Subject: CODY: KNOCKING ON HEAVEN'S GATE From: email@example.com (Mithryl) Date: 1997/03/30 Message-Id: <firstname.lastname@example.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage,alt.sex.stories,rec.arts.prose KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCKING ON HEAVEN'S GATE by Cody Ann Michaels c. All rights reserved "This earth is about to be recycled." -- Do "You must leave now, take what you need you think will last but whatever you're going to take you'd better grab it fast. Yonder stands your orphan with a gun, burning like a fire in the sun." -- Dylan (quoted from memory) It's All Over Now, Baby Blue Don Juan said that adventurous men, faced with the choice of dying in the world of ordinary affairs or dying in unknown worlds, will unavoidably choose the latter, and that the new seers, realizing that their predecessors had chosen merely to change the locale of their death, came to understand the futility of it all; the futility of struggling to control their fellow men, the futility of assembling other worlds, and, above all, the futility of self-importance. -- C. Castaneda, THE FIRE FROM WITHIN "We just wish you could all be here and doing what we are doing." -- woman on video left by Heaven's Gate, Class of 97. * Howdy. There for a while you were posting nearly every day, then, poof. <bye> Gone. Just wanted to make sure you were still around. I'm still here, still having fun... -- Ole Joe (email) * Dear Joe, Thanks for your concern. Yes. I'm still around. I think I got sort of burnt out, though. The fact is, I don't want to keep writing political stuff, because it just doesn't seem to make any difference. Also, no matter how bizarre my stuff is, I can never keep up with the world. I started to work on a pornographic novel, but it bogged down. Then I got sick. I'm better now. But I still don't have much to say. A lot's been happening. There's a thunderstorm going on right now. I enjoyed your story about the door. It reminded me of Gran. When I was there, she got it into her head that one of the screen doors on her trailer was broken. The door did what most doors do, it opened and shut, but not quite all the way. But once Gran gets something in to her head, she's like a pit bull with lockjaw. She just couldn't leave it alone. She would spend hours opening and closing the door, to see why it wouldn't shut all the way. It was supposed to go click, like you know, when you plug a cord into a phon e outlet, and it didn't. It just shut. But no click. I thought she would drive me crazy. Of course, I told her to have someone come and fix it, but she didn't want to spend the money. She kept asking me to look at it. I didn't see anything. I think the frame was bent a little. But if you pulled it, it would stay shut, but she didn't want to do that. It was supposed to shut on its own. Anyway, that's what your letter reminded me of. Since I got back, I think I had a brain hemmorhage, because I can't seem to remember anything before last week. The pills I was taking for my cold. Tylenol. It makes you spacy. At least it does me. I think I spent the week in a coma. When I woke up , the first think I heard about was Heaven's Gate. That and O.J. At first I thought they were the same story. But then I figured it out that Heaven's Gate had nothing to do with O.J. Simpson. I was watching this video, you know the one where Do is telling everyone that it's time. If you want to survive... etc. The other thing, the sheriff's deputies were cleaning out O.J.'s rec room, carting away his memorabilia. It was good Friday. Somehow, the image of the Brown and Goldman families casting lots for the crucified O.J.'s old footballs was deeply satisfying. Of course, the burning mystery is what happened to the Grail... oops, the Heisman? I thought, maybe the Higher Source people had it. Wouldn't that be a kick? Of course, I didn't know the people in Heaven's Gate, but after watching the videos, I feel like I did. They were very convincing. I'm very grateful to ABC for televising them to a national audience, especially one composed of highly impressionable peo ple who are just looking for a sign like Hale Bopp to, well, bop. Hail Mary, Hale Bopp. I don't know why I can't remember anything. Isn't that odd. I'm just starting to realize the last three weeks are almost a total blank. That's odd, isn't it? I'm sure it's not the phenobarithal I took to sleep. It's almost as if I went to sleep one place and woke up in another. That's another story I'm working on -- if I ever get the time. About waking up in different places, and never knowing if you're awake or not. It's odd about Hidden... Hale... Higher Source. I don't mean that they're dead, or that they are supposed to have killed themselves. I mean, that, well, maybe they were angels. I could believe that. I mean, aren't we all, really? We've just forgotten it. And they remembered. And split. I can't say that I blame them. I mean, enough is enough. One of them said, "If the humans were told the truth about what was going on on this planet, they'd be shocked and wouldn't continue in their 8-to-5 slavery and ignorance." That may be a little idealistic. Actually, I think the humans know exactly what is going on, or at least have a good idea, and they are keeping their heads down and shitting in their pants, hoping they won't get called on. I mean, it's true, I don't