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

Nostradamus Speaks - A New Day

A New Day

Dr. N: "Number One, 9:30 this morning at Peet's on the Hill. N."

Me: "Roger."

I arrived. N was there. It was chilly. We sat inside. 

"Good morning. Sensei," I greeted him blah, blah, blah, glad you are feeling better, blah, blah. 

"Sensei," I said, "I am concerned about our increasing use of the text message account. On one hand it's nice we conduct our business like normal people. On the other, it leaves an electronic trail. Not good tradecraft.

"Quite right, Grasshopper." the good doctor said, "It does leave a trail. Exactly what I want right now."

Me, "Okay. Anything I should know."

Dr, N. "No, let's get into those cards and letters."

I opened my iPhone 4s and logged onto the Feedback from Sleepers file. 

"A lot of chatter from Colorado." I glanced through them. "Agnes in Denver say she is thrilled and hopes to finally see you in person. Donny in Carbondale says Aspen is overrated, overpriced, and can get us a good deal at his Airbnb. Woody in Twin Lakes says the same thing. And so on. What is this shit? Maybe it has something to do with the outage yesterday. The system was down and I had to reboot my password."

"Never mind, Number One," Dr. N said, "Just screen those messages and focus on the business at hand."

"Okay, Boss." I said. 

Jimmy from New York says don't avoid the issue. He has two questions:

"What," he asks, "Does the future hold for the Trump administration?"

Dr. N: "Disgrace, humiliation, and shame."

"What does the future hold for the American people as a whole?"

Dr. N: "International shame and embarrassment. But even that shall pass. Next."

The Reverend William Robert - you remember Billy Bob - is praying for you.

Dr. N: "Next."

Alice in South Dakota says you were right about her rotten boyfriend Hank and wants to know.......

Dr. N: "Next."

"It's more of the same, Doc," I said, "It's like herding cats." "All kinds of cliques and special interests are popping up." 

"How so?" Dr. N asked. 

"Well," I started in, "Clarence in New Haven complains I, meaning me, don't know how to write dialog and offers advice. I say to Clarence that if I want your advice Clarence, I'll beat it out of you."

"Calm down, Grasshopper," Dr. N calmed me, "Go on."

"I'll be blunt, Sensei," I finally said, "I'm upset. Hear tell there's a group in Nostradamus Speaks who think I am an incompetent idiot and want me fired. Another group thinks I am a master manipulator manipulating you, of all people, and wants me fired.” 

“I’m not an idiot, am I Sensei?”

Dr. N: “No, Number One, you are not an idiot.”

"I'm not manipulating you, am I Sensei?"

Dr. N: "No, Number One, you are not manipulating me."

"I will remain as your One and Only Personal Spokesperson, won't I, Sensei?" 

Dr. N: "Yes, Number One, you will remain my One and Only Personal Spokesperson."

Hahahaha. A little joke Dr. Michel de Nostradamus, the famed Prognosticator and Time Traveler, and me, Number One, still his Personal Spokesperson, thought you might like.

Dixi

Nostra Update 2

I was right! That whole Aspen Renewal Seminar story was bullshit. Apparently there is a faction that really wants to get rid of Number One and staged this scam as a cover story. 

This is exciting breaking news stuff. I want to keep you minute by minute informed but I'll hold off until I get the full story.
LLP

Nostra update

For those of you keeping up, there is some kind of a hostile takeover or power struggle happening right now at Nostradamus Speaks. I am getting bits and pieces but nobody seems to know who is in charge or anything. 

Troubling development. But exciting!

LLP

Nostradamus Speaks - Announcement

From the Office of the Chief of Staff to the Right Honorable Doctor Michel de Nostradamus

I am pleased to announce that Nostradamus Speaks will suspend publication while officers and staff attend our annual Renewal Seminar and Training program in Aspen, Colorado.

We eagerly look forward to this yearly event which renews our dedication to our readers and our core mission of Predicting the Future!

Thank you for your loyalty!

Sincerely, Walt Mitty Jr., Chief of Staff

Dixi


Note: 
WTF? Sounds like complete and total corporate bullshit to me. This is really fucked! Maybe shit got too real for the empty suits at the top so they shit canned Nostra's spokesperson. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! Bummer.
LLP

NostraD - Pumped!

Pumped!

