Nostradamus Speaks - Landed in Paris

Landed in Paris!

Dixi

Note from me LLP:
This is bullshit.
LLP

Nostradamus Speaks Note from Me LLP

Note from me LLP:

Hardly had my finger lifted off the mouse blasting the latest Nostradamus Speaks post into the email airwaves than blowback began. 

"Good idea to stop sending this Nostradamus Speaks shit out on your email account," one idiot who shall remain unnamed wrote. "I didn't want to be in your stupid sleeper cell email network in the first place. I'm not asleep and even if I was I do not want to wake up because I am what I am and that's all that I am."

My response to Popeye is, "Go fuck yourself." I didn't ask for this job and they don't pay me enough to do it. In fact, they don't pay me anything and while my fingertips are getting tenderized Number One and Dixi or whoever the hell he/she/it is are getting an all expense paid trip to Paris. WTF!?

This is not easy. I'm retired and old and my writing and typing skills are rusty. It takes me a half hour to write a single fucking sentence because if I make a mistake some nitwit meter maid level enforcer of the grammar police will bust my balls over a comma or semicolon or you name it shit.

I have a life and a wife and dogs and an old grandma to take care of not to mention a back yard that has turned into a jungle because of all the rain. I should go out and clear the gigantic weeds from my once-beautiful succulent raised garden beds but I'm afraid a raccoon will jump out and grab me with his claw hands. They do that with dogs -- jump on their backs and grab them, hold on and then bite the shit out of them. A man should not have to be afraid of going into his own back yard. 

Then Number One sends me a new post that I am not going to publish because all he says is: "Landed in Paris! Dixi" That's a waste of valuable internet space and bytes not to mention my time. 

Thanks for letting me vent.
 LLP

Nostradamus Speaks - Settling In

FYI from me LLP:

Reposting Number One's Nostradamus Speaks through my own personal email account is clogging things up so I am shifting everything to my website http://wuzzappnin.blogspot.com/

You can view them or review as you wish, in the privacy of your own computer. 

LLP

Settling In

I settled into my new office. I took down the disbarred attorney's name from the storefront, leaving only the word, "OFFICE", but the blank spaces betrayed the identity of the previous tenant. I called Brenda and invited her to see my new digs and celebrate the grand opening. She came the next day.

"Brenda!" I said, coming out from the back after the door bells jingled the arrival of a customer, "I've really missed you." Brenda stood in the center of the office and slowly did a 180, taking in the entirety of the office, obviously creating an internal verbal description of everything she saw. Upon completion of her survey, with nary a word of farewell, she walked out, the bells behind her jingling the departure of a customer. 

I can't say I was surprised. The disbarred attorney's office was a dump when I moved in and pretty much remained a dump. I think I finally got over Brenda that day. If she didn't want me, then I didn't want her. And anyway, she was the one who blew through most of the company's cash which got me into trouble which got me into this dump in the first place, so good riddance.

I refocused my time and energy on learning how to write and practicing tradecraft. If you happened to have been in Little Saigon late 2009, early 2010 and saw a crazy man talking to stone dragons, decorated door jambs, or nothing in particular, that was me.

But it was working. As the months passed and I continued to practice the tradecraft secret agent memory development internal verbalization protocol, I found at the end of the day I could lay down on the couch in the back room and walk through the entirety of Little Saigon and see, literally see, so much detail it felt like I was really there. 

Thus it was in February, 2010, the door bells jingled and I walked out to greet what unsuspecting customer had wandered into my lair. Nobody ever came so I was ready to warmly greet anyone at all. Anyone at all except -- holy shit! The Dragon Lady! Yes, her, the little old lady with the perfectly coiffed black beehive hair and gold pin above her left ear with tattooed eyebrows and eyelash lines who scares the shit out of me. With nary a greeting she handed me an envelope gripped between long sharp red talons and, like my ex SoCal hottie Brenda, turned and walked out.

Inside was an airline ticket to Paris and 1000 EUR, in cash. A computer printout note read, See you. N. 

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - Pink Shoe Laces

Pink Shoe Laces

When next I saw Dr. Nostradamus he was at our increasingly usual Starbucks watering hole. I was standing in the ordering line when he arrived. I noticed he was wearing tan shoes with pink shoelaces, not unusual for southern California teenagers, but not what I came to expect from Dr. N. I filed away a mental description of the shoes and laces. 

