is it within my power? How would Swedenborg perceive his arm reaching out, in the midst of a seizure, and pulling himself up? How would he respond to a literal possession of his body? Especially a guy as spiritually loaded as him, I think he would be INCREDIBLY weirded out. Even looking at something he’s not could be interpreted as some sort of unnatural urge or fixation or something, a compulsion, I dunno. I need to keep it low key.
By the time I’m back, though, I wasn’t seated anymore, my surroundings were a bit messed up, and I think a few bruises are developing. I think I might’ve also seized.
I know some of these dudes end up vomiting from reading the journals, but I don’t necessarily know who I’ll be occupying, or for how long – I still need to gather evidence firsthand to determine who’s really controlling what. I don’t think Arthur is too unreliable of a narrator… maybe I can trust his assessment of the group’s character, at least as being authentically his perspective. I can deal with a few bruises, but I can’t deal with asphyxia… so I’ve developed a contingency plan.
A “dead man’s switch”, if you will.
I’ve found out through my experimentation that the time dilation I experience while diving isn’t uniform. It slowly dilates during the ramp-up, then “speeds back up” as I come back to the present. At the edges of the dive, time isn’t dilated at all, but for much of the dive, time is dilated almost to the point of standstill.
To put it plainly, there are points where time is moving at almost the same pace, past or present, but at the peak, I could live a million lifetimes in the past without a single second passing in the present.
That variable, how much time is dilated and how much it isn’t, is dose-dependent.
So, here’s the rig: a simple, home-made ECG monitoring my blood pressure and heart rate. If a sharp drop is detected, it sends a script to some simple servos I have wired up. These are, in turn, connected to an electric motor which depresses the plunger on three separate syringes in three stages, going from one to the next until the ECG picks up a rise in heart rate. Stage one is epinephrine, targeting the sympathetic nerve system in an attempt to restore cardiac rhythm. If that fails, I target the central nervous system with β-phenethylamine. As a last result, I have a saline suspension of 5,000mg 2DM-A-A, which, I don’t have to tell you guys, is an INCREDIBLY absurd amount. It’s a “go there and don’t come back” amount. I mean, the typical dose might get me two days, and 5 grams is about 200,000 times that… quick math tells me that could buy me over 500 years.
I think that’ll be enough time to get the job done.
Not to sound too morbid here, but I’m putting a script in place that will publish a number of confidential documents off the same dead man switch. It will get pushed as a fourth stage. If I get too far in over my head and have to spend the rest of my life on a medieval farm, then that’s that, but I’ll at least make sure the same documentary evidence I had available to me is available to everyone else.
I was planning on just telling my mom and friends that I might be on a longer work trip, but they could all tell something was going on, so I ended up cracking a bit, letting them know something big was happening, and I need to see it through. I told them all I loved them. They thought I was joining one of those anti-patriot terrorist orgs out west, go live on a commune and declare class war… maybe I am in my own way, ironic I guess.
Signing off
e-x-t-r-e-m-o