I was stoked, pumped, jacked! For the first time in a long time I had good news to report as I waited for the Boss to show for our 9:30 at Peet's on the Hill.

Here he came. You could say commanding presence just by the way he dressed: Southern California de rigueur - shorts, t-shirt, and flip-flops (but curiously, socks?). Ignore the socks, Dr. Michel de Nostradamus is indeed The Man.

"Boss, Boss," I yelled in a curiously higher pitch than normal before he could even sit down, "Your numbers are in! The base is loving it!"

"Hold on there, Hoss," the Boss said, "Slow down. What do you mean by the numbers and the base and loving what?"

"The new you, the old you, back to basics, predicting, man, predicting!" I was beside myself. "We took a dive when it was reported you drove a Dodge Dart but after the sleek black Mercedes limo the sleeper cells went wild! Your numbers are way up!"

"Mon dieu." I could hear the maestro mutter to himself but I don't speak Italian or Latin or whatever so I don't know what he was saying. But that was not what was important.

"So," I asked, "What do you think?"

"Number One," Dr. N said, "I'm not feeling well, can we reschedule?"

"Sure thing, Boss," I replied, "Whatever you say."

I was disappointed but nevertheless, this was a good day! A very good day indeed!

Dixi

Nostradamus - Jumping the Shark

Jumping the Shark

The second meeting wherein Dr. Nostradamus would do some predicting did not go well. He was already at Starbucks when I got there about 5:30 p.m. As I sat down I noticed one of those little mini-bar shot sized bottles of liquor on the table. 

I sipped a bit at my mocha latte and began thumbing through the Feedback From Sleeper Cell Sleepers inbox. "Alice from South Dakota is back," I said.

"Just read it," Dr. N said.

She writes: "Nostra you don't know anything about me or my boyfriend Hank so get off your high horse thinking you can predict where our love will go and you are just hating on him because you are old, fat, and jealous. Drop dead." 

Nostradamus sighed, "Number One, some of the letters in your digital stack should go to an advice column or someone or somewhere else, but not me."

"You are absolutely right Boss," I said, "I'll screen them."

"I'm not fat." Nostra said. "Do I look fat?" 

"No, Boss," I reassured him, "You're not fat."

Dr. N opened the little bottle of booze and poured it into his coffee. "Next." he said.

This from William Robert of Fredericksburg: 
"Dear Doctor Nostradamus,"

"So far so good," Dr. N interrupted.

"I appreciate very much your thoughtful and insightful commentary on our world and these great United States of America."

"Keep it coming," Dr. N interrupted again, "All I want is a little respect, r-e-s-p-e-c-t."

"Please predict for me and your readers how many eons you will suffer in purgatory before the Mighty Hand of God smites you into the eternal fires of Hell for your blasphemy. Sincerely, Yours in Christ, Rev. William Robert."

"How long is an eon, Grasshopper?" Nostra asked.

"I don't know Sensei." I answered truthfully.

"Me either," he said. "I guess I can't answer Billy Bob's question then, can I?"

Me, "Nope."

Dr. N pulled out yet another mini-bar bottle. Jack Daniels this time. "Next."

Jimmy from New York wants to know what is going to happen to Trump.

Doctor Nostradamus responded. "Good question but again, the wrong question. What Jimmy should ask is what is going to happen to Jimmy. Illusions and fantasies are concentrated psychological and social energy and, like when they canceled Dallas or Mash the fans went.... 

"Sensei, Boss," I interrupted, "I don't want to interrupt but there are two barristers, now three, looking at us through the window and one is on the phone. Considering the pile of empty little booze bottles on the table, we should mosey on outta here."

"Whatever you say, Apprentice." Dr. N replied, standing up, steadying himself on the rail. "Lead the way."

I led the way, out off the veranda, between a row of parked cars, across a few more parking lanes and then in the direction of my car. Clearly, Dr. Nostradamus was in no condition and I would have to drive him back to his house, apartment, hotel, or homeless shelter, or wherever he laid his hat and called his home. 

Just then a police car with flashing lights pulled up and gave off one of those short beeps that says in police car talk, "Halt!"

"Fuck, shit," I muttered, "Do you have your ID on you?"

Dr. N didn't answer, he just kinda closed his eyes and swayed from side to side. Not good.

