An Important Ritual Item of Unascertainable Use
By Bella Basura

The Vimana free-energy lighting sources faded up in the cavernous main lecture hall of St. Eve Jobs-the-Martyr College Cambridge long before the tumultuous standing ovation had faded down and the striking figure of Professor Gordon Tripp swished in long strides to the edge of the stage. A modest smattering of august and adoring dons, masters and heads-of-state jostled among the eager young students clamouring by the exit as the Prof strode past with determined dismissiveness. “Professor Tripp! Professor Trip!” a voice rang out within his head, alerting him to a telepathic message. Prof Tripp turned to face the attractive young post-grad who had recently joined his tutorial group. “Ah! Bella” he vocalised “Did you catch my lecture?” “Certainly did, Sir” she replied with deference “I wanted to ask you about some of your secondary sources”  “It’s all published in last quarter’s Archaeological e-archive report, the spring 2036 issue” Then “Pop over to my office after morning recess tomorrow and I’ll go over it with you” he added telepathically as he turned decisively and swept off in the direction of the Vimana free-energy teleportation module.

Next morning in his office Professor Tripp prepared the post-grad student for her tutorial concerning his lecture of the night before. Pressing his fingertips into the eyes of his acolyte and omm-ing out loud the Prof downloaded his research material into her mind. Then together, using the Vimana free-energy mind/time remote viewing technique, they viewed the material as it was screened onto the inside of their eyelids. Professor Gordon Tripp had developed the Vimana free-energy (generally known as VF-energy) mind/time remote viewing technique following the first full moon after the recalibration of reality. He had imbibed a tisane of valerian root and was sleeping under a canopy of hand-dried wild organic mugwort, which had induced an erotic lucid dream, where the principles of the technique were graphically drawn onto the buttocks of a bevy of naked women. The technique, which enabled students to psychically enter a remote time period and view history as if they were part of it, had proved of inestimable value in archaeology. It was his work on the technique that had rapidly made him famous, securing his reputation as a high-earning world-class intellectual. The solar flare storms of 2012 and the subsequent recalibration of reality had changed a lot of things, for a lot of people, and Gordon Tripp was no exception. Later, as they downloaded their findings into the VF-energy global collective mind archive, they chatted. “What were you previously?” The post-grad asked the great Professor “before the great recalibration, before the universal absorption into the Vimana free-energy non-corporeal cyber-life?” “I was a researcher into altered states of consciousness, that’s all I know. Everything else about me was stored on the old silicon-based technology, much corrupted after the 2012 solar storm and thankfully deleted at the recalibration. How about you? What were you before?” He asked telepathically “An ovum” she replied simply.

“Professor Tripp!” The internal voice of the attractive young post-graduate jolted him  from his lunchtime reverie. It had been a few days since their research together with the mind/time remote viewing session and Profeesor Gordon was keen to encourage this exceptionally bright student. “I’m in the lab” he mind voiced back “I’ve been looking at the notes I took after our  time/mind remote viewing session, I’d like to run another test on the Super Etch-a-Sketch” She spoke into his mind “Okay, come over to the lab while I activate the electronic pulsations interpretative matrix” He telepathed back. Rapidly he powered down his alternative existence simulation cortex and reset his psychic settings to default. By the time the post-grad arrived at the lab there was no psychic, physical or mental evidence to betray that the professor spent his lunchtimes, and most other spare time, as an extraterrestrial lycanthrope marauding through the memory cells of long-discarnate porn stars. As the electronic pulsations interpretative matrix boosted into visualisation mode the post-grad began to soar into it’s motive base, within half an hour they were scanning through the material at a rapid rate. “There!” yelled the post-grad excitedly “Go into the 1000 monkey writings! There! Latch onto it’s resonance index” Suddenly they were sailing through the written text, plunging into it’s previously unseen source material, free-falling through the gaps between the lines  of it’s hieroglyphs. The post-grad began to verbalising the cascade of words she was experiencing, quoting from the text running before her eyes   “The Muse-Trap by Doc. Gordon Tripp, a name that was once so familiar to me, and yet I hadn’t seen or heard from the Doc since way back when. We’d first met during his Enterprise Allowance Scheme research for his first lecture the pursuit of the mystic experience through the use of Self-induced altered states of consciousness. I’d been a volunteer subject, and had spent many a happy day (defined in those days as the space between two periods of sleep) at his bedsit-cum-lab, in South London. The Laboratorium we called it. I was often in a drugged-out state, crawling around the kitchenette, picking out esoteric patterns on the lino with a crumbling purple wax crayon. What a history! I’ve always felt that the Doc’s grotty crashpad in Camberwell was the crucible, nay WOMB, of all my subsequent creative impulses.”