I had long ago adopted the tradecraft practice of, "See something, say something", meaning that if something caught my eye I needed to turn my attention to it and verbally describe it in detail. I did not evaluate its importance. It did not matter if it appeared common or unusual. If whatever part of my mind noticed it, it called for attention and that meant a mental verbal description. And since the shoes and laces were something I noticed about Dr. Nostradamus they would find their way onto my Nostradamus Speaks post.

Dr. Nostradamus nodded to me, "Number One," he said, "Would you be so kind as to fetch me a coffee, black, no sugar, " then fixed me with a gaze of uncertain import.

Nothing Dr. N did was casual or unintended. He was a master communicator, in spoken and body language. He could walk into a room and draw attention to himself without any obvious posturing. He could disappear just as easily. Every gesture conveyed significance. Or maybe I was simply becoming more adept at noticing ever more subtle things. 

Still, subtle though the cues were, I was promoted to look more closely around the coffee shop. Nothing unusual; no one dramatically stood out. But one barrister caught my eye; she seemed quite a bit older than the normal crew and I didn't recall having seen her before. I mentally memorialized everything I could see about her, watching in an indifferent way that should not arouse her attention. Sometimes women have a sixth sense they are being looked at. Nothing else in the room prompted closer scrutiny. At times it felt like I was in a grade B secret agent movie when I was around Dr. Nostradamus. He assured me he was not a spy and did not work for any intelligence services. He had bigger fish to fry, as he put it.

Our meeting was shorter than usual and Dr. Nostradamus did not weigh in on any particular topic. He rarely made small talk but this day did speak about days at the orphanage. I wondered if the older female barrister had triggered a memory -- in both of us -- a memory that prompted me to interrupt and apologize. "Sensei," I said, "After all this time I feel ashamed to have never asked about Mrs. Nostradamus." I stopped myself, afraid to question more closely.

"She died the year after you left for University." Dr. N said. 

"I'm so sorry," I said.

He continued. "I have lost so many that I have loved so dearly that oftentimes I feel it is not worth it, living so long. But sorrow and grief are a living thread that ties us to our distant ancestors. Archeologists have said that when they opened the tenderly prepared grave of a child who died tens of thousands of years ago they felt the grief of the child's long dead parents, sweeping across the centuries, bringing their tears to them. 

"Living so long may not be worth it, but it is my fate." 

As I wrote this post my memory triggered lyrics from an old rock and roll song. Googling, I found Pink Shoe Laces by Dodie Stevens, 1959. I have no idea what Dr. Nostradamus' intent or message was in this and remain puzzled by the contrast to his heartfelt recollection of a dear wife. Dr. Nostradamus did not do or say things accidentally. I feel certain everything about the day tied together.

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - Dear Dr. Nostra

Dear Dr. Nostra

"Boss," I said, "It's hump day and that means it's Dear Abby day, it's cards and letters day, it's time for -- drum roll please -- Dear Dr. Nostra.

Dr. Michel de Nostradamus sighed. He had long resisted the direction his precious Nostradamus Speaks was turning, but the fact is his sleeper cell sleepers have real lives with real problems and want his advice. He is, after all, The Man.

We had met at Starbucks and The Man braced himself for this morning's mail bag with a Grande Latte Mocha, whipped cream and sprinkles, jacked with a triple shot of espresso.

"Make it so, Number One." 

Alice from South Dakota writes:

Dear Dr. Nostra, Hank wants to come back. He says he loves me and is sorry. What should I do? Alice.

Dr. Nostra says:

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum

Say your boyfriend Hank is a bum.

If you can't get that through your thick skull,

Get your sorry ass back to school.

"Next."

The Rev. William Roberts (Billy Bob) of Fredericksburg writes: Dear Dr. Nostra, I am worried about the future of my Evangelical Christian fellowship. Have we lost our way? The Rev.

Dr. Nostra says:

Drinking tequila that promised them power,

They ate the worm from the proud tower.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall,

The worm will turn and them all devour.

"Next."

"That's a pretty grim scenario, Sensei," I said. "Hump day is supposed to, you know, provide inspiration and guidance."

"I prognosticate, Dungbeetle," the Maestro said, "That's what I do. 