know what happened (much) during the past three weeks, but let me guess. A new memo disclosed Clinton rented out Chelsea's bedroom to the Chinese ambassador in return for a fifty dollar campaign contribution. The Holocaust Cloning project is up and running. Newt has still not paid his fine... My mind's blank. What's going on? Earlier today I was livid. What happened? Now, I couldn't care less. But what was I mad about? Oh yeah, software strategy games. You know what I found out tonight -- I think that's what did it. Why I feel like I've been hit over the head. The Oscar equivalent of the software awards is called Cody. Okay. It's spelled codie, but when you say it... Now I remember where I've been for the last three weeks. Playing software strategy games. This was on Computer Chronicles. I turned the set on, and there was the most hated man in America. Stewart Cheifet, the guy who runs Computer Chronicles. Would n't you just love to kill Stewart Cheifet? And to see him standing there, saying my name, while he handed out prizes to software programmers was more than I could bear. My whole system crashed. I wanted to see if someone would get a prize for the most difficult software game. The one that is the most mind numbing. I mean, getting the hardware and software that you paid for to work. And making phone calls. The phone calls are the worst. Let me explain, nobody answers the phone anymore. Phone answering is a dead language. Back there with the Sumerians. And the Hitites. No. Instead, now it is all done by robots. Speaking robotic. First they tell you about their website. You are like c alling to get a price on say, a CD Rom drive, and this cheery woman is mouthing dot this and dot that. Then they go into the numbers. I can't tell you. It is too painful. Then they find out you have a rotary phone. I have to tell you, rotary telephone users take a beating nowadays. I can see why a lot of them commit suicide, go Hale Bopp. Like life on a comet cannot compare to life on a rotary. I have two. AND I WILL NEVER GIVE THEM UP. I will give up the Greg orian calendar first. There was an article in today's paper about how they are trying to get the Gregorian and the Julian calendarists to agree on Easter. Fat chance. I never knew how Easter was computed before. It's the Sunday after Passover as it wo uld have been computed in Jesus's time; that is as beginning on the first full moon after the vernal equinox. But, since the equinox comes on different dates in the two calendars, so does Easter. The next time the two great divisions of the Christian re ligion will celebrate Easter on the same day will be 2001. Which is the first year of the next millenium. Not 2000, idiots! I noticed the Times didn't have the guts to come right out and say that. It sort of hemmed and hawed around the edges without trying to offend anyone. I mean, if you can move the international dateline, why can't you actually move the millenium itself. Was that a dream I had? Someplace out in the Pacific, someone moved the IDL east about two time zones, wrapping it around some little island, yeah, Christmas Island, so the millenium would start there. So essentially, they were moving themselves into the future. Right? By two hours. So let's see, how far into the future do you have to stretch the line to get it to January 1, 2001? I mean, you'd have to go around a lot of times. 365. 2000 is not a leap year. So it would only be 365. Not 366. Y eah, if you hooked the dateline over the year 2001, you could get 2000 to be the millenium. Or is it the other way around? Maybe that's why I get these ideas. Watching my rotary spin around. It's so resting. Mesmerizing you might say. It sort of calms my nerves, as I make the next call. Briefly, the story is this. I bought a Divot 3040 laptop at Christmas. Okay, Gran bought it. No. Before that, I bought a Packard Bell... It's no use. I can't talk about it. Everything is jumbled together. Those people at Heaven's Gate were computer people. I thought, wouldn't it be nice if all computer companies were cults who would eventually commit suicide. When their programs ran out. I thought that was what had happ ened at Divot. They were all dead. And all that was left to answer the phone was this stupid robot who was giving me shit about having a rotary. First of all, she gave me the entire dot routine all over again. Visit us on the Internet at dot.shithead. dot.asshole.dot.let me speak to a fucking humaan being you asshole turkey whore. Dot calm. Be calm, Codie. After all, they named their prize after you. Dot calm. Just cool it. It used to be if you just waited them out, eventually they let you talk t o a person. But now they have a new gimmick. Voice recognition. Say one. Say two. Say I hate your fucking guts. But if you do that, they make you start at the beginning. So it's best to go along with what they tell you to do and relinquish all mind control. Say one. I did. But I made a mistake. I said "one, please." I was only trying to be polite. But they made me start all over. I'm telling you, it's like having a dominatrix. In fact, it is a dominatrix. She sounds just like Kelly when sh e's making someone lick her cunt. Dot calm. What I wanted to ask was ... I forget. That happens a lot, too. You get so engrossed in following orders that when someone asks you what you want, you forget. Oh, geez, what was