The OceanMaker (2014)
After the seas have disappeared, a courageous young female pilot fights
against vicious sky pirates for control of the last remaining source of
water: the clouds.
Director:Lucas MartellWriter:Lucas Martell |
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Friday, May 15, 2015
The Ocean Maker...Great Short CGI film with an important message as well.
(New) Interview with the Devil: Professor Moriarity Part Five By John Pirillo, artwork, stories, videos at ImagineNation
Interview with the Devil: Professor Moriarity
Part Five
By John Pirillo
"Men strive against men, until they realize that all men are one and the same, just images of their own self, good or bad, but all on the same path of knowledge that eventually leads to personal liberation." Professor Moriarity
I had to wonder. If this Moriarity had a brother named Sherlock, and then did all the others as well? Perhaps this explained the inexplicable rivalry and darkness between the two men. Two souls intimately bound, but on such different roads in life that they were bound to clash sooner or later, as all family members do.
But in the case of Holmes and Moriarity, their clashes took on proportions of gods, seizing all about them in a frenzy of destruction and madness.
Before you go ranting about how Holmes would never do that, you must remember that one has already done so. In the Baker Street Universe one Holmes was not only bad, but evil as well. Can you imagine that brilliant intellect turned astray...how much different than Moriarity than could he have become?
The interview continues now:
Finally, able to breathe once more, if a bit tightly after the revelation, I managed to relax my tensed body enough to go to the next question. Please bear in mind that in between these sessions are sometimes hours of time for the necessary recharging, or perhaps for some moments of meditation and thought as to what to pursue next.
If I say nothing else about Professor Moriarity as he calls himself, or the Black Hand, he is a gentleman and a man of honor...to me.
"Okay. Now I'm really in uncharted waters." I replied to him, his eyes looking like dancing pools of light at that moment, as he gave me a look of amusement that only one such as he could achieve.
Morina shifted uncomfortably on her own chair, and whether from concern for our comfort, or discomfort with the direction of our interview, got up and headed out of the room. We could hear her preparing something, though what we didn't know at that time.
"It's okay, lad. Swimming is sometimes best done, when you fear sinking into the depths instead."
I nodded. One thing was for sure. This Moriarity was not like my James, nor like the terror of the Conan Doyle stories. At least the stories I had read. Perhaps he was an extension of yet another Conan Doyle, who turned another path with his writing. At that thought I hurriedly scribbled some notes to myself to look into that possibility and its ramifications.
"Please, Professor Moriarity."
"Morey. Please use my name Morey."
"Professor Morey."
"No, just Morey."
"Morey."
He nodded.
"Did you always know that Sherlock Holmes was your brother?"
He considered that question a long time and I'm sure his answer, which comes next, will tell you why he so carefully considered his response. "Yes and no."
He leaned forward in that same conspiratorial manner he used when becoming intimate with me with the facts. "You see, I was separated from my true parents at birth. I never knew my real father or mother."
"That must have been traumatic."
"Oh, it was, but only once I'd found out I had a brother and knew of all the years of his companionship I had missed. And..." (Here he sighs deeply and his eyes moisten.)..."And to find him only once he's become my worst adversary.
He shook his head, mopped his eyes clear with his sleeve, and then paused to reflect further. "And to know that there could only be one of you alive in your world. That drains a man of heart and spirit."
"I'm sorry for your loss, sir."
He nodded, and then dismissed my words with his next. "Do not be. He was a rogue, a scoundrel, a thief and a murderer of the worst proportions. He alone was responsible for the death of thousands of innocent children and women."
I almost cried out at the horror of those words. He examined my face, and then went on. "A grave is a grave, whether for young or old, male or female. The loss is the humanity. All those souls who might have accomplished..."
He shrugged. Not able to say more.
Suddenly he relaxed when Morina came back in and wrapped her arms about his shoulders and hugged him from behind. "Oh Daddy, if I had only known!"
"I had to protect you." He pleaded, his eyes wetting yet again. "You are all I have of worth in this world and the next, and I would not have you become tainted like my brother had become."
She sat down next to him and too his hands. "I could never be like anyone else but you. You are the flag I follow, the ship I sail upon."
At that moment he broke down and I turned off my cell phone.
Okay, I'm back. I won't tell you what happened during the break. This is something he made me promise not to tell. I will only say that yet again it reminded me of how different this man was from the villainous ones I have written about. This gives me hope that in all of God's vast universe there is hope for good to sprout and take root even in the hardest of soils.
"Are you okay with continuing now?" I asked, my hand poised over my voice recorder app activation button.