Two cops got out. One stood by the driver's door scowling and watching us; the other approached. He was polite and professional but shined his light into my and Dr. Nostradamus' eyes. "I'm sorry to interrupt gentlemen, but we have a report of public intoxication. Can I see your identification?"

Dr. N straightened up, rather unsteadily, squinted his eyes against the flashlight's beam, and slurring his words, mumbled, "These are not the drunks you are looking for."

The polite cop turned to his scowling partner, "These are not the drunks we are looking for."

With that the cops got back in their patrol car and drove away.

"Fuck, shit!" I had to laugh. "Unbelievable!"

So I gently and carefully led the very great and very drunk Dr. Michel de Nostradamus across the parking lot. But the way to my car was blocked by a sleek black Mercedes limousine that had pulled across three full parking spaces. "Rich, entitled, inconsiderate bastards," I commented to my drunk friend. 

As we started to go around, the limo driver got out, dressed in one of those old-fashioned chauffeur uniforms with the funny hat and white gloves. "Good evening, Doctor," he said while opening the passenger door. "Your appointment has been confirmed. Will Number One be attending?"

"No." Doctor Michel de Nostradamus said, "Thank you, James."

Then, turning to me said,"Number One, we will address sleeper concerns as they arise but we must focus more attention on tradecraft."

"You're not drunk at all, are you Sensei?" I said.

Dr. Nostradamus replied matter of factly, "You've got to be able to handle your liquor in this business. And that wasn't even liquor."

With that the good doctor got into the limo. The driver closed the door after him, turned to me, nodded slightly, and then got back into the driver's side and drove off.

"Who is that guy?" I muttered.

Dixi

Nostradamus - Prognostications

Prognostications

Shit was starting to get real so I texted Dr. Nostradamus on the important-stuff-only hotline using a prearranged code alerting him that we had a problem: "Houston, we have a problem."

His response was immediate, almost before my finger lifted off the send button on my iPhone: "Roger, meet you at the same Starbucks as last time. 10:30 a.m. N."

I texted back: "I'm not Roger, who's this?"

Dr. N: It's me, N. N.

Reassured, I confirmed the 10:30 appointment and went back to watching Morning Joe. It was 6:00 a.m. giving me four and a half hours to watch more news, eat breakfast, walk the dogs, and still make it on time. I didn't want to be late for what promised to be a very important meeting.

The doctor was already at the coffee shop when I arrived. I could see he had ordered a grande flavored coffee drink, with whipped cream and sprinkles. 

"What's the problem?" Dr. N asked, even before I could sit down.

"Boss," I said, "The natives are getting restless. I am getting flak from all over. Many of the sleeper cell coordinators are suggesting that maybe it is time you started, you know, like, prognosticating."

The great prognosticator and time traveler Dr. Michel de Nostradamus fixed me with a withering stare, "Who is saying this?"

"I don't want to rat out anybody, but apparently the sleeper cell activation code I fucked up still had the incomplete effect of disturbing a lot of sleepers." I explained.

"How so?" he asked.

"Look Boss," I said, "Maybe it's just time you started predicting stuff."

N was defensive, "Predicting what?"

"The future!" I said, in a very loud voice, practically shouting. "Predicting the future! Do your job for crying out loud!"

People started looking our way.

I immediately backed off and told him that I needed to get some coffee. 

"Get me a triple shot of espresso while you are up there," he said, "I need to get jacked for this."

I  came back with my coffee and his triple espresso which he poured into his grande flavored coffee drink with sprinkles. "Okay," he said, "Let's do this."

"Boss," I said, "I've got a whole laundry list of questions here that have been dumped onto my desk (actually into my iPhone text message app). "Are you sure?"

"Go." he said.

"Okay," I said, "Here goes. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Go." he said.

Dolores in Duluth wants to know what numbers to pick for the lottery next week.
N: She is not asking for a prediction. Next.

Alex in Rhode Island wants to hire a manager for his family business. The guy who talks the best game has a track record of lying, cheating, stealing, and bankrupting businesses. Alex says he is  going to hire him because he likes what he says. What's going to happen?
N: He will lie, cheat, steal, and bankrupt your business. Next.

Alice in South Dakota wants to know if her boyfriend will cheat on her again.
N: Yes. Next.

Dr. N was pissed. "Who am I, Dear Abby?!? Have you even screened these questions?"

"Boss," I said, "These are questions from your sleeper cell sleepers. I assumed you or somebody had already vetted them."