"Next."

Grandpa from SoCal writes: 

Dear Dr. Nostra, I like my life the way it is and I didn't ask to be in your sleeper cell and I don't want to get woke. What can I do not to get woke?

Dr. Nostra says:

Hold your head in your hands,

Your ears clamped close,

Your eyes tight shut,

And loudly shout, "Lalalalalalalalalala."

"Next."

Virginia from Virginia writes:

Dear Dr. Nostra, I would like to form a recipe exchange group within the Nostradamus Speaks sleeper community. Can you help?

Dr. Nostra says:

No.

No.

No.

No.

"Next."

"That's it for today, Doc. I think you can be proud that you are making a difference for those who measure out their lives in coffee spoons." I took a sip of the exquisite Starbucks espresso brew. "This is exceptional."

Dixi 

Nostradamus Speaks -Tradecraft Trainee

Tradecraft Trainee

When Dr. Nostradamus directed me to set up an office and said we'd get started I naturally expected we would get started. But it was more than six months before I saw him again. 

In the meantime I rented a strip mall office from a Little Saigon lawyer who had been disbarred. The place was not bad but I would have preferred my own place. Alas, Dr. N or whoever ran the books would only front or reimburse office expenses and minimal personal expenses  -- payback for having blown through so much company cash in the early days. Live and learn.

But this was a real job; an unusual job to be sure; and a mysterious job working for a man I had known of my entire life but did not know anything about. Wikipedia says the historical Dr. Michel de Nostradamus was born in 1503, so maybe he really is 300 years old, or 500. Maybe us kids were right, that he is Merlin; that he could fly. All that was of course childish stuff but I had to ask myself, how did I get all the way from an orphanage in New England to Vienna to Little Saigon in Westminster, California, and then find myself enrolled in a mysterious apprenticeship? Spooky, and silly, and fun.

I took the doctor at his word, enrolled in a writing class and joined a writing club. He was right, I did need to learn how to write.

I also set about training my memory, practicing what the Maestro called tradecraft:

"Young Apprentice, the tradecraft I teach has been known for centuries and is to this day practiced by intelligence operatives. It is simple in concept, difficult in application: Whatever you do, wherever you go, you must not be passive. You can not be just a watcher, a listener, an observer. You have to be mindful and attentive, and a participant. 

"Now listen up because this is important: I am not saying that you should jump up and make the rounds, glad handing everyone. Not that kind of participation. The kind of participation of which I speak is internal, mental, and to be more precise, verbal.

"For example, when you go into a restaurant and sit at a table you draw the entire restaurant into your view. At the same time that you look you must expressly verbalize, and describe what it is you see, with precision. You don't have to try to remember, but you do have to make the effort to see and describe what it is you see. 

"The remembering happens in the mind on its own. It is an internal dialog, an active intentional dialog that knits together images appearing in the visual cortex at the back of your brain with the abstract language creation and analytical cortex in the frontal lobes. United they stand; divided they fall. 

"Obviously you must be selective. You could drill down onto the spoon you are holding and describe it in ever tightening detail. You could spend an entire afternoon and never get beyond the four corners of your table. Tradecraft requires judgement as to what is necessary and what is sufficient to relive and recall in detail what needs to be remembered. Practice.

"At first this is difficult, and even exhausting. The art you practice takes years, decades -- an entire life. But with diligence the time will come when you can move at will back through the times you have experienced, reliving in detail each moment. The past is not prologue as has been said, it is not even past."

Dr. N was right. Training my memory was hard work. I quickly learned my powers of observation and description were lacking. I ran out of words. At times I felt as if my head was exploding. At first I thought that it would all end up a jumbled mess. But even at the very beginning it worked. I could take a long walk seeing and verbalizing with detailed description all that I could. When I got back to my office and closed my eyes, I could again walk along that same route and see in detail the twists and turns of the insignificant crack in the wall I had stopped to see and actively describe, and the bug that crawled out of it. Patches of clarity would come into view as I walked along the path. I started to work out the how and why some places and things were recalled with photographic clarity while others remained vague and cloudy. One thing was for sure:

There was something to this shit.

Dixi

Note from me LLP:
My head is exploding.