He nodded, blew his nose in a pink hanky, and then shoved it into his pocket. He noted my glance and smiled. "Never let anyone think they've got you pegged son, or else they will be using that assumption to nail you to the wall of ignorance for the rest of your life."
"Spoken from experience?"
"Not mine." He laughed, his deep eyes turning crinkly with laughter.
Morina giggled her eyes not on him, but on me. I blushed and activated my cell phone again. It only had about ten minutes more of charge left. So I decided to take a big plunge. Time was nearing for me to catch the bus to the airport and return to America. I think as I thought those words Morina was catching them in her own mind, for she gave me a look of the utmost disappointment, which I couldn't figure out at that time, but later on...after further correspondence did.
"Very well." I looked at Morina. "How old is your daughter?"
"You can't tell?" He asked, a bit surprised. "Knowing my age, what do you think she should be?"
"You look to be in her early twenties."
Morina laughed a deep rich laugh that warmed my soul and shook her head.
Moriarity didn't laugh. "You see, Mister Pirillo, both the blessing and curse of such a long life as I've had is that you can have many daughters. I've had to bury many." He paused, his eyes beginning to water again, and then caught himself. "But no, she is not that young."
She leaned across the table and took my hand which was near the cell phone. I felt this electric shock go up and down my spine. Her eyes widened at the same time. Moriarity caught the exchange and gave us both a look of surprise and confusion.
"I'm one hundred and twenty three in July." She told me in the sweetest voice I have ever heard or probably ever will.
I glanced at my watch, not wanting to show my surprise and...I feel like a scoundrel now for writing this...and my disappointment. How could I ever fall for a woman who was so much older than me?
Yet again, her eyes widened. Her breath caught in her throat and she let out a light moan, as if struck. I felt like a cad, though at that moment I couldn't pinpoint why.
She got up suddenly and left the room.
Moriarity got up. He put his hand out. I took it.
"I think it best I see to my daughter's needs." He spoke. "See yourself out."
He turned to leave, and then looked back. "We'll meet again." He told me with certainty. Then he left the room, leaving me to my own contrivances. I gathered up my cell phone, took a last hit of the excellent tea that Morina had made for us, and headed for the front door. As I closed it I looked back and I'd swear that I saw her inside watching me, a look of intense longing in her face, but when I went to wave at her, she vanished from my view. A most peculiar and disturbing thing.
You'd think that with all my writing and fantastic stories, such an event wouldn't have such an impact on me, but my heart, let alone my soul had been more deeply affected by her presence than I had realized at the time.
And so ends my first interview with Professor Moriarity.
I'd like to say that my flight back to America was a happy one, but it was not. Our flight was diverted to an alternate landing port because of a bomb threat. To top it off, we couldn't leave the plane for hours and the bathrooms were locked to us because of the threat.
Who would put bombs in toilets? What madness has our world descended into when a man or woman can't relieve themselves in peace?
I leave you with these thoughts. That the Black Hand truly did have a basis in fact, though not the facts I had assumed, but rather a more lofty history and one I am grateful to write about.
Before I left on my plane a courier found me and put in my hands a large manila envelope. I opened it and found a diary. It was titled, "Diary of the Black Hand."
"Dear Mister Pirillo." The note with it said.
"I assume you still have many questions about the Black Hand and I have no further need of this, so am supplying you this with the hopes you will think kindly of me after doing so, as much of what I reveal was not so bright at the time.
"Morina gives her regards.
"Your friend. I hope.
"Professor Morey Moriarity"
(New) Stringers "A Jules and Wells Story." By John Pirillo, artwork, stories, videos at ImagineNation
Stringers
"A Jules and Wells Story."
By John Pirillo
"Their destiny is so entwined with that of the threads of time, that were you to unravel one thread, all threads would come undone." A Quote from Einstein.
When he awoke that morning, he neither recognized the bed he lay upon, nor the ornate wooden walls that enclosed the bedroom he slept in. He was stunned. But when he heard a noise beside him, a kind of soft nickering, he turned his head and found himself laying next to another man, whose face had a gentle composure to it. He almost screamed, but then held it back, muffling it as certainly as if his fingers could physically clutch its throat and cut off its air.
Where am I? Was his next thought. He gently untangled himself from the bedcovers and slipped to the floor, his feet touching a rich, plush carpet with thick piles of what felt like silk. He looked down and saw a pair of slippers, but they were ornate like the room and overly bright and gaudy. That alone was enough to send the alarm bells ringing, as if the sleeping man on the bed were not enough. He surveyed the room more closely and saw a tall coat rack like device that held clothes of gold and gold on two hooks. Clothing. But whose? Then he realized his arms were softly draped with a similar color as the cloth on the right of the hanging one.
