It made no sense, but I found the sense it failed to make familiar.

An A.P. Roxborough made a map, a hypothetical bird's eye view, in 1918. It takes in the other side of the city's edge, far from Base Line, and the outlying area. I do not know if A.P. Roxborough made another map, lost to time, lost to the 1965 fire, perhaps, which shows my house, the house that shouldn't exist, with its worn late nineteenth century exterior offending the surrounding snout houses. An upstairs, which I rent to Gospherus and his cactus. But this map survives, and A.P. Roxborough sketched out something that would have gone unnoticed, had I not looked at so very many other maps and records.

A road, unnamed, possibly an old logger's road, runs just beyond the other side of the city, parallel to the old highway. It has a house, too, a solitary place where no building should be.

I can find no trace of house or road any other year. I can find no record of anyone building there. All the other maps show forest.

Perhaps I'm overreacting, overreading, overreaching. It could just be a logger's road that they stopped using, and A.P. Roxborough's house could be some shack the loggers built, a temporary lodging, long overlooked, long gone.

I have to know.

I head down the stairs of the building. It feels strangely deserted. The walls look wrong to me, and I assume it's because I'm tired. Bleary-eyed, I step out onto the street. It's warm for the time of year, but clouds have gathered. I see them both ahead of me and behind the cathedral. I see a procession of mourners. It takes me a few steps to process what I'm seeing.

They're dressed in the finery of another era, black and somber. Horses pull the hearse. I wonder if I've run into some kind of historical reenactment. It seems inappropriate to ask.

Some of the men wear military uniforms, also from another time and place.

The building across the street shouldn't be a haberdasher. I blink. All of the buildings are wrong.

Horse excrement litters the street though I see, at some distance, a motor-car, possibly electric toodling down the street. It stops when the driver sees the funeral. A passerby regards me oddly. He recognizes not the cut of my jib.

I flee down Cathedral Road and reach Base Line, as the storm clouds gather and the city crowds disperse. It's old Base Line, all right, and the two cornfields. In between stands a small wooded area and, sitting in the woods is my house.

Electricity charges the air.

The house stands taller than it does in my day. Below the familiar wood I can see the stony foundation. The cornerstone on my right bears engraved words. I want to see it, but I'm aware that the storm contains shadows and movement which others see as clouds.

I look to the sky.

They ride what one might call horses, or what a very talented artist might paint as horses if he himself had never seen one, and relied only on second-hand description.

The first horse, a white horse, carries a rider with a face positively skeletal, the rictus of a drying corpse. He's dressed in the manner of an old time country preacher or doctor. Crowning his head I see a broad-brimmed hat of the sort still seeing service in 1918, though a bit of an anachronism even then. He carries a bow saw. A little grey bird sits on his shoulder. Its name is Enza.

Next to him rides Mars, god of war, with centurion's breastplate and armour. Beneath his Cingulum Militare I see khaki green and combat boots. His helmet belongs to a German officer. A gas mask obscures his face. He rides a devil-red steed and has himself bare, red-devil arms. One bears a sword like lightning.

The black coat of the third horse seems a part of the storm clouds. I do not know if the rider is a man or a woman. The rider is old and wrinkled and carries a scale, such as one would have seen in a grocery store or apothecary of the sort I'm certain I'd find if I returned to town.

A pale horse carries the fourth rider, an animated woman's skeleton. She wears an old-fashioned nurse's cape, fastened with a red Ankh.

Their heads tower above the clouds, and yet they approach. They must be miles away, and miles high. The stools of the steeds would cover small villages. Horses and riders exhale the storm.

I feel dizzy. The clouds loose rain and the ground slips beneath me and away.

<-- | Start |-->

I have never been much of an activist. In the past, I, your Friend Behr who you tell ALL of your relatives about EVERY time you see them, has been more of a businessman than an activist. However, lately there has been one issue more concerning to any others: condoning time travel.

This is an important writeup about the dangers of encouraging people to time travel when they do not understand the dangers. You MUST consider the dangers before you do anything in life. You must THINK and not just act without thinking because that was how, on one of my leaps through time, I stepped on a mine after leaping into the body of Herbert Scholl Strausser (the man who kills Adolph Hitler and his closest advisors in 1940 in the original time line that I screwed up - which happened after I already screwed up the time line by stopping the communist invasion of Germany in the 1930s and putting that person who wasn't assasinated in power). He blew up instead of doing that because of my carelessness. This is one of the dangers of time travel. Look what happened because of my clumsiness! I am sorry.