Nostradamus Speaks - The Sorcerer's Apprentice

The Sorcerer's Apprentice

"Boss, thank you, thank you, thank you, for rescuing me from the curse of the Dragon Lady. Seriously, that woman scares the hell out of me."

Dr. Nostradamus' face briefly registered a hint of mirth and perhaps, a stifled snort. "Yes, Number One, a formidable presence indeed. Now let's get on with the purpose of this meeting -- your job."

"Absolutely -- the job. What is my job?"

Dr. N began. "I am starting a publication, Nostradamus Loquitur. Your job is to transmit my message on that platform."

"What's Loquitur?"

"It's Latin for 'speaks'."

"Nobody speaks Latin, Boss, nobody except Catholic priests. You do not want to be associated with that bunch. Just use English and call it Nostradamus Speaks."

"Good point, Number One. Nostradamus Speaks it is."

All right! I was proving my worth. "How can I be of service, Maestro?" 

"You are to memorialize every encounter, meeting, and conversation you have with me and publish that description in detail on Nostradamus Speaks."

"That's it? Piece of cake, Doc. I cometh prepared." I said, and spreadeth out before the Maestro my iPhone, pen, and note pad. 

"No," Dr. Nostradamus flatly said. "There will be no recordings. You will not take notes; you will not keep notes. You are to rely entirely on your memory."

I was expecting something along the lines of an attaboy. "That's going to be a stretch, Boss. If you want me to accurately record every meeting and conversation -- in detail -- I'm going to have to take notes. I have a good memory but not that good."

"Your apprenticeship begins today, Grasshopper," Dr. Nostradamus said. Train your memory."

"Apprenticeship?" I puzzled. 

Dr. Nostradamus ignored my question. "When you have a meeting or conversation with me you must be able to relive it -- The setting, the exchange in detail, word for word -- Facial expressions, body language, dress, mood. Everything."

"I don't have a photographic memory, Boss." 

He elaborated. "I did not say, 'remember it', Number One, I said, 'relive it'. You will develop the ability to revisit an encounter in your mind and relive the experience in detail as if you were there again.

"Along with your evolving skill in reliving and recalling the details of a meeting, you will have to exercise judgement in deciding what to include in the account you publish.

"For example, what I say and how I say it are of great significance, but what I was wearing at the time is probably insignificant and not needed in the narrative," said Dr. Nostradamus who was wearing a white shirt, no tie; a tweed jacket that looked right out of a 1930's detective movie, Levi's, and blue Nike tennis shoes. No socks.

"Then," he said, "You need to learn how to write -- to put everything together and present it in written English."

I defended myself. "I can write. I have a university degree."

"Grasshopper, language is far more complex than people realize, and written English is a separate language from spoken English. Written English can be understood world wide and easily translated into other languages. Spoken English can be highly parochial and an English speaker in one part of the world may find it difficult or impossible to understand an English speaker from another. Your task, to memorialize and effectively communicate our conversations, is even harder. 

"Do not underestimate the difficulty of the apprenticeship upon which you are embarking."

"Apprenticeship?" I asked again.

“Set up the office and we'll get started." With that Dr. Michel de Nostradamus bid me adieu.

Dixi. 

Nostradamus Speaks - Responsibility

Responsibility

I accept I may have been somewhat irresponsible. After getting my first big payday from Dr. Nostradamus -- $16,000 in cash and a cashier's check -- I got a bit carried away. 

I got a room at a Holiday Inn, and set about exploring sunny southern California. I visited Disneyland, then Knott's Berry Farm, then Disneyland again, the Queen Mary, Magic Mountain, Universal Studios, and the Hollywood Walk of Fame, back to Disneyland, and many other wonderful points of interest.

Along the way I met a cute blond SoCal hottie, Brenda, who thought I was cute too.

It is shocking how much money you can burn through in a very short time. And in a shocking few weeks I was back in the Dragon Lady's shitty little room, sleeping on the couch and eating Maruchan Ramen Noodle Soup. Brenda did not return my calls.

I started thinking about beautiful Vienna and Ingrid.

Thus it was when I was down a text from the Maestro walked me back: 

I'll be there in 10. N. 

I anxiously texted back: Where? 

There. N.

I frantically set about cleaning my dump of an office, moving boxes of cleaning product from one side of the room to the other and dusting off the sofa and desk. 

