Saturday, March 4, 1972 - Page 64
LOCATION: Newport Beach, California
11:11 PM
Woke up at 9:30, worked on the Temporal Exploration terms and definitions that I'll use in the TEMPUS FUGIT series. Today was a record breaking hot one for L.A. -- 96° F, pretty warm for March 4. Squat Harris [actually Scott Harris] came over today to use Glenn's kayak. He's moving to Arizona Monday. I read some more stuff, then I decided I'd better start writing another story -- I've gotta be prolific. I read the old Life Mag. article about Adolph for research purposes, then I forced myself to write DEATH OF A TYRANT, which I'd been idly considering after completion of MOIRA-QUEST. I scribbled the rough draft in ten minutes -- maybe I can finish the real thing in a week or two.
Either titled DEATH OF A TYRANT or (for the sake of alliteration) DEMAGOGUE'S DEMISE:
From the planet Icktenspil it came, across the great expanses of space, toward a planet whose beings were entering the start of technical progress -- the promise of energy needed by the Icktenspilian Empire. As the demiurge approached the planet, it considered its destiny -- it would follow the same patterns as the many other worlds. At the point just before unbridled capability, the Icktenspilians would harness the beings' powers -- tap them before they could retaliate, and leave them crippled, powerless, drained... and the Icktenspilians would move on. This was the tyranny the demiurge promoted, and it was as it should be. The strong use the weak to build greatness -- greatness that lesser beings cannot know. The powerless are subjected to those who have gained power -- the law was obvious and irrevocable.
The demiurge angled in toward the sun, its physical properties luminescent, streaming backward in the fierce solar wind. Speeding past the planet, it jetted its consciousness at the target, leaving the departing physical substance to continue outward, sweeping in a wide ecliptic. When it returned, the demiurge would be ready; it would catch hold once again and leave -- its work completed, another energy source insured. Follow-up orbits would allow him to check the progress, keep things running smoothly.
Its consciousness entered the thick atmosphere, intent on easy control -- and suddenly it was gasping for life. Something was sucking it down, threatening to drown it, casting it apart in tattered shreds. Its consciousness was dwindling as it neared the earth, inundated with billions of individual points of free will, unknowingly defeating him with their very presence. Enraged and dying, the demiurge grasped at its final hope for survival -- it needed something to fasten itself to, a rivet to its escaping awareness and individuality. Frantically, it came upon an empty mind and leaped into it, spreading out in its new container. It was a newborn entity he now inhabited, and it wasn't empty -- the puerile tenant awkwardly fought the intruder, and the threatened vestiges of the demiurge knew these beings were too powerful, but his fleeting pattern burned itself into the newborn personality, ingraining its aspirations and philosophies. Then it winked out, defeated.
Austria, 1889-- Adolph Schicklgruber is born.
Exhaustive revisions in the works. Short-short, it will sell for sure once I finish it.
LOCATION: Newport Beach, California
11:11 PM
Woke up at 9:30, worked on the Temporal Exploration terms and definitions that I'll use in the TEMPUS FUGIT series. Today was a record breaking hot one for L.A. -- 96° F, pretty warm for March 4. Squat Harris [actually Scott Harris] came over today to use Glenn's kayak. He's moving to Arizona Monday. I read some more stuff, then I decided I'd better start writing another story -- I've gotta be prolific. I read the old Life Mag. article about Adolph for research purposes, then I forced myself to write DEATH OF A TYRANT, which I'd been idly considering after completion of MOIRA-QUEST. I scribbled the rough draft in ten minutes -- maybe I can finish the real thing in a week or two.
Either titled DEATH OF A TYRANT or (for the sake of alliteration) DEMAGOGUE'S DEMISE:
From the planet Icktenspil it came, across the great expanses of space, toward a planet whose beings were entering the start of technical progress -- the promise of energy needed by the Icktenspilian Empire. As the demiurge approached the planet, it considered its destiny -- it would follow the same patterns as the many other worlds. At the point just before unbridled capability, the Icktenspilians would harness the beings' powers -- tap them before they could retaliate, and leave them crippled, powerless, drained... and the Icktenspilians would move on. This was the tyranny the demiurge promoted, and it was as it should be. The strong use the weak to build greatness -- greatness that lesser beings cannot know. The powerless are subjected to those who have gained power -- the law was obvious and irrevocable.
The demiurge angled in toward the sun, its physical properties luminescent, streaming backward in the fierce solar wind. Speeding past the planet, it jetted its consciousness at the target, leaving the departing physical substance to continue outward, sweeping in a wide ecliptic. When it returned, the demiurge would be ready; it would catch hold once again and leave -- its work completed, another energy source insured. Follow-up orbits would allow him to check the progress, keep things running smoothly.
Its consciousness entered the thick atmosphere, intent on easy control -- and suddenly it was gasping for life. Something was sucking it down, threatening to drown it, casting it apart in tattered shreds. Its consciousness was dwindling as it neared the earth, inundated with billions of individual points of free will, unknowingly defeating him with their very presence. Enraged and dying, the demiurge grasped at its final hope for survival -- it needed something to fasten itself to, a rivet to its escaping awareness and individuality. Frantically, it came upon an empty mind and leaped into it, spreading out in its new container. It was a newborn entity he now inhabited, and it wasn't empty -- the puerile tenant awkwardly fought the intruder, and the threatened vestiges of the demiurge knew these beings were too powerful, but his fleeting pattern burned itself into the newborn personality, ingraining its aspirations and philosophies. Then it winked out, defeated.
Austria, 1889-- Adolph Schicklgruber is born.
Exhaustive revisions in the works. Short-short, it will sell for sure once I finish it.
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