it. Now I remember. I want my pcmcia card to work with my so ftware. Is that too much to ask? I mean, I paid an extra 200 dollars for this card because the fucking computer didn't come with a modem installed. The Packard Bell did, but it didn't work. Nothing on the Packard Bell worked. It was totally the most trumatic week of my life. I thought I would kill Gran, she kept interrupting while I was trying to get it to work. And on top of that, they didn't have an 800 number. To get customer assistance, I had to pay long distance to Utah. I ran up a two hundred dolla r phone bill. Gran nearly shit. Well, actually, Gran shits all the time. That's all she talks about. Shitting her pants. It drives you mad. Especially if you are trying to configure Windows. I hate Windows. As far as I am concerned, Bill Gates is the anti-Christ. When it comes to getting people to stick their heads in a noose, Herff Applewhite is a rough amateur compared to Gates. Windows is the worst computer game I ever tried to play. (They even gave the top Cody to Microsoft Explorer. I cou ldn't believe it. That piece of shit. I felt totally violated. Used. Integrity is as dead as the Sumerians.) Which takes me back to Stewart Cheifet. If Bill Gates is the a.c., Cheifet is the anti-pope. Okay, maybe that's a little melodramatic, but I bet you Stewart Cheifet never had to hang on a rotary and wait for some asshole robot to finish reciting numbers before he could find out why some program didn't work or wasn't even the fuck there. I bet when Stu can't get a program to work there are about a dozen asskissers instantly there, massaging his machine with free software. I have still not reached Divot. When I finally got to the final obstacle in this computer strategy game, I was told that the Customer Assistance Center was closed, and that business hours were from seven to eleven on weekdays and eight-thirty to five oc lock on Saturday. This is Saturday. At least it is in my calendar, but apparently Saturday does not mean the same thing to the people at Divot as it does to the rest of us -- you know, like the day after Friday -- or they are all dead. God, I hope so. Someone told me that what I needed was a socket program. The software with the XTC pc card determined that I did not have a socket program or a pcmcia controller. At least, it couldn't find it. They said I could buy one or Divot would send it to me. This is not sick humor. This is what is. (One program is called Hard Wizard by System Soft. If anyone knows where I can get it, please let me know. I'm serious.) What I wanted to ask Divot was why, since they had sold me a two thousand dollar compute r with two slots in it, they hadn't thrown in a controller at the same time. I mean, come on, be a sport. I'm only a little girl. This is child abuse. You can see why Do and his friends killed themselves, can't you? Actually, though, maybe they knew something we didn't. Like the guy said, if humans knew what was really going on... What did he mean by that? Maybe he didn't mean International Jewish Conspiracy like everybody immediately assumes. Maybe he was referring to something even worse. Like Rock 1. Out there coming towards us. The big pie in the sky in the face routine. Splat. I'm splitting. You must leave now, take what you need... What's it all about, Alfie? You mean we're going to die? You mean it's all happening in our lifetime? The Living Dead. The big bang. High Resolution TV. I was watching an ice skating show the other night and I thought, boy, HR tv is not going to do these people any favors. Wait until my grandmother sees what Peter Jennings really looks like. The Beast from 20 Fathoms. My mind keeps bouncing off of something. Something I don't want to look at. Oh yeah, the gun. It doesn't matter how you leave. You just do it. And the game's over. Isn't it? It's funny, you know, no one ever noticed that what Castaneda is describi ng when Don Juan and his party of sorcerors "disappear from this earth" is what the New York Times would call a mass suicide. People in Argentina used to disappear, too, but that was because the Army was dropping them out of airplanes into the ocean. Bu t Don Juan and his friends just disappeared. Right before his eyes. Or so Carlos tells it. No messy burials. No bodies. Nothing to clean up afterward. Of course, the people at Heaven's Gate were neatly laid out, but still, the sheriff's department h ad to come in and take them away. But that's not their fault. They would have made arrangements ahead of time, I'm sure, but they knew if they did they would probably have to answer a lot of questions, so it was better not to. Who can blame them? Why make a fuss? Just do it, and get on with it. I can understand that. What I can't figure out is what were they doing here? I mean, if they were angels. Angels writing computer code. Seems strange, doesn't it? I checked thei r website. It's very professional. They even did something for Madonna. I mean, they had to be good, if they could afford the $10,000 a month rent on that house they were living in. Right? I wonder if they got an award. At the Codys. I would have l iked Do and his crew -- that's what they called themselves, a "crew" -- to have had a Cody before they went. Something to take with them. In Castaneda's book, it's a woman named Carol. Carol is the naghual woman. She accompanies the party of the