"Go on." he said.

A grandfather in Southern California wants assurance that everything is going to be okay.
N: I'm not a soothsayer, as in saying soothing things. Next.

DeVito in Los Angeles wants to know what job fields are going to open up in the future for his kids and grand kids and so on down the line.
N: Finally a question worthy of my talents. But it is the wrong question. DeVito should not ask what job fields are going to open up in the future but who will succeed in adapting to and moving into whatever fields do open up.

So, the answer to the question that was not asked but should have been is this: Those people and their descendants who are grounded in the natural world and guided by the light of practical reason will be able to face a rapidly changing and challenging world with learning, intelligence and adaptability. 

Those poor bastards who were indoctrinated into magical thinking, religious ideologies, and a contempt for science and learning will be day laborers picking strawberries in the Central Valley. 

"How many more questions are there? My brain is full." Dr. N was obviously weary. "

"Lots," I said, "But we can get into those later. Do you want to take a break?"

"Yes," he said. "Let's meet again in a few days."

So I respectfully took my leave of the great Doctor Michel de Nostradamus sipping away at his supercharged Starbucks coffee drink.

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - A Workplace Dispute

A Workplace Dispute

"Dr. N," I texted, "You need to come up with a new sleeper cell activation code. I screwed up the last one by misspelling a word in the third iteration. Sorry. But my mistake might work out for the best -- have you really thought this thing through?"

Dr. Nostradamus was prompt whenever I used the very-important-stuff-only text message account, "What do you mean Grasshopper?"

"I mean," I texted, "Maybe you should let sleeping dogs lie; what if your sleepers don't want to get woke; what if they're not ready?"

Dr. N:  Good point. I'll hold off for a while. Anything else?

Me:  Yes. Now that I've got you on the line, so to speak, why do you insist on publishing your Nostradamus Speaks bulletins in a verbatim dialog format? Whatever happened to the tried and true quatrains of yesteryear?

Dr. N:  That was then, this is now. Paper, printing, distribution. The internet was  v e r y  s l o w  back in the day. 

Me:  Hahahahaha. A joke. But you didn't answer my question. 

Dr. N:  Okay, all seriousness aside, dialog, conversation, give-and-take, verbal exchange, etc., is the best way ideas evolve and humans learn from each other.

Me:  It's, "all joking aside", but I get your point, up to a point. 

Dr. N:  What's your point?

At that point I had had it up to here.

Me:  My point is you sound like a pointy headed intellectual jerking me around when I have serious questions I think deserve answers. This conversation is over.

Dr. N:  Don't go away mad; just go away. And keep the text message account limited to very important stuff only. N.

I'm going to demand a raise because they don't pay me enough for this shit. And I really don't care if I get fired.

Dixi

Note: I don't want to get into the middle of what seems like a petty little squabble between Doctor Nostradamus and his spokesperson, and I seriously considered not passing this on to you. But I came down on the side of letting you decide what to make of it.
LLP 

Nostradamus Speaks - The Rain in Spain

The Rain in Spain.......

The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.
The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.
The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plane.

I couldn't get that My Fair Lady lyric out of my head as I waited for Dr. Nostradamus to show up for our scheduled 3:15 p.m. appointment at Peet's on the hill. He was 15 minutes late and I was getting grumpy.

This gig as the One and Only Chief Spokesperson for the Famed Prognosticator and Time Traveler Dr. Michel de Nostradamus is getting to be more than I signed on for. I am getting blowback from sleeper cell coordinators all over the place. They are getting shit and shit flows uphill and the buck stops here because a big part of my job is simply to insulate the boss from the incredible number of nut jobs out there. 

There are those who accuse me making this shit up. Trust me, you can't make this shit up. Then there are those who indignantly accuse me of appropriating the great Nostradamus name. Hey, don't kill the messenger. I'm just a coffee boy and the pay is hardly worth the hassle. A large number of people think I'm off my meds. I'm not. Some guy is convinced it's gluten that's making me crazy. Apparently, the mere mention of me ordering three glazed and three plain donuts at a donut shop made him crazy. 

The list goes on. We'll see if the sleeper cell activation code works it's magic and I start getting the respect I deserve.

Ding goes my iPhone text message alert: "Number One, sorry I have to cancel. Unexpected high level meeting. N."