Ten minutes later a knock at the door. I opened it and there he was, Doctor Nostradamus, Merlin, not having aged a day since last I saw him in Vienna. Dr. N looked at the sofa and sat at the desk. I sat on the sofa.

"May I see your expense log, Number One?" he said, extending his hand.

"My expense log?"

"Yes, your expense log. The list of expenditures you had while setting up your office."

"Nobody said anything about setting up an office. I thought that was my salary."

"You haven't done anything yet."

"An advance?"

Dr. Nostradamus just looked at me

"Boss," I said, "This is not my fault. You lure me away from a good paying job in Vienna, flatter me with a meaningless fucking title, and send me all the way to Bumfuck, Egypt, and I still don't have the slightest idea of what it is I was hired to do."

Dr. Nostradamus paused for a long moment and then sighed, "You're right, Number One, I bear some of the blame here. Do you have any money left at all?"

"Hardly, and the Dragon Lady is making me clean up the salon or she will kick me out. It's humiliating Boss. I have a degree."

"Okay, here's a little more to tide you over. Get a room, clean yourself up, and we'll meet tomorrow to talk about your job."

With that Dr. Nostradamus walked out. I watched as he engaged in conversation with the Dragon Lady, who started yelling, waving her hands and pointing in my direction.

I closed the door and counted the money Dr. N had left for me.

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - Setting up Shop

Setting up Shop

I woke up on the couch in "my office"-- a shit hole room, in the rear of a shit hole beauty and nail salon, in shitty Little Saigon, in shitty Westminster, in shitty California. 

Not happy.

My phone beeped: Open the laptop. N.

What laptop?

Poking out from under the stacks and boxes of beauty product on the desk was the silver corner of a laptop. I cleared away the clutter and checked it out. Wow! A brand new top of the line Mac. Underneath was an unsealed envelope. A quick look revealed several thousand in $100 bills and a cashier's check for $10,000 USD.

My phone beeped again: Laptop and Network Name and passwords are all NostraD. Log on and change all passwords and Network Name. Don't use any suggested by Google or Apple. Time sensitive. I have backdoor. N.

Did it. I must say my mood was improving by leaps and bounds.

The laptop beeped again: Good work Number One. Relax for the rest of the day. Will contact. N.

I texted back: Whatever you say, Dr. N. Is it safe to leave all this stuff here? 

It's a safe house. No problem. Use your key. N.

I hid the laptop and all the money under the sofa and covered it with trash then left to get Vietnamese. I locked the office door behind me and left through the front. The Dragon Lady at the counter motioned me over and handed me another key, "Use the back door when we are closed."


Disclosure: This is essentially how my start as Dr. Nostradamus' spokesperson began. Everything happened as described but everything has changed so there is no security risk in this disclosure. In other words, you'll never find the safe house and the Dragon Lady has long since moved on. So don't waste your time trying.

s/Number One.

Dixi

Note from me LLP:
The pot thickens, I guess. I'm not sure what the point of all this was but I am on the edge of my seat in anticipation. Bring it!
LLP

Nostradamus Speaks - Sunny SoCal

Sunny SoCal

Picking up where we left off -- I landed at LAX on September 20, 2009. No one was waiting for me so I took matters into my own hands and got an Uber, destination Los Angeles' Little Tokyo. I snoozed most of the way and only woke when the driver announced, "We're here." I looked around, as good a place as any, and got out.

It took me about an hour of wheeling my carry-on baggage behind me before I finally asked and learned I was in Little Saigon -- Westminster, not LA. The idiot Uber driver.

My phone beeped: Are you there? N.

I texted back: I'm here. Where should I be?

I set up an office for you. You can sleep there until you get settled. N.

Me: Thanks, where?

It's in the rear of the beauty shop on Westminster. They are expecting you. N.

I was already too tired to appreciate how weird all this was but by sheer luck the Uber guy had let me out on Westminster Ave. It was just a matter of finding the one beauty salon in all of Little Saigon that was expecting me. Up and down, in and out of this shop and that, stopping for more than one cup of Vietnamese coffee which I was told is better than you can get in the former Saigon now known as Ho Chi Minh City.

 Finally, two hours later, after making my way up one side of Westminster Ave., then down the other, back to almost where I started, I walked into yet another of those mini strip malls that enrich the landscape of every city in America and in through the doors of a seedy beauty and nails salon.