He stood up and went to it, took it off and examined it. It had a hole in the middle and two arm slits. It was obviously meant to be worn like a dress of sorts. He slipped it on, doing his best not to disturb the sleeping man. He didn't want to make the situation direr than it already felt. He held no malice towards the sleeping one. He didn't know who they were, why they were there, or what they expected of him, though examining the bed sheets in the barely lit room, he could tell what might have been expected from him the night before. Except, that it couldn't have been him. He had no aversion to the male species, he just wasn't...well, male. Or female.
He looked around and saw a door of the most unusual sort. It was almost round with a well padded doorknob. He went to it and turned it quietly. He let himself out into a long corridor, where he could see endless doors stretching off into what appeared to be infinity.
Where in the hell am I? He thought.
Then a strange feeling welled within his body, as if every cell were waking up and about to explode. Ahead of him in the corridor something came. Something large. Something dark. He couldn't tell what it was. He only knew he couldn't stay there another second or he might never leave. He turned to run and as he ran, he felt the breath of something enormous blowing on the back of his body, and a heavy sound like labored breathing, then his feet vanished from beneath him and he seemed to stretch into a band of twisting ribbons of light. Before he knew what had happened, or why he did what happened next, he reached out and grabbed a string and was flung from that corridor of menace into a twisting, weaving inferno of dancing lights.
===================================================
Stringers are neither devils or angels, but souls whose very essence is made up of the threads of time, such that they can easily dispose themselves from one timeline to another, with but a whisper of a trace of their existence or movement. Those were the thoughts that ran through his mind as he and Wells worked on their latest invention. A kind of radar for detecting movement through time, as well as space. True, they had one before, but it was too general. If they were to protect the fabric of time and space, they must be able to respond within nanoseconds of any disruption.
So the device that he and Wells constructed was enabled such as to pull either or both of them into a Stringer's current, so that they could mark the direction of the traveler, yet be unknown, unseen by them.
"Drats!" Cursed Wells when he accidentally burned his right thumb with the small welding unit he had built the day before. It was a micro welder, and capable of welding particles, even atoms together if necessary, but it also hurt like hell when it went off its course and touched a piece of human anatomy.
Wells could testify to that at this moment and Jules yesterday, when he made a neat little lancet of his own flesh by accidentally getting the beam off-center and drilling into his own palm. It still stuck the dickens every time he had to wash his hands, which was frequently, as he was a very neat and clean man, and the missus expected no less.
He smiled at the thought of his young bride. Even though they had grown children now, their travels through time had hardened their flesh to aging and none of them looked older than their original twenties when they began their time traveling campaigns to save the earth, and alternate earths their work had affected.
"See here, Jules."
Jules turned to look at the spike of golden energies that were spotting the screen that he had constructed for their monitor. "It looks human shaped."
"It works!"
Wells jumped up, grabbed Jules and the two of them danced about their warehouse, causing their wives, who had come over to bring lunches for them to think both had suddenly gone mad.
They stopped, grinned at their loved ones, and then settled back to their work.
"I think we need to test it further." Jules suggested.
The wives both exchanged knowing looks, and began to repack the lunches they had made.
Jules ran over to his loved one, took her close to him and whispered in her ear. "Tonight I shall propose a toast to your fine flesh that will tempt the gods."
She giggled, and allowed him to dimple her cheek with a wet kiss, then she and her friend, Well's wife, took exit from the warehouse, shutting the huge door that locked off their ventures from the outside world, then locking it, knowing full well that both men were likely not to be in the warehouse for long.
And they weren't.
They rushed to the Master of the World, whose boarding ramp was already down, raced into its passenger compartment, after in drawing the ramp, and then settled into the cockpit of the massive vessel. Powered by String Energy, the Master of the World, traveled not only through time, but space as well. It resembled a great golden, ornate jewel, so brightly polished and golden was its shape.
"Powering up."
"Strings interacting." Wells announced, pleased at the swift response of the ship's engines. They had just serviced them. The battle against the Mummy things had caused a great strain on the engines, which were not supposed to be so close to the earth all the time. They had been fine tuned for space.
"Merci." Jules said. "Weapons?"
Wells checked their power ranges. "Fully charged and ready."
He quickly looked at Jules. "You don't think we're going into battle, do you?"
"Of course not. Do we ever think such, mon ami?"
Wells shrugged, knowing full well, there were few times they hadn't been in a battle when they flew the Master of the World. It seemed to be their fate to always be in the midst of a worldwide calamity, or battle.
"Launch!" Wells told his friend.
"Launching!" Jules said, the tension of doing so knotting the muscles in his neck and back.
