This is a work in progress, but I regard what I have written so far as being worthy of publication all on its own. -- Jon

What I Learned at the California Institute of Technology

Jonathan Swift
swift@softwareproblem.net

April 14, 2010

While I was correct when I knew that you would all piss yourselves laughing when I finally told you what The Secret was, I was not only quite mistaken as to The Secret's true nature, but denying the very existence of The Secret in the most batshit psychotic way.

I won't tell you quite yet what The Secret I was really referring to was, but when I finally do you will agree that I made the right decision to post it at PRQ AB.

But when you read the rest of this essay, not only will you have found that not only have I asked Rusty to close my K5 account in a way that puts Mindpixel's route out the building completely to shame, you will struggle desperately to get all those Scandinavian folks to award me the Nobel Prize in Suicide before I no longer have the ability to appreciate the fact that I had finally won the Nobel Prize I always wanted.

You will regard my delusion that I am The Second Coming of Christ as no delusion when I go on to explain how I will explain in a transparently simply and obvious way why all blonde people will point out to you that they will award me both the Peace and Medicine prizes instead.

The Navajo Code Talkers were cryptologists during World War II who were able to conceal allied communications from the Nazis just by chatting over radios in the Navajo language.

The language I refer to as The Language of the Gods might be more lucidly described as Speaking in Code.

Psychotics speak in code in a way that makes no sense to anyone. Every Psychotic's encoded speech leads every Sane person to regard every Psychotic as delusional.

The Sane speak in code in a way that makes no sense to Psychotic people. The encoded speech of the sane leads every Psychotic to regard every Sane person as delusional.

It is for this reason that Unabomber Theodore Kaczynski devoted two decades or so to eluding capture by law enforcement while sending letter bombs with which he murdered several University professors and grievously crippled several others. Each such bomb was accompanied by a detailed explanation of just why he sent each such bomb to that specific University professor. The most famous such detailed explanation is now known as The Unabomber Manifesto.

All Ted hoped to achieve was to point out the errors of their ways to the Academic Community: he regarded Modern Technology as a threat to the natural environment. By murdering University professors, he hoped to bring about the salvation of the natural environment by restoring Sanity to those who Theodore Kaczynski knew were the most floridly delusional kinds of people.

Neurotics speak in code in a way that no one notices.

Psychotherapists understand both kinds of code.

Psychotherapists can speak code to psychotics in a way that they make complete sense to each other.

Psychotherapists can hear what neurotics are really talking about, then say what the neurotics have been in incredible pain since the earliest days of their childhood because their parents are so viciously and sadistically cruel that they refuse to say it to them.

Child psychologist Alice Miller's short, simple, lucidly written book Drama of the Gifted Child explains that psychotherapists learn to speak in code because their parent's great suffering enables them to start teaching their children that code from the earliest days of their infancy.

Just mentioning Drama of the Gifted Child to my psychotherapist Dr. I. led her to become overwhelmed with grief.

This also leads to the bizarre phenomenon that psychotherapists often take their lives in the most spectacular ways, and that sometimes they murder their own clients during a therapy session before they a final, fatal end to their own fifty-minute hour.

The Nobel Prize in Medicine was awarded last November by a certain quick thinking military police officer to Fort Hood Army Psychiatrist Major Nidal Malik Hassan when he made his great discovery transparently obvious to thirteen of his fellow soldiers, but was only able to get thirty-two others get a general understanding of what he was referring to.

The discussion of my former psychiatrist Anita Hirsch that was right here has been moved to my new page Toxic Psychiatry.

Not only did British Petroleum blow a smoking crater into the floor of the Gulf of Mexico, they did so in the most ignorant way. Despite the fact that the petroleum industry has deep insight into Methyl Hydrate, in ice-like crystal composed of Methane and water that forms under tremendous pressure, they thought it might help to capture most of the leaking oil with a giant, incredibly heavy concrete dome.

Within seconds, the dome was completely filled with Methyl Hydrate crystals and so had to be removed.

I then suggested we detonate the most powerful Hydrogen Bomb in America's nuclear arsenal as close to, but not quite on top of the Gulf Blowout so we could watch the ensuing events enfold on national television. localroger was convinced that the entire global petroleum industry was completely out of its tree because some of them had the idea that to detonate a nuclear weapon not quite on top of, but as close as possible to the Gulf blowout might be a good idea.

Get This:

I read in the paper this morning that British Petroleum didn't even apply for an ecological drilling license.