A grim looking little old lady with perfectly coiffed black beehive hair and long sharp shiny red nails was at the cashier's counter. I walked up. The old lady handed me a key and jerked her head toward the back of the shop. 

By this time I was so jagged from jet lag and three hours walking and multiple cups of Vietnamese coffee that I just took the key and trudged back past stations that promised to transform everyday women into alluring vixens. 

I opened the door, which wasn't even locked, and looked in. "What a dump," I said out loud.

A ratty couch, a folding chair, and a desk piled high with boxes of beauty products. I closed the door and collapsed on the couch. "Shit!" I said to myself. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" 

I zoned out, thinking about beautiful Vienna and beautiful Ingrid.

Dixi.

Nostradamus Speaks - Vienna Followup

Vienna Followup

I write at the request of Dr. Nostradamus to followup on my last post wherein I tracked a bit of my personal history and the very beginning of my role as his spokesperson.

Leaving the Vienna cafe after that fateful breakfast in August of 2009, I wasn't much for company and headed back to my apartment. I found myself reliving the happy days of my childhood and what snippets of memory that featured Dr. Nostradamus and his wife. I was surprised at the level of detail that came to mind and wondered if my memory wasn't as ordinary as I had always assumed. I really had no idea what he might want to talk about nor why he called me Number One.

Next morning I reported for work and was given a telephone memo by the receptionist: "N called. Reschedule meeting until after work. Same cafe on Sonnwendgasse." That was probably a good idea because I was still relatively new here and didn't want to mess up. 

He didn't specify a time so I just took the bus after work and went straight to the cafe. He was waiting.

"I want you to come work for me," Dr Nostradamus said with no further greeting.

"Okay," I found myself saying without the slightest idea of what I was going to be doing or how much I was going to be paid, if anything.

"Good. I'll meet you in Los Angeles mid September or thereabouts. This will cover your expenses," handing me a cashier's check for 10,000 euros drawn on a Swiss bank. "Have a good flight."

He got up to leave.

"Wait," I said, "What's my job?"

"Number One, you are going to be the primary spokesperson and coordinator for my businesses. See you in sunny Southern California."

Dr. Nostradamus left, leaving me thinking that Ingrid was not going to like this and will think I'm an idiot. She'll probably dump me but that will save me the unpleasant task of breaking up with her. 

I wasn't very proud of myself at that likelihood but really, I was too excited at my prospective new adventure to care. Vienna was boring anyway.

I went back to my apartment and googled, "Nostradamus business."

Dixi 


Note from me LLP:
I don't know how this tidbit of background helps other than to confirm that Ingrid was probably right.

Nostradamus Speaks - Breakfast in Vienna

Breakfast in Vienna

They call me Number One, the name reflecting my position as spokesperson for Doctor Michel de Nostradamus. I have been so employed for a decade. 

I am 35 years old. I grew up in a privately funded New England orphanage and know nothing of my biological parents other than the genetic gifts they passed on to me. 

I am clearly of a mixed race heritage and move easily among a number of varied racial and ethnic groups. But my racial identity is blurred and does not appear to trigger racial animus in those so inclined. I'm ordinary. I fit in.

Along with good health, I received through my parents a native intelligence fairly described as normal or average. I have a good memory and like most people, can master difficult subjects if I work hard enough. It is clear the inspired genius of great mathematicians and musicians and artists will forever lie beyond my reach. I was fortunate to have had excellent tutors and instructors, and the opportunity for higher education.

What is extraordinary about my life is not my genetic inheritance or what I have made of myself -- or not -- but the simple circumstance of being orphaned as an infant and left on the doorstep of Dr. Nostradamus' orphanage.

Dr. N did not live at the orphanage and appeared at irregular intervals accompanied by a tall gray haired woman introduced as Mrs. Nostradamus. The Dr. and Mrs. did not deal directly with the children but worked intensely with the exceptional and dedicated staff. 

I think of my boyhood home as inseparable from Dr. Nostradamus. I don't know that he ever had an official title, but he was always treated with great deference by the staff and whenever he and the Mrs. visited we children would be lined up to greet them. I never spoke to him. To tell the truth we kids were scared of him. There were stories that he was 300 years old; that he was Merlin the magician; that he could fly. Magical stories children tell themselves and each other. 