old n aghual when it leaves the earth. In other words, she dies. With them. Like queens in ancient Egypt and the middle-east. They follow their husband to the grave. The difference is, Carol is of Castaneda's party. Not Don Juan's. She's like a blood sac rifice to the elders. And Castaneda forgets her. It takes many years before he remembers her again. By that time, he is trying desperately to remember what happened between him and Don Juan. He has even forgotten he has his own party. A company of wa rriors who must figure out how to escape the Eagle. The Eagle is Hale-Bopp. It is something. Don Juan calls it an Eagle. But what it really is is a devourer of souls of the dead. The strategy of the naghual's party is to escape the Eagle, which is ca lled the Eagle's Gift. Some gift. Everyone is going to die, but the warrior, don Juan says, has the gift of knowing it is possible to escape the Eagle. He does this by conserving his strength -- no sex -- and turning it into energy. You find this in G reek mythology, too. When you cross the river, you will see a spring where you can quench your thirst. But when you drink its waters, you forget. So do not drink. Be warned. I think there's another spring, too, where you're supposed to drink, but I forget. I read it once in a poem. So be careful. It's easy to forget. In fact, it's almost impossible not to. It's like self annihilation. The only chance is to go with Do. And his friends. You know, in a certain sense, the media are like blood clotting a wound. They cover it over and make a scar, putting a spin on it, and it carries the attention away from what actually happened. All those programs filtering out into th e internet. Eating subliminally into people's minds. Spamming America. Yeah, the great globe itself. Like wow. He touched me. You know he did. I could feel it. Especially when I saw him the other night. Like I'd known him all my life. The celest ial choirmaster on Space Ship ... farm animals. He was Bo and she was Peep. Shepherding us. For what? What happens to animals? Hey, wait a minute, Charlie. If they were angels, what were we? What do angels eat? I looked at the gun. Maybe being dead wasn't such a bad idea after all. I mean, I wouldn't have to sleep with my father anymore, would I? Or,,, skao never telklk\ i won't nothing happened I watched a three stooges this evening. One of them looked like Koch. A young woman was on trial for murdering her boy friend. She took off her clothes in court and did a hot dance number. Doors. Someone sent me some poems from New Orleans. I liked them. Oh no, please don't. I wanted to write a hot sex story. In it, I imagined I had a dick. I have a lot of fantasies about that. What it must feel like to put something in a woman and feel it. I know what it feels like to me. I wonder what it feels like to a man. I obsess on it. So then I started to have these dreams, and in them, I had a dick. I wasn't a man. I still looked like me. But with a penis. It was wild. That's what I wanted to write. Not this political stuff. Which is a waste of time. Fortunately I get paid for it. I'm a columnist. I get to shoot off my mouth in public and have people stick dollar bills in my g-string. You should try it. What peo ple don't know is under my dress, I have a cock and balls. Then I get caught, and the shit hits the fan. I'm in a bar and this guy reaches into my pants and pulls out my big dicker and lets it hang down between my legs. How much? What'll give me for her. two cows. I want the house. That's outrageous. He killed them. It was mass murder, which is not t he same as mass suicide. Get it. The information had to come from somewhere. It was a tzumi that hit Hawaiiiiiiiiiiiiiii ]at twoi o'clck this morning I thought I'd die. I was worth more than a chicken but less than a cow. I was sure of it. The bidding was way low. What can you get for Esme? He pulled her out. How about this one. She's five. You crime the wings of power over your daughter's clearrings This program keeps track of the mistakes. Like, how many died? And who were they? Give him a Cody for that one. I got a Cody. Everyone got Codies. But if everyone gets a Cody what does it mean? It means you'd better duck. Go low. Go way low. The y practiced their incantantions in the vicinity. Property values shot skyward as family values honed in. Like a precison lens. You have to know what the dimensions are. Look at this one. What do you see? I see a girl. What's she doing? He woke up in a ditch. What happened? You had a vision. I won a Cody. Doesn't matter. We have to get back to the house./ Carlos is waiting. Did you ever happen to think, where did Do get his ideas? From Ti. And where did she get them? Ti was around the southwest when Castaneda was there. I'm not saying anything. I just think it looks suspicious. Her having a baby. And then they left. E You have to understand, knowledge is private. No one knows what you are thinking. They walked back to the house. Then what? He left. This is his Cody. The one he won for geometrical progressions. Each one adds one. Bach made me do it. That's all they heard. Bach. Day and night. In their skulls. Like it was programmed in on a chip. Just waiting to happen. And then the time ran out. They'll always be there. Waiting. Hale Bach. I'll tell you what I want you to do. Imagine it. Just think about what it all means. Is this