This was the third meeting Dr. N. canceled at the last minute or even after the last minute leaving me cooling my heels. I have a low level life you know.

I texted him back: "Okay Boss, I get it. You win. Let's go back to the old way where you just show up unannounced whenever and wherever you want. I will either be there or not."

With that I got up and walked over to my still running vintage 1987 Yugo. This thing is going to be a collector's item someday and I am going to be rich. 

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - Invasion of Privacy

Invasion of Privacy

At 8:50 a.m. Tuesday I arrived at a Peet's coffee that I frequent now and then to partake of their excellent brew. I fully expected Dr. Nostradamus to already be there or to arrive promptly at 9:00. Nothing had been said at our last meeting in a local donut shop as to where we should meet next, only when. At that meeting I must admit I had been spooked that the great prognosticator was already waiting for me. I had gone to great lengths to avoid giving any hint of where I would be. But mamma didn't raise no fool and I had a pretty good idea how he did it. Spookiness need not apply.

So I got a double shot of espresso, topped it off with 2% milk, balanced that with half and half, and went back out into the warm sunlight where the maestro and I could have a leisurely discussion about this and that. I was feeling smug and self-assured.

Promptly at 9:00 a.m. here he comes, "So, you turned your phone off just before you left your house and it's still off. Did you think I couldn't find you?"

So much for pleasantries. I responded confidently, "Actually, Doctor, I was pretty sure you could find me. Where did you get the app that can track my phone when it is off?"

Dr. N paused for a moment before essentially admitting what I suspected, "It's not so much an app but an algorithm, a freakingly good super algorithm. But I can't tell you where I got it."

"Duh, let me guess?" I said, "CIA?"

Dr. Nostradamus got serious, "That's a pedestrian guess, but no, Number One, it's not the CIA. In fact, the source that developed the code is very, very concerned that if the Americans get hold of it the Saudis and Russians will have it before the end of business day."

"Hmm," I hmmed, "My next guess is Mossad."

Dr. N confirmed my hunch, "I will neither confirm nor deny that it is Mossad." 

"Can I see your phone?" I asked.  

"No," he replied,  "And it wouldn't help. It is virtually undetectable."

"Okay, so much for trust," I said, "But let's move on, you have pretty much confirmed what I suspected about how you found me at the donut shop. Weren't no super powers involved." My self confidence was growing by leaps and bounds.

"Do tell." he said, sitting back in his chair.

So I telled it. "Your Mossad Mother of all Algorithms super code software tracking app hacked into my Google search history and saw that I had zoomed onto that strip mall and the donut shop before I left home. The algorithm crunched the data and numbers and spit out my likely destination to a high degree of confidence. Even still, you were just lucky that I had not changed my mind at the last minute. Am I right or am I right?"

"Yes, yes, and yes. Well done, Grasshopper, well done." The great Dr. Nostradamus caved. 

I seized the advantage, "So are you always going to spy on me? I am not happy with what is a monumental intrusion and invasion of privacy. And I don't like the idea of being so predictable. Do you spy on everybody?"

Dr. N replied evenly, "No, I don't spy on everybody. I track a handful of trusted associates and then only when I need to locate them in a hurry. A side benefit is it tests how susceptible my team is to magical thinking. Are they going to work through a challenge with practical reason or opt for the easy, lazy, and always wrong conclusion that supernatural powers are at play. Or to put it another way, am I dealing with adults or children."

Dr. N's calm response took me aback, "Yikes, sounds like no more Mr. Nice Guy."

"That's right, Dungbeetle," he said, "No more Mr. Nice Guy. Did you broadcast the sleeper cell activation code as instructed?"

"Uh, no," I stammered, "Not yet."

"Why not?" he said.

I regained my composure, "Because it was dumb, Sensei. "The river stinks" or whatever, three times a row was impossible to frame in an innocuous way. It would make me look like an idiot and I have to maintain my credibility." I paused, "But if you insist, I'll do it."

"Forget it," he said, "The code has timed out and I'll have to come up with a new one." 

"Am I fired?" I hesitantly asked, seriously worried that I had blown the best gig I ever had.

"No, you're not fired, Grasshopper," he reassured me, "You are actually doing better than expected. So, until next time." 

With that Dr. Michel de Nostradamus, the famed prognosticator and time traveler walked away. I watched as he got into a battered old Dodge Dart and drove off.  I would've thought a Mercedes at least. Or a Peugeot.