By the time I left the orphanage and academy for university I had not seen Dr. or Mrs. Nostradamus for several years and my memory of them faded. At 21 I graduated and set out to travel the world and seek my fortune. I wandered, working a variety of jobs. I was a bouncer for two months in Berlin. I was a bank teller, a chef, a brick layer. I ran a souvenir shop near the Eiffel Tower. And more. I enjoyed them all and went everywhere. 

Finally, in the spring of 2009, I landed in Austria. Settling in, I applied for more respectable work at a Vienna based publishing company. Forgiving my erratic work history as a youthful fling, the human resources manager said they were looking for someone with my credentials. I was on my way. 

On a warm Sunday morning in August, 2009, I went for breakfast with my girlfriend to a little cafe on the Sonnwendgasse, recovering after a night celebrating my first big promotion.

We took an open window table and ordered up coffee to clear the fog of last night's festivities. I breathed in the fresh morning air mixing with the aroma of hot pastries. Another couple sat at a far table; an old man was at the counter, his back to us. 

I was happy, Ingrid was happy, we chatted about this and that.

Mid-sentence Ingrid stopped talking and looked up to a voice from behind me, "Pardon me, Mademoiselle." Then to me, "Good morning, Number One."

I looked, then stood up, "My God... is it....?'

The old man that had been at the counter continued, "Number One, can we meet in your office tomorrow morning? I'll only take a few minutes."

I didn't know what to say, "....Yeah, sure."

"Nine-thirty then." The old man tipped his hat to Ingrid, "Mademoiselle," and walked away.

We watched him go. 

Ingrid was irritated, "Who was that, your boss? Are you okay?"

I hesitated. "No, he's not my boss... maybe... I don't know.  It's a big company."

"But you do know him? What’s with this number one?"

"Yes....I know him."

"And....?" Ingrid said.

"Merlin... his name is Merlin."

Six weeks later I landed at LAX, single again, ready to start my new job.

Dixi

Note from me LLP:

Interesting. Turns out Number One is a real person, with a real life. 

LLP

Nostradamus Speaks - The Daily Grind

The Daily Grind

We met at Starbucks at 9:30 a.m. to work through what is evolving into a daily Q and A. Dr. Nostradamus was already there with a grande Mocha Latte with whipped cream and sprinkles.  He was just pouring into that brew a triple espresso as I sat down. 

"Let's just get on with this, Number One," He said.

So, I started in getting on.

The Rev. Billy Bob of Fredericksburg is back and writes a nice letter this time:
"Dear Dr. Nostradamus, what does the future hold for the Christian Church in America?"

Dr. N speaketh:
They traded their soul for the intoxication of hate;
Rejected, scorned, ignored by their young;
All claim to moral authority dust in their mouths;
The Evangelicals fear the day of judgment.

"Wow!" I thought to myself, "A quatrain. Prognostication gone retro."

This from Virginia from Virginia: 
"Gobbledygook, gobbledygook..... gobbledygook."

Dr. N speaketh: 
Madness --
Without method --
Is just --
Madness. 

"Next."

"Alice from South Dakota asks.......

"Dr. N speaketh:
Next,
Next,
Next,
Next.

Walt Mittey Jr., from Siberia writes: 
"Dear Nostradamus, oops, Dear Abbey, or is it Ann Landers?...."

"Don't answer. I'm going to block this guy, Sensei," I said. "You should just woke his disrespectful sarcastic ass and he will be whistling the Battle Hymn of the Republic out of both sides of his mouth."

"Jimmy from New York has a followup:
Doctor N, he writes, What will happen to Donald Trump's base, which I may, or may not be, a part of?"

Dr. N speaketh: 
"The stench of the Orange Pretender clings close like white on rice;
Stays longer than stink on shit. Everything dies.
To those with any sense left,
Git while the gittin's good."

"Retro gone wild!" I yelped. "Happy days are here again."

"Wait," I yelled at Dr. Nostradamus as he walked away, "I've got a boatload of these to go through."

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - Tradecraft I

Tradecraft I - The Deep End of the Pool

"The time has come," the Master said, "To talk of many things: Of rules -- and codes -- Of trade and craft -- And how a man should live." "I speak of the craft of the trade we have chosen, the Prognosticator, the Path of the Seer."