The Professor looked stunned and clicked out of the matrix without warning. The visions fell away suddenly, but she was still catching them as they dropped. “That is amazing” she was vocalising “incredible, an on-line archive of pre-internet literary labour” “Nonsense” the Prof interrupted telepathically, his face drawn  and pinch, his lips tight with angry distress, but the post-grad rambled on, vocalising in the force of her excitement “The person who last used the Super Etch-a-Sketch was compiling an archive of self-published underground ‘zines. Small press magazines cobbled together with glue and scissors and a photocopier” “Nonsense” Gordon interrupted telepathically. “They wrote this stuff with pens and paper and distributed it in pubs and clubs, at gigs. It’s inconceivable, these words mean nothing to me…” “NONSENSE” Professor Gordon Tripp boomed out loud “You’re extrapolating from extrapolation. Your critical methodology is anything but scientific. I forbid you to continue this research. I forbid you from using this material. The post-grad looked dumbfounded, then crestfallen “Go back to my original lecture” he demanded “Your conclusions are nothing short of ludicrous”.

The young attractive post-grad pushed her way through the crowds gathered in Main lecture hall of St. Eve Jobs-The Martyr College Cambridge, and finding her seat she sat down. As the Vimana free-energy lighting sources dimmed in the auditorium the striking figure of the world-famous Professor Gordon Tripp strode onto the stage, into the spotlight over the podium and began to speak.

“Report from The Archaeological e-archive, Spring 2036

Preliminary Findings
This paper concerns one particular archaeological artefact, the so-called ‘Super Etch-a-Sketch’, which is currently on loan to the University Museum at St. Eve Jobs-The-Martyr College, Cambridge. The artefact is owned by Arch-Duke Sainsbury-Waitrose of The Global Landfill Re-Assignment Conglomerate.

Description
The artefact under study is a rectangular plastic object with a silver screen inserted into the front and in size and appearance much resembles a mid-twentieth century mechanical drawing toy called an Etch-a-Sketch. Described thus in the doctorate thesis Popular Folk-Toys & Pass times of the Twentieth Century: “a thick, flat gray screen in a plastic frame. There are two knobs on the front of the frame, twisting the knobs moves a stylus that displaces aluminium powder on the back of the screen, leaving a solid line.  To erase the screen, the toy is turned upside down and shaken, this causes little polystyrene balls to smooth out and re-coat the inside surface of the screen with aluminium powder”. However the specimen, which has been dubbed the ‘Super Etch-a-Sketch’, has a black plastic casing which is uncommon to the point of uniqueness, and throws some doubt on this initial assessment. Removal of the black casing confirmed these doubts, revealing internal components similar to those found the primitive silicon-based entertainment devices of the early C21st. Although probably not actually ancient in origin, it certainly pre-dates the Great Solar Flare meltdown of December 2012.

Dating Methods
The artefact was removed from the deep layers of a Plastic Mine seam in Southern England, which is currently being excavated by the archaeological field team of St. Eve Jobs-The-Martyr College Cambridge, prior to commissioning. We date this object primarily though it’s position in the plastic depositions and estimate it’s date of manufacture as somewhere between the Downfall of the Recycling System (early 2012) and the establishment of the Universal V F-energy Production and Materialisation Plant. Certainly no later than October 2013, when reality was re-calibrated and the desire for oil-derived material objects were obviated by rapidly acquired universal telepathic communication skills in the general populace. The ‘Super Etch-a-Sketch’ was found within a layer consisting predominantly of the so-called ‘mobiles’, a rich deposit of Bisphenol A and plastic, which will be of invaluable use in the pharmaceutical industry when the mine is commissioned in early 2037.
After removing the plastic casing and noting its interior resemblance to obsolete early twenty-first century entertainment devices, we ran a number of tests via the V F-energy electronic pulsations interpretive matrix. From these tests we were able to ascertain that the device was being used to “attach” itself to the so-called World Wide Web, thereby, in fact, fixing its final usage to December 2012, when the entire so-called internet was irrevocably destroyed during the solar flare storm of that month. We were able then to examine a number of packets of ‘downloaded content’, predominantly pornographic in nature, which leads us to the assumption that the item was used by a member of a ‘Voyeur Cult’ , whose adherents mortified themselves furiously by accessing pornographic images, inciting a quasi-religious fervour. Little more is known about this widespread secretive cult. One singular item recovered from the ‘Super Etch-a-Sketch’, however seems to present a unique window into the spirit of these far-off times. An article word-processed in modern English and dated 1997, prior to the turn of the Millennium, it seems to be a journalistic entry in an early version of a web-log. Historically, the late 1990s was a period of unprecedented peace, prosperity, personal freedom, debauchery and socio-political laxity. The article is documented, according to the protocols of the time, as originating from a web-log entitled Bella Basura’s Blog, on the e-archive documents dropdown menu. We reproduce the article here in full in the hope of eliciting funding interest in recovering the complete e-archive.

