The illuminatus! trilogy by Robert Shea, Robert Anton Wilson
Authors: Robert Shea, Robert Anton Wilson
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Fantasy, Science fiction; American, Visionary & Metaphysical
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and whispers to Carmel, “Now you can talk.”
(The old man using the name “Frank Sullivan” was met, at Los Angeles International Airport, November 22, 1963, by Mao Tsu-Hsi, who drove him to his bungalow on Fountain Avenue. He gave his report in terse, unemotional sentences. “My God,” she said when he finished, “what do you make of it?” He thought carefully and grunted, “It beats the hell out of me. The guy on the triple underpass was definitely Harry Coin. I recognized him through my binoculars. The guy in the window at the Book Depository very likely was this galoot Oswald that they’ve arrested. The guy on the grassy knoll was Bernard Barker from the CIA Bay of Pigs gang. But I didn’t get a good look at the gink on the County Records building. One thing I’m sure of: we can’t keep all this to ourselves. At the very least, we pass the word on to ELF. It might alter their plans for OM. You’ve heard of OM?” She nodded, saying, “Operation Mindfuck. It’s their big project for the next decade or so. This is a bigger Mindfuck than anything they had planned.”)
“Red China?” Maldonado whispers incredulously. “You musta been reading the
Readers Digest.
We get all our horse from friendly governments like Laos. The CIA would have our ass otherwise.” Straining to be heard over the running water, Carmel asks despondently, “Then you don’t know how I could meet a Communist spy?”
Maldonado stares at him levelly. “Communism doesn’t have a good image right now” he says icily; it is April 3, two days after the Fernando Poo Incident
.
Bernard Barker, former servant of both Batista and Castro, dons his gloves outside the Watergate; in a flash of memory he sees the grassy knoll, Oswald, Harry Coin, and, further back, Castro negotiating with Banana-Nose Maldonado.
(But this present year, on March 24, Generalissimo Tequilla y Mota finally found the book he was looking for, the one that was as precise and pragmatic about running a country as Luttwak’s
Coup d’Etat
had been about seizing one. It was called
The Prince
and its author was a subtle Italian named Machiavelli; it told the Generalissimo everything he wanted to know—except how to handle American hydrogen bombs, which, unfortunately,Machiavelli had lived too soon to foresee.)
“It is our duty, our sacred duty to defend Fernando Poo,”
Atlanta Hope was telling a cheering crowd in Cincinnati that very day. “Are we to wait until the godless Reds are right here in Cincinnati?” The crowd started to scream their unwillingness to wait that long—they had been expecting the godless Reds to arrive in Cincinnati since about 1945 and were, by now, convinced that the dirty cowards were never going to come and would have to be met on their own turf—but a group of dirty, longhaired, freaky-looking students from Antioch College began to chant, “I Don’t Want to Die for Fernandoo Poo.” The crowd turned in fury: at last, some real reds to fight…. Seven ambulances and thirty police cars were soon racing to scene….
(But only five years earlier Atlanta had a different message. When God’s Lightning was first founded, as a splinter off Women’s Liberation, it had as its slogan “No More Sexism,” and its original targets were adult bookstores, sex-education programs, men’s magazines, and foreign movies. It was only after meeting “Smiling Jim” Trepomena of Knights of Christianity United in Faith that Atlanta discovered that both male supremacy and orgasms were part of the International Communist Conspiracy. It was at that point, really, that God’s Lightning and orthodox Women’s Lib totally parted company, for the orthodox faction, just then, were teaching that male supremacy and orgasms were part of the International Kapitalist Conspiracy.)
“Fernando Poo,” the President of the United States told reporters even as Atlanta was calling for all-out war, “will not become another Laos, or another Costa Rica.”
“When
(The old man using the name “Frank Sullivan” was met, at Los Angeles International Airport, November 22, 1963, by Mao Tsu-Hsi, who drove him to his bungalow on Fountain Avenue. He gave his report in terse, unemotional sentences. “My God,” she said when he finished, “what do you make of it?” He thought carefully and grunted, “It beats the hell out of me. The guy on the triple underpass was definitely Harry Coin. I recognized him through my binoculars. The guy in the window at the Book Depository very likely was this galoot Oswald that they’ve arrested. The guy on the grassy knoll was Bernard Barker from the CIA Bay of Pigs gang. But I didn’t get a good look at the gink on the County Records building. One thing I’m sure of: we can’t keep all this to ourselves. At the very least, we pass the word on to ELF. It might alter their plans for OM. You’ve heard of OM?” She nodded, saying, “Operation Mindfuck. It’s their big project for the next decade or so. This is a bigger Mindfuck than anything they had planned.”)
“Red China?” Maldonado whispers incredulously. “You musta been reading the
Readers Digest.
We get all our horse from friendly governments like Laos. The CIA would have our ass otherwise.” Straining to be heard over the running water, Carmel asks despondently, “Then you don’t know how I could meet a Communist spy?”
Maldonado stares at him levelly. “Communism doesn’t have a good image right now” he says icily; it is April 3, two days after the Fernando Poo Incident
.
Bernard Barker, former servant of both Batista and Castro, dons his gloves outside the Watergate; in a flash of memory he sees the grassy knoll, Oswald, Harry Coin, and, further back, Castro negotiating with Banana-Nose Maldonado.
(But this present year, on March 24, Generalissimo Tequilla y Mota finally found the book he was looking for, the one that was as precise and pragmatic about running a country as Luttwak’s
Coup d’Etat
had been about seizing one. It was called
The Prince
and its author was a subtle Italian named Machiavelli; it told the Generalissimo everything he wanted to know—except how to handle American hydrogen bombs, which, unfortunately,Machiavelli had lived too soon to foresee.)
“It is our duty, our sacred duty to defend Fernando Poo,”
Atlanta Hope was telling a cheering crowd in Cincinnati that very day. “Are we to wait until the godless Reds are right here in Cincinnati?” The crowd started to scream their unwillingness to wait that long—they had been expecting the godless Reds to arrive in Cincinnati since about 1945 and were, by now, convinced that the dirty cowards were never going to come and would have to be met on their own turf—but a group of dirty, longhaired, freaky-looking students from Antioch College began to chant, “I Don’t Want to Die for Fernandoo Poo.” The crowd turned in fury: at last, some real reds to fight…. Seven ambulances and thirty police cars were soon racing to scene….
(But only five years earlier Atlanta had a different message. When God’s Lightning was first founded, as a splinter off Women’s Liberation, it had as its slogan “No More Sexism,” and its original targets were adult bookstores, sex-education programs, men’s magazines, and foreign movies. It was only after meeting “Smiling Jim” Trepomena of Knights of Christianity United in Faith that Atlanta discovered that both male supremacy and orgasms were part of the International Communist Conspiracy. It was at that point, really, that God’s Lightning and orthodox Women’s Lib totally parted company, for the orthodox faction, just then, were teaching that male supremacy and orgasms were part of the International Kapitalist Conspiracy.)
“Fernando Poo,” the President of the United States told reporters even as Atlanta was calling for all-out war, “will not become another Laos, or another Costa Rica.”
“When
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