"Sensei, you are the man, the walrus man," I said, "This is exactly what I signed up for."

"Indeed, Grasshopper," Doctor Michel de Nostradamus said, "It's what I signed up for too, many long years ago." 

"So this isn't your own thing?" I asked.

"No," Dr. N said. "The way of the prognosticator has been around so long no one knows where or when it started. Or if where and when even matter. The wisdom of the path is such that should all traces of it disappear from the earth and all practitioners be long dead, the core of the path would reemerge on its own in the minds of men who want to see. And should there be distant worlds with life that can think, the path will spring forth from those minds too."

The Great Prognosticator then began:

"The First Principle is this: 

He who would see must be grounded in the natural world. 

The natural world is everything that is, was, and ever will be -- From the quarks that make up the atoms to the distant galaxies -- And everything in between -- Including all the creations of the mind of man -- Everything that has ever happened and ever will happen."

"Okay," I said, "That's heavy, but I'm good."

"We've just begun, Grasshopper," the Maestro said, "Now we dive into the deep end of the pool. It is here most applicants lose heart and back away. Some flee."

"Go for it, Sensei," I said, "I'm all in."

The Maestro went for it. "The jewel that lies beneath the surface is the Holy Grail, the Philosopher's Stone, the Great Mantra, the Code that awakens and liberates all who touch it." 

"Now you're talking, Sensei," I said.

"Those are metaphors, Grasshopper," Dr. N said, "But the real thing is the genuine article, so powerful and regarded as so dangerous that for centuries Seers kept their understanding disguised and hidden for fear of their lives. 

"You're killing me now, Boss!" I said, "What is it?"

Michel de Nostradamus paused for a long time and then spoke, "There is no supernatural."

Silence. 

I waited. 

Silence. 

"That's it?" I finally said, "That's it? That there's no supernatural?" 

"That's it, Grasshopper," the Maestro said, "There is no supernatural. Period. Full stop. There never has been. Nothing is beyond the laws and processes of the natural world; there never will be, ever. Not even a fingernail's worth, not even the hair on a gnat's ass worth, not even a subatomic particle's vibe worth. Nada, zilch, nothing, squat."

I protested. "What about faith and belief? People hereabouts take their religion seriously. Religions and beliefs, even those of the supernatural and fantastical, contain narratives that bind and hold societies and tribes and cultures together. They're not going to give them up; they ain't changing. Human nature ain't changing. You are asking people to do, I don't know what, step into the unknown? Just because you say so?"

"Look Dungbeetle," Nostradamus said, "I'm not asking anybody to do anything, I'm teaching tradecraft here; for those who want to see the forest and the trees and the branches and twigs, the leaves and the grass and don't have their head up their ass fearing imaginary forest creatures. You can drop the class any time."

"Chill, Boss, I'm not going to drop the class," I said, "But I can see why many do. My bet is your numbers are going to take a dive. No pun intended. This is going to scare the shit out of some, assuming they even make it this far."

"It is time to put away childish things and think as a man, young Grasshopper," Dr. N said, “Do not underestimate the potency of what I have just revealed. Those who understand this truth in their bones and marrow will see how the slimmest notion of the supernatural has crippled and imprisoned the mind of man since the beginning of time, and they themselves since childhood. Fear is the currency of the supernatural." 

"Let it go. Let fear of the supernatural go. There is no God or gods or goddesses or supernatural boogeymen of any kind whatsoever; never has been. No supernatural powers or forces whatsoever. There is no there, there. There is nothing supernatural to fear or respect or obey. You have got to let that sink into your thick skull and chew on it until you get the taste. Then chew some more until the bullshit falls away."

"Here is the last point for today: While there is no reality to any supernatural anything, people's belief in the supernatural, their belief in the unreal, is very real, and magical thinking has real world consequences. The Seer, grounded in the natural world, plugs that fact into his equations, stands apart, and clearly sees."

"Enough for today."

Dixi

Nostra Update 3

I was never one to get involved in office politics and I don't want to get in the middle of a food fight in the Nostradamus Speaks community. 

Personally, I don't take sides about Number One's qualifications. I'm interested in Nostradamus' take on things. If he has confidence in Number One as his spokesperson, I'm okay with that.

Whatever happened, it seems to have sorted itself out.

LLP