They both silently prayed, for their new engines were supposed to be able to tell the difference between a roof and time space, and had been attuned to cross through solid objects by sliding slightly out of normal time and space.
The Master of the World rose like a mighty dragon into battle.
======================================================
He erupted. More probably exploded through the maze of bursts of light and spectacular colors and found himself standing on a lonely landscape. Everywhere he looked in that cold domain there were collapsed structures, what must have been fallen buildings of some long lost civilization. He then realized his feet were naked, as was he. The clothing he had worn, the slippers, all gone. How? Why?
He shuddered. As much from fear as the cold that was seeping through his extremities into his limbs from the frosted ground beneath his feet. He looked down and saw something bright. He stooped to a knee and felt for it like a blind man might, not wanting to believe what he had found. He lifted it gently, as if it were the most precious thing in the universe, then a tear began to form. He had begun to recognize where he was. His heart pounded with the pain of it, flitting images of women and men whom he had loved, trusted and shared smashed through his mind, shattering on the reefs of cold, unyielding certainty. They were all gone. Forever.
Why?
"You know why." Jules voice spoke from behind him.
He turned around.
Jules and Wells stood there, a look of compassion written on their faces. They could feel his despair, for they had known it as well, but perhaps not as frequently as this man or being that stood before them.
"Who are you?"
"Friends."
"Where am I?"
"You already know that answer." Wells told him, feeling a kind of reluctance to speak, but knowing he must to help the man retain his sanity.
"How?"
"You know that as well." Jules reminded him.
The man looked down at his feet, as if the solution to his questions lay there, then up again. "Can you help me?"
"No." Jules answered sadly.
"Then why are you here?"
"To point you in the right direction."
"Are you angels?"
Wells and Jules gave each other solemn looks bordering on mirth, and then looked back at the man. "If that will help you to understand. Yes."
"Then I will go with you."
"No. You won't." Jules told the man, who was looking more and more distressed as they spoke.
"You have nowhere to go." Wells told him.
The man sat down hard on a broken slab with an attached piece of metal to it. He glanced at the metal. It had San Francisco written on it. What did that mean?
"Do you know why I am here?"
"To escape the past and preserve the future." Wells told him.
"But there is no future here." The man said.
Jules and Wells sat down next to him.
Jules brought out some bread and offered it. The man took it and ate hungrily.
"No. There is no future here, nor anywhere for what you were. But there is a future for what you've become."
The man stopped eating and looked at them long and hard. "What have I become?"
"A Stringer."
"It sounds strange."
"It is. To us. But not to you."
The man suddenly nodded. He knew what they talked about. "I reached out and pulled myself from where I was with twists of color that stretched into infinity." He looked at Jules. "That is what a Stringer is then?"
"Yes. You can manipulate time and space."
"But why would I want to do that?"
"To save your sanity."
The man rose. "I am not hungry anymore."
Jules and Wells rose as well.
"You two don't belong here either, do you?"
"No. This world can no longer be helped. Its people made bad choices, and now they are gone." Jules responded.
Wells nodded. "It is one of many such chances for worlds."
"Chances?" The man asked, a bit amused at the way Wells said it.
"Yes. In the infinite tapestry of what the Creator has made, he has created many chances for us to learn what we must."
"You could say that our lives are our lessons and the world we live upon, the stage for those lessons to play out."
"You sound like gods."
"We do not feel like one." Jules said with the hint of a smile.
The man reached a hand out. "I think I understand now."
Jules took it and shook. "We thought you might."
"I'm not the first?"
"No."
"Then there are others?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
Wells smiled brightly for the first time. "Everywhere."
"How will I find them?"
"Just reach out." Jules said. "Just reach out."
Then he and Wells turned around and headed for what appeared to be a road of destruction, but as they continued a gigantic golden vessel began to become visible, emerging from the shadows like an invisible being thrusting into the light.
The man pondered the mystery of the two men a moment, then he felt something stir in the air near him. He felt a kind of radiance. He turned towards it and reached out. Something reached back towards him and he took hold of it and allowed himself to be thrust once more into bursts of twisting light that strung through infinity like endless coils of dancing laughter.
======================================================
Wells closed the ramp door, and then he and Jules slid into their pilot and co-pilot positions in the cockpit. "You think we'll meet him again?"
Jules shrugged. "We did what we came to do. What will be, will be."
Wells sighed. "It must be lonely for them."
"I think not." Jules said with a smile. "For they have infinity to roam and forever to live and one can do so much with all of that."
"Yes." Wells said brightly. "That does sound nice."
Then Jules sent the Master of the World stringing back towards their home time and world.
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