It wasn't me. You can't prove anything.


2006-06-03

Will
How many people are there in the United States? 280 million? What if there are say 10% more than that? What if there were, say 38 million more than that?
If you looked at each individual person they will have a life and a trail. In short, they all exist both in flesh and in the either of the information age. Now, how would you hide 38 million people? Well, in the numbers. How many people would have to know? Only a few people would know, and fewer still would know ... why.
The census takers take names. The bean counters tally money, input, output. The banks count transactions. Drug dealers count their bling. Who keeps an eye on every one all at once? No one has the money for that.
Not just the United States. All countries who cooperate. How many people do you know who work all day on a task for which they only know their part? How many people only know what they are doing right now? Who knows the more grand scheme?
Oil refineries, chemical plants, Automobiles, loaves of bread. It is all counted every day. It is all set to tune. The world may contain six or seven billion people, who can count them all and know what they are up to when they do not know themselves?
Do you believe that you can hide 38 million people in the wide open? 38 million people who are not invisible. 38 million people who have lives, friends, phones, email and no idea for whom they work.
When did all of this start? In a town, a house, a few men, generations ago. Men who's names you have never heard, found themselves with a need. So much work to be done. They took a country, a country that never existed and made it work for the solution. They knew this would not do. They knew then this would have to blossom beyond their lives, families, countries. A secret born on a table in some ones home. The same table where a family had supper, then held the single guiding focus for the rest of human existence.
Their dream is. Their plan plays. The goal has a life and a purpose all within. Is the secret played too hard against the truth? The wheels grind, the switches dance ever faster in tighter spins. Drive, drive, drive. Get it done. Fit the pieces together, under everyone's nose. Build it. Invent it. Create it. Make it so.
Is any one left who knows for sure why?
</fiction>
Forgive a tired man's mind. Indulge a bit of caffeine stained prose to confuse the most sane reader.

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