I'm a moderately unhinged individual, that much I will admit, and because of the carelessness of "do-gooders" and their filthy ilk, I have the ability to travel in time and to impact the history of the world within my lifetime. I am nearly ninety years old. That is a lot of area to cover. You and your army of bitches will never catch me. That much I can promise you. This writeup is Behr canon now. Make a note of it. I don't know what that means, but I know it is something that you (in particular) need to make a note of. Carve it into your nuts if you have to. Carve that into one nut and carve "I will not time travel" into the other. This way you will remember the two primary pieces of new learnings you will receive from this writeup from the anals of everything2.com brand website (now online for the first time ever and no longer "node-by-mail").

If you were to time travel back to the offices of the everything2 development company and its millions of subsidiaries (including heavy investment in conflict diamonds and human trafficking) in the 1970s, you would see three men with VERY wimpy bodies, pocket protectors, greasy hair paired straight down the middle, and you would also see some old style computers and a mail box. Back then, noders would mail in their writeups with a request to have them added to the "nodes" inside the big computer. Everyone loved this system. Many have left out of disgust or the desire to settle down and have a family since those days. Most of the early noders are IN THEIR NINETIES now. This is everything2.com brand website canon.

Let us move on to the clear, peer-reviewed science of this matter (with Chopper and Enrico Fermi being the peers who did the review):

  1.  We were living in a true utopia in a world at peace where everyone had everything they needed to pursue happy, meaningful lives
  2.  Then I began time traveling
  3.  Things are now the way that they are
  4.  Enough said

So, what action do we need to take against noders who have written nodes that condone the practice of time travel?

  1.  We could ignore them, but young people come to everything2.com brand website and could be lured by some of the romantic elements of time travel
  2.  Fourteen year old boys will have an easier time "getting some" in the 1800s, when luring a girl into the woods and emerging with her hymen in hand was still praised by all civil leaders (instead of just a few like we see today)
  3.  Things will get more surreal in our now completely unstable society
  4.  You could send me an uncancellable check for $70,000 ($144,000 for families) and trust me to deal with it
  5.  Start a blog

These are just some ideas, but we need to be active in rooting out these elements. Once you have time travelled, you understand the dangers. Sometimes you can see your own dog eaten by demons because you forgot to close the back door to the imaging chamber. Enough said.

That is just some of the scientific evidence, which has been peer reviewed, but what about the emotional context of condoning time travel?

One of the places I visited during my time travel adventures was The People's Place of Communal Nudity in 1920s Moscow. What a weird place, but to put things in context, I would never have know about this place even existing before I ended up there during one of my leaps through time. What I experienced there changed me profoundly to such a degree that I can't even bring myself to talk about what happened there. I have never felt so wrong about being a part of something as I did after that leap.

That is one of the emotional dangers. What are some of the others? Let us go to the peer-reviewed scientific data that has been collected on this topic:

  1.  Sex with people who are a hundred years older than you can be unsettling
  2.  Food never tastes the same after you've eaten untreated dates in the 1930s
  3.  People were different in the past (similar, but different)
  4.  You don't get a chance for a re-do because you can't leap into the same situation twice (unless you find the access codes for other people who were there)
  5.  If you are a teenager and you are late coming home from a leap you could be sent to bed without supper

You may feel some of that is alarmist, but let me make myself clear, there are more dangers to time travel than you have considered. It isn't like going on the Interstate Highway System. That is something different. It is like comparing apples and oranges. Driving on the highway is one thing. Travel through time is another. I'd like you to go into the bathroom, look at yourself in the mirror, and repeat those words so you won't get confused.

A lot of people will sell kits for time travel in the back of comic books. These methods do not work. Send money to the people selling those kits anyway. Those people are businessmen and need your support. Jet off a check to them today. Go ahead. I'll wait right here and you can resume reading the writeup after you've jetted off your check for fake time travel kit as advertised in the back of typical comic book or pornographic magazine.

In the old show Star Trek which is something you probably haven't been exposed to unless you are in your sixties, at least, as it was an old show about a man who looked absolutely scrumptious in black pajamas, and that man was named Mr. Spock. I provide more details on him in my Emmy Award winning column, "Tight Buns." Mr. Spock has "fooled around" with time travel many times. Look at where that got him. Just look at it. Enough said.

You may be a proponent of "free speech" and may think "Gosh, Friend Behr, what is the harm in talking about time travel or watching movies and film strips about it as long as we don't actually try it?"

Let us look at the peer-reviewed scientific evidence on this:

  1.  People said the same thing about pornographic magazines. "What is the harm just to look?" But then people began having actual sex.
  2.  Jesus and Elijah are the only people in The Bible who time travel. No one else in The Good Book does. Ask yourself why that is. Go ahead. I'll wait.
  3.  Children read "science fiction" and get ideas
  4.  We have enough trouble with the airline industry without introducing new wrinkles
  5.  Common sense

Thank you for reading this peer-reviewed scientific document. I hope it made its point clearly and wasn't too bogged down in scientific evidence and statistics. As a fully tenured professor of ethics (forced into retirement) I understand the value of delivering accurate information in an easy to digest format.

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