the way we want it? Shut up in our own little coops laying eggs for the literati? I'm going where the climate suits my clothes. Hell Fire. She walked in. She was in shadow. Her double had cut out. Like a windows paint program. The colors are abysmal. And black leather. You can DO this too. Do said. He showed us how. The formula was in the Times. But they lied. Anyone can do it. You don't need p henobarbithal. Or wood alcohol. You just move the assemblage point. Like this. I thought I'd space. My mind went on like a light bulb. All of a sudden I knew why I hated so many things, and then I realized I didn't have to. So I stopped. I nibbled around the edges, just to see what I could do. Hale Bopp. That's the sound the k eys make when you save a file on Word Perfect. Hale Bopp. The rhythm for saving to disk is a little different. I forgot what I named the file. Knocking. Knock knock knocking on Heaven's Door. Let me in. Richard. Richard why don't you let me in. Like that. I was getting nowhere. My victim still elude me. Where was she? What was she up to? My little demon in the dark. Just don't turn on the light. aggggg it hurts my eyes. Turn it off. I saw her. What she looks like. Who has the trophy? That's the mystery? The holy grail of Football. I mean, where is it? This was the quest. To bring the grail home. This is it. On old tin cup my father used. When he took me camping in the deep woods. Don't tell. I won't. How was it? It was wonderful. I k new he wanted me to say that. But for an old man, he was pretty good in bed. Especially if you're innocent and can't compare him with anyone else except your girl friend. How was it? It was gross. You can't believe what he has between his legs. He s ays all men have it. It looks like eczema. ooooooo There is nothing worse than a self-hating chorus girl feeling like she has to protect her father. And failed. He died anyway. So that just makes it worse. She did it. She killed him. Having sex with his weak heart. I'll never forgive myself. Bo sh owed me how to do it. You take these pills and a glass of water you'd better lie down. Right in the middle of the courtroom. Dancing with my clothes off. Where did I get the model for that? I could make my dick turn into a girl. And then I would be at it. I dressed her in Barbie castoffs. I have all these Barbies which are the same size as my dick. So they can wear the same clothes. Like this silver lame skin tight sheath. It's looser on the Barbies. I ought to lose some weight. And a blonde wig. Dressed like that, I can fuck anyone. I established rapport with the woman on the other end of the phone. She was berating me for stealing her man and she was going to fuck me. She was real abusive, but it was her dime, so I let her keep talking. A lot of it was hard to take. We manned the hotlines day and night. Listening to people's troubles. So you can see why we're splitting. Like, enough is enough. I'll kill you, she screamed. I'll beat your fucking face into the concrete. I'll ki ck your white ass down fifth avenue you skinny whore. I had to take it. I was getting paid. I just let her keep punching me until I couldn't take it anymore. And then I ... What did you do? Hit her. That was a flaw, wasn't it? Yes/. I'm sorry. Being sorry doesn't count. Go back and do it again. It was like a phone answering machine. A robot. Of course, the woman was dead. She had to be. I had a lot stored up inside me. Kelly? Oh my God, it was Kelly. I've been waiting so long to hit h er like that. It was like a primal energy. All the way back to the Big Bang. Translate this. Privacy. It means Privacy. The cuniform. See that dot. And that com. Those are periods and commas. Did you know that? What does this say? Um,, I can 't tgell. Something about a woman brought on stage and... and... bull. saveage> Scrifice.? That's it. She was scraficed. ] Their communications began to warp speed the wep so that things weren getti gtorght Stuart handed him his Cody What does this meaN? It's assyrian for horse's ass. People assume that when things don't work, it's the web's vault but you my dear are something special. She pulled back and her darling lkittle princess didn't have a head anymore. Just like the Barbies. I pulled their heads off. I have one hanging on a straw stuck up my prick it gets macabre after that. Wilmut was with them. It's just like this. He made one. And this. He made another. We have a conflict. The program does not recognize one and another as synonymous. She got across the bridge and started knocking. It was slowing down. What was happening? What was that? She saw the runway. They taxied in to the little airport below the house. Just like the plane in Kilamanjero. Remember how it ends? Then she walked up the gangway to the schooner and they cast off. Remember. Don't drink the water. * "The new seers burn with the force of alignment," don Juan went on, "with the force of will, which they have turned into the force of intent through a life of impeccability. Intent is the alignment of all the amber emanations of awareness, so it is correct to say that total freedom means total awareness." ... "Freedom is the Eagle's gift to man. Unfortunately, very few men understand that all we need, in order to accept such a magnificent gift, is to have sufficent energy. If that's all we need, then, by all means, we must become misers of energy." op.cid.