“Hello, I don’t know you and you don’t know about me, yet.
I used to be unemployed, well, self-employed but I really never had that much work . The dole kept me just about afloat. And I’d heard about all these new schemes that they’re bringing in, but I didn’t really think that much of it.
Then I got called for a restart interview.
I was reliably informed that as a compulsive shirker I was compelled to join a government sponsored brain-washing and re-education propaganda program .
The very polite, but sadly deluded young woman behind the desk lead me through the maze of amazing new schemes I could be entitled to join. Like the ”doing somebody-else’s job for no pay “ scheme, the “let’s play work ! pretending to have a job “ scheme and the infamous “Eat-shit-sucker” scheme.  My client advisor behind the desk intimated that she herself had been on a “snoop or die “ placement scheme and had grassed up so many dole fraudsters, mainly her friends and neighbours, in her first week , that she was promptly offered real full time employment at the DSS .
I vaguely expressed an interest in word processing…..
The upshot was that I got enrolled on this Godseekers Allowance Pilot Scheme.
I get an extra tenner a week in my giro, and unlimited access to one of fifty state-run word processors in my area . There are no restrictions on what I type into the word processor, no restrictions on what I print, photocopy or mis-spell .
The catch is that to qualify for Godseekers Allowance I have to work at one of these state-run word processors full-time, on a fifty year contract .
Which is why I’m sitting here, at this screen at this very moment, typing an imaginary letter to an imaginary friend .
There are fifty of us on the Cambridge area pilot scheme, and there are some twenty pilot schemes across the country. In terms of sheer numbers  that’s well about…..
I suppose you’ve heard the one about : If a thousand monkeys bashed away at a thousand typewriters for 50 years, one of them would produce a controversial best-selling previously unpublished New Age edition of the bible.
I don’t believe it myself, where’d you find a thousand monkeys willing to do that kind of work ? Even for an extra tenner a week .

Bella Basura
1997”

End of Extract

Conclusions
It seems fairly obvious from the reclaimed article and from the generally pornographic nature of the use which the device was put to that it held some exceptional and probably religious significance. However, as the Super Etch-a-Sketch pre-dates the reality re-calibration of 2013 we cannot unreservedly state the nature of that religious significance. Until further evidence can be found to expand our knowledge of that distant culture, we can only say that the Super Etch-a-Sketch was an important ritual item of unascertainable use.”

The clunky great laptop the woman had borrowed from the Literature Faculty had been a hell of a beast to bring home from Cambridge on the train, but the long journey  had given her valuable thinking time. Now she felt pretty exhausted as she sat down at the borrowed computer work on her thesis, a study of self-published underground ‘zines of the 1990s, an obscure area of research which she hoped would earn her a first class degree. The woman began browsing the internet and quickly realised that somebody had been using the faculty laptop to download pornography, which kept throwing up pop-up ads of half-dressed women begging her to contact them. Her deadline for a first draft was mid-January next year, “you’ll be fine” Her supervisor had reassured her “Just as long as the Mayan end of time prophecy does come true!”. They’d both laughed, but right now, struggling with unfamiliar hardware in her cold flat in late December she almost wished time would end, at least them she’d have an excuse for missing the deadline. She eventually found the site she’d been viewing that afternoon at the University Library, which appeared to be an archive of on-line facsimiles of  ‘zine articles from 1994 to the present day.  She was mildly amazed that there were still people out there making paper pamphlets with scissors, glue and photocopiers, and was about to email a link to the site to her supervisor when the lights went out and she was plunged into darkness. The woman stumbled to the balcony, where from her 18^th floor vantage point she watched with sinking heart as swathes of the city below flickered then crashed into the void blackness of night without electricity. Of course she’d been expecting it, everybody had, there’d even been TV programmes about the catastrophic effects of the devastating solar flare storms that had been erupting all year. She just wished she’d thought about it before she got into the lift to her high-rise ex-council flat, wished she’d bought candles from the corner shop on her way home. The lift would be stuck now, and the laptop wouldn’t work anyway, not until the electricity came back on. In the unexpected hiatus the woman settled herself on the balcony, peering down into the black silent emptiness of London, waiting for normality to return. Little did she know that normality never would return, the industrial world would never be the same again.

Reality was about to be recalibrated.

Bella Basura

March 2012