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - Secret Agent Man

Secret Agent Man

“Dr. N, must talk ASAP re sleeper cell activations.”

That was the text message I sent to my employer Dr. Michel de Nostradamus, the famed prognosticator and time traveler using our exclusive-use-only-on-important-occasions-text-message-account.

I received an immediate response: “Is this important?”

Me: “Yes. In case you didn’t notice I used the exclusive-use-only-on-important-occasions-text-message-account.”

Dr. N: “Meet me at 2:15 p.m.”

Me: “Thank you. Where?”

Dr. N: “Be there.”

Now where in the blankety-blank is there? Oh, right, he’s the man and there’s an app for that.

So at 2:10 p.m. sharp I drove to the nearest strip mall and circled the lot until 2:14 p.m. when I parked and then, at exactly 2:15 p.m. stepped into a donut shop I had never before visited. I’ll show the man who's the man.

No sooner had the bell on the door handle stopped jingling behind me and my eyes adapted to the dim light than who should I see hunched over a cheap formica top table munching on a puffy glazed donut? Who else?

“Dr. N,” I said, “This is spooky and I’m getting paranoid.”

“Chill, Number One,” the good doctor said, “I'll cover this when we get to the time travel and free will sections of the course. Now, what's so important?”

“Boss,” I said, “I am getting blowback from several of my sleeper cell coordinators. A significant number of your so-called “sleepers” have no idea they are even in a sleeper cell; don’t want to be in a sleeper cell; and don’t want to get woke, whatever that means.”

“That’s not your problem, Grasshopper,” Dr N said, “It’s mine. And it’s not even a problem. This is what you need to do now; pay attention:  In your next posting include the words, “the River Sphinx” three times in a row."

“Huh?” I stammered. “That doesn’t even make sense."

Dr. Nostradamus repeated himself, “I’m going to repeat myself to make sure you know exactly what it is you have to do. In your next communique include the words, “the River Sphinx” three times in a row. That's an activation code. Find an innocuous context that will not arouse suspicion or even curiosity. Works like a charm, which it is.”

“Wow!” I said, “Wow!” I am not easily impressed but this was impressive -- secret agent stuff. 

“Are we done?” he asked.

Recovering from my awe I quickly down shifted. “Dr N,” I asked, “Why are you doing all this? And why me?”

“Those are discussions for another time, Grasshopper,” Michel de Nostradamus replied, “See you Tuesday at 9:00 a.m.”

“Okay Sensei, see you then.” 

With that the good doctor rose and walked out, the door bells jingling behind him.

“Where?!” I shouted after him. "Oh, never mind.” I turned back muttering to myself.

Walking over to the counter I asked the clerk, “Did you see the guy who just left?”

“You mean the guy with the beard you yelled at?” She answered. “Why?”

“Never mind.” I said. “I’ll have three glazed and three plain."

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - Redux

Redux

It had been more than a year or two or five, since last I encountered my mentor and employer, the famed prognosticator and time traveler Dr. Michel de Nostradamus. Thus startled was I when the barrister at the far end of the Starbucks counter announced, “Nostradamus, latte.” 

Leaning back in my chair to better look, see, there he stood, looking like he had just stepped out of the Google images portrait painted by his son, retrieving his latte.  

I well knew why he was here, and how he had found me. (There’s an app for that.)

 “Good morning, Doctor,” I said, standing out of respect as he approached.

He shook my hand. “Bonjour, Number One.” Michel de Nostradamus said, and wasting no time on small talk, “I want you to resume distribution of Nostradamus Speaks.”

“Okay.” I said, and then somewhat tentatively. “So to be perfectly clear, you want me to active my sleeper cells?”

“Correctamente,” he replied, “Prime the pump.”

With that, Dr. Michel de Nostradamus turned and walked out, leaving me with the unsettling uncertainty that in these uncertain times something big was coming down the pike. Or not.

Dixi

Note: Huh? I was as surprised as you must be to receive this message. And what's with that curious reference to “sleeper cells”? Nobody asked me if I wanted to be part of a sleeper cell. And, even if I did, whether I wanted to be woke. I briefly entertained the option of dropping out of a cell I never even knew I was in but my curiosity got the best of me, thinking, what the hey, this might be good. At any rate, I will pass these messages on as I get them.

LLP