Perhaps you can see now what I am referring to when I suggest that the only truly satisfying way to fix bugs, is not to fix the software, but to fix the humans.

It is only during a form of psychotherapy during a psychotherapist's graduate work known as Training Analysis that they finally realize why, during the freshman year of their undergraduate work, they found their Psych class to incredibly fascinating.

Both of my parent's overpowering suffering enabled them to teach me to speak in code in such a way that I have lived with such an overpowering delusion that I was Jesus Christ, that by the time I was four years old, if you were suffering I could heal you without either of us even being aware of what was going on if you so much as struck up a conversation with me. This process accellerated to the point that in July 1985, I performed all manner of biblical miracles all over the place at a psychiatric hospital in July 1985.

The staff understood from the start what I was doing, but they all regarded me as the Second Coming of Christ because I figured out how to do it.

Grandpa Rex, my mother and my Aunt Peggy's father, was the most incredible man. He worked his way through medical school working part time jobs. He spoke fluent Latin but despite being a Presbyterian, he sang in the Catholic choir so he could keep his Latin in top form. He was a chief surgeon at a hospital in Spokane, Washington, was a Medical Officer in the Army Air Corps during World War II, and went on some kind of secret mission during the war that none of us know anything about.

He a grand piano in his living room. After opera singers would perform in the symphony hall, he'd invite them over to his place then accompany them in the piano while they gave a private performance for him, my grandmother Florence, my aunt and my mother.

In 1948, when my Aunt and my mother were just eight years old, Grandpa Rex suddenly dropped dead.

None of you believe I can make schizophrenics stop hallucinating, but all I require to get myself 5150ed is to make that claim to a mental health professional.

Last November I drove at ninety miles an hour all the way from Santa Cruz to Palo Alto. Dominican Hospital in Soquel was only a few miles away but I knew that Stanford Medical would have a twenty-four psychiatrist on call.

I begged her to admit me because I realized I was well on my way to putting David Koresh completely to shame. She agreed to admit me, but only because I had the delusion I knew what to do what David Koresh did. They refused to discharge me because I told them I could make schizophrenics stop hallucinating. They released me the very next day because I told them I needed to get a job.

All that was required to hurl me headlong into twenty-six years of the most irretrievable kind of batshit insanity was to read just the first chapter of Drama of the Gifted child - "How We Become Psychotherapists" - then discuss it with the Intro to Psychology class I enrolled in when, completely out of nowhere and for no apparent reason, I switched my major from Literature to Physics.

The only human being on the entire planet in the entire time since my change of major who didn't regard that as the most batshit insane act of my entire existence was Richard Feynman. Feynman was a Theoretical Physicist and a Nobel Laureate. He is one of the most insightful people to have ever set foot on the Caltech campus: when the committee that investigated the the first space shuttle explosion struggled desperately to cover up the reason it exploded, Feynman got so pissed off that he made the reason plainly transparent to the entire United States Congress with a glass of ice water and a small rubber O-Ring. When rubber gets cold, you see, it hardens, so when you bend it it doesn't flex it, it breaks.

When it got real cold the night before the launch, the engineer to designed the O-Rings that sealed the sections between each of the shuttle's solid rocket boosters immediately alerted his superiors to the danger, but Morton Thiokol didn't pass the word on to NASA.

Seven completely innocent and incredibly brave astronauts gave their lives, the American taxpayers paid billions of dollars and America lost one-fourth of its shuttle fleet because Morton Thiokol was concerned it might not be able to bring home the bacon anymore.

As I returned to Ricketts House on my way back from my changing my major, I came across Feynman walking with my good friend Tsutomu Shimomura. Tsutomu left his family during high school so he could do original research work at the Princeton Astronomy Department while working a part-time job as a hundred dollar an hour computer consultant. I always got better grades than Tsutomu did because he never bothered with any of his classwork, but devoted his time at Tech to original Theoretical Physics research, much of it in collobaration with Richard Feynman.

Tsutomu, at the time, was a Japanese citizen. The Manhattan Project was a collobaration with the British, with scientists from several other nations in Los Alamos as well, but when word got out about the napkin sketches that Klaus Fuchs would pass to Julius and Ethel Rosenberg when they met for coffee in Los Alamos now and then during the war, Congress outlawed giving any kind of foreigner nuclear weapons secrets.

Word eventually got out that Tsutomu was really into Physics, so every weapons lab in the entire United States started hurling job offers at him. After accepting one such offer, the United States Congress passed a law granting Tsutomu - and only Tsutomu - a Q Clearance, the kind required to do nuclear weapons design.

To the best of my knowledge, Tsutomu never got his Doctorate, but doesn't hold any manner of college degree. After leaving his work in the weapons biz, he took up residence at the San Diego Computer Center as a Research Physicist.

When I pointed out that I had learned all the Physics I needed to know, and so had changed my major to Literature, Tsutomu became so completely convinced that I was delusional that I have only seen him on two other occassions since our chat there on campus.

One was when I visited him at his place in San Diego, where Tsutomu invited me to play with the Sun Workstation in his living room. Kevin Mitnick played with that same computer some time later, then left a message on Tsutomu's answering machine to thank him for his kindness. But by not asking for permission first, only a few months were required for Tsutomu to do for the FBI what the FBI had struggled desperately for years, yet failed to do for themselves.

Every Caltech student regarded Feynman as a Heaven-Sent Diety because he felt it was far more important to teach Physics than to understand Physics. There is a sculpture of Heaven over the entrance to the Dabney House courtyard. God's face look just like Feynman's.

I got to know Richard Feynman my freshman year at Caltech. When I took Quantum Mechanics, I understood it well enough to do well in my homework, but regarded at as completely delusional because I was heavily into the Newtonian idea of the Clockwork Universe. Only a few months of discussing with Feynman chalkboard diagrams of a simple experimental apparatus known as the Two Slit Experiment consisting of two narrow, parallel slits with some photographic film on one side and a pinpoint light source on the other not only convinced me that Quantum Mechanics was correct, but gave me a deep insight into it.

The reason I regard Feynman as a Heaven-Sent Diety is that he was able to have the same insight as I did, at the exact same time:

I needed to learn how to write, so I could write the essay I am now posting to the queue right now.

Feynman could solve systems of partial differential equations numerically just by thinking about doing so. It was his deep insight into numerical analsysis led the Manhattan Project to have Feynman lead the Los Alamos Computing Division despite the fact that he was just a graduate student in his early twenties. Feynman went on to enable the Manhattan project to design both kinds of atomic bombs - the Uranium assembly bomb and the Plutonium implosion bomb - so that both kinds worked on the very first try and to detonate with such collossal force that the Trinity Test - a Plutonium bomb - knocked a man completely flat to the ground at a distance of ten miles.

Just have a bunch of smart guys hang out in a big room for a year or so with tables of logarithms and mechanical adding machines.

That's It.

Feynman's wife lay dying of Lymphatic Tuberculosis in a hospital in Alberquerque most of time he was at Los Alamos. Her illness was diagnosed during their engagement. His entire family completely disowned him when he married her anyway. Thier wedding took place with no witnesses in a Justice of the Peace's office. At the end of their ceremony, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

I can see now that, despite being Jewish, Feynman quite likely had the delusion that he was Jesus Christ as well. That's probably why he and I got to be such good friends at Tech.

Feynman's buddy Klaus Fuchs rode along with him whenever he went to visit Ms. Feynman so he could hang out with his friends Julius and Ethel Rosenberg during the Feynman's visits together. It was Klaus' pencil sketches of the explosive lenses that he drew of the Plutonium bomb that got the Rosenberg's executed.

It was the fact that Klaus Fuchs split the scene completely at the end of the war that spared his life: while Klaus was still convicted, it was not for treason. During the War, the Soviets were British allies.

J. Edgar Hoover wondered who might have asked Fuchs to accompany Richard Feynman when he went to visit his wife. Eventually a couple of soldiers turn up in J. Robert Oppenheimer's office to guard the safe in that office like a hawk with fully loaded machine guns.

While he did lose his security clearance, Oppenheimer never actually got convicted. Decades later Mikhail Gorbachev finally clued humanity into the fact that those two soldiers were hanging out in his office, and the Rosenburgs got convicted, and Klaus Fuchs knew when to split the scene that yes, in fact, J. Robert Oppenheimer did agree with the completely reasonble request that Josef Stalin made of him over coffee one afternoon, to find some way to figure out how to avoid the entire Soviet Union from having to become a radioactive wasteland by the mid 1950's.

"I'll have my man Klaus Fuchs accompany Dick Feynman when he visits his wife in the hospital. Have some of your people meet him while he draws sketches as they have coffee together."

Every American understands that Mikhail Gorbachev's deep insight is what finally lead him to launch every ICBM in the Soviet Nuclear Arsenal, not at America, but at the Berlin Wall. In reality, the reason he did so it that every form of life in the entire Soviet Union struggled desperately to find a shotgun so it could spatter its brain's all over the wall the very instant Ronald Reagan got elected:

Despite the fact Ronald Reagan solved the Central American problem in much the same way as Adolf Hitler solved the Jewish Problem. Reagan was so incredibly charming, friendly, and such a gifted speaker that he could fuck up in such a creativily and Divinely Inspired way that if Reagan so much as tripped over a banana peel, everyone in sight would leap on that banana peel, because they knew that would make them two hundred million dollars when that same banana peel was later sold by an Avante-Garde Manhattan Art Gallery.

A few years after the fall of Communism, I read an article that a former Soviet spy wrote for Time Magazine: the very instant Reagan got elected he was hurled with the greatest force from Moscow to London doing much the same thing that enabled a certain Washington D.C. Domino's Pizza to realize that the first Persian Gulf War had just started.

When the decision was made to commence the invasion of Iraq, everyone in the entire Pentagon sat up all night long setting the war into motion. A certain four star general asked his aide to step over. "I'm getting hungry. Could you send out for a pizza? Pepperoni and olives, please."

This spy spent Reagan's each night of Reagan's entire presidency sitting quietly just across the street from the British Defense Ministry building counting how many had their lights turned on. This would enable the Soviet Union to completely vaporize all of Western Europe, the United States and Canada before the completely mind-alteringly state of delusion that Reagan had been living in since the day he was born would enable him to win the war that the Book of Revelation explains will eventually lead to Jesus' return to Earth for the Second Coming, thereby bringing about The End of Time.

Ever since Regan was Governor of California, it has been plainly apparent why he joined the high school theater. The reason American regarded Reagan as the Teflon President was that he was such a gifted actor. Reagan lived in a world of delusion that puts Adolf Hitler completely to shame: he was able to quite clearly, carefully and lucidly explain in such a way that even the simplest fool in the Communist World knew why Reagan felt to be a Heaven Sent Prophet, yet lead everyone in the entire Free World to regard him as a gifted actor:

In the 38th chapter of Ezekiel, it says that the land of Israel will come under attack by the armies of the ungodly nations, and it says that Libya will be among them. Do you understand the significance of that? Libya has now gone Communist, and that's a sign that the day of Armageddon isn't far off.

Biblical scholars have been saying for generations that Gog must be Russia...

For the first time ever, everything is in place for the battle of Armageddon and the Second Coming of Christ. It can't be too long now. Ezekiel says that fire and brimstone will be rained upon the enemies of God's people. That must mean that they will be destroyed by nuclear weapons.

-- California Governor Ronald Wilson Reagan, addressing a banquet for State Senator James Mills, 1971.

Then later:

We may be the generation that sees Armageddon.

-- Presidential candidate Ronald Wilson Reagan during 1980 interview by televangelist Jim Bakker.

After winning the election, Reagan had televangelists over to the White House on a regular basis for National Security briefings. Can you understand now, why Gorbachev dropped all those Hydrogen Bombs not on Washington, D.C., Paris and London but on the Berlin Wall.

My cousing Glen Thobe is on my mother's side of the family. While much older than me, he is actually from my generation. Because he is so shy and quiet and because of the way he dresses, you'd figure my cousin Glen was a bus driver. But you'd be making much the same mistake about Glen's occuption as you would be making about Richard Feynman, when it became plainly apparent the very instant Feynman opened his mouth that he was a taxi driver.

Glen has a degree in Physics and works as the most advanced kind of Electrical Engineer, generally on Global Positioning System receivers.

Ever since my Cousin Glen pointed out to someone he met one day that happened to work for the State Department that he was good at Russian, it was plainly apparent everyone in the entire Free World's Diplomatic Community how to finally bring about the fall of Communism: send Cousin Glen on an all-expensive paid vacation to the Soviet Union.

Much of what finally enabled me to finally realize that reason that I flipped out at Caltech was not in any way the result of any kind of mental illness, but the fact that the most incredible drug lab on the face of the planet Earth commenced operation at the California Institute of Technology in plain sight of the entire Pasadena City Police force the very instant news of Albert Hoffman's discovery of LSD-25, as well as its synthesis arrived in Pasadena.

Despite the fact that the source of all the LSD on the entire West Coast of the United States turned up in a room in Lloyd House during the 1960s, and despite purchasing several police helicopters at collossal expense then slowly circling them all over the the Caltech campus night, sweeping the entire campus after night the entire time I was at Caltech - and, I'm quite sure, ever since - the Pasadena not only never busted any more laboratories, by the time I showed up in September 1982, the entire city of Pasadena was in a collective hallucingenic drug trip that all you have to do to flip completely out is to set foot on the Caltech campus, and that all that was required to send me to the Andromeda Galaxy for twenty-eight years was to hang out on campus.

Now see if you can figure out why, when I finally realized this, I attempted to alert the Portland office of the Federal Bureau of Intelligence by writing a thirty-page, lucidly and transparently written, incredibly detailed letter with a great deal of supporting evidence, literature references and a few website links, when I showed up at their office in Downtown Portland, after I picked up the phone and said I wanted to tip them off to a hallucinogenic drug laboratory, the agent told me that they were closed, and that I should come back the next day.

I required a good solid twenty minutes to penetrate the Portland FBI's stone fortress with my letter. When I was finally able to do so, three agents were completely overcome with joy at my incredible bravery. I chatted with them about it for about ten minutes, then came back this morning so I could discuss it with them personally.

I had to struggle desperately for at least ten minutes just to get them to unlock the door. When they finally agreed to, they didn't actually do so: the agent kept thinking he had pushed the button, but didn't. Two or three minutes were required before I was finally able to convince him to actually unlock the door. The instant I set foot in the place, an agent told me that they had accepted my information, then politely asked me to leave. When I tried to explain, he said it was not a federal matter, then pointed out that I was on drugs and that I was hallucinating.

I smiled, "Thanks for your help," I replied, then headed back to Starbucks by my mom's place to tip off, not the law enforcement community, but Kuro5hin.

By the time I showed up in 1982, vast quantities of the most incredibly high quality of every recreational chemical known to the scientific community had been either synthesised or grown at the California Institute with wild abandon by not quite every student, but almost all of them, that the Caltech student's legendary genius managed to send every law enforcement officer in the entire United States completely flipping out of their trees in a mind-alteringly psychotic, totally batshit insane hallucinogen drug trip.

You could have solved the world hunger problem with the pizza toppings my classmates grew in their closets, but only once the entire time I was there, my classmate did not find DMT, DMT found my classmate. After pointing out that smoking DMT was just like smoking burning plastic, the DMT explained to my classmate that he had the wrong number of arms, legs, fingers and toes. My classmate instantly agreed, but found himself completely overcome with the worst horror in his entire existence, when he couldn't figure out why.

You might regard me as brave, but you don't know Caltech students the way I do. While I expect many Caltechs will read this essay, not only do I not expect them to become angry, I am quite confident that none of them will have the first clue as to what I'm referring to.

The only Caltech students that I am aware of who have ever been arrested for any kind of drug crime was that Llloyd House acid lab.

Some friends of mine had the idea that they might create a hundred foot shower of sparks by packing a three foot long steel water pipe with Eucalyptus gum, steel lathe turnings and some kind of oxidizer. They set it out in the middle of Caltech's athletic field, then lit the fuse. I was on the other side of California Boulevard on my way to watch the fun when that pipe bomb's collossal detonation, I am quite certain, could be heard at the Pasadena City Police heardquarters about three miles away.

Convinced they had all gotten themselves killed, I ran as fast as I could in hopes I might save their lives somehow. A piece of that pipe fell right next to me as I crossed California Boulevard a hundred yards from the explosion. I was overcome with the most incredible joy when I arrived at a smoking crater in the middle of the athletic field that was at least a foot and a half across, that not only were bloody chunks of all three of my friends not scattered all over the place, they had split the scene completely.

I waited quietly for five minutes or so. Eventually a Caltech security guarded turned up to ask what the noise was. When he explained he said, "Just having fun," then wandered back to campus.

I split the scene completely the very instant I hear someone speaking with the slightest trace of a Southern Accent: everyone I have been able to identify on both sides of my whole extended family have been, each in their own special way, either Divinely Inspired Geniuses, or to possess the same kind kind of Divinely Inspired insight into Genocide that Reagan had about Central Americans, that Adolf Hitler had about Jews, that President Johnson had about the North Vietnamese, and a few years later enabled President Nixon to understand that the best way to help the Cambodian people escape their crushing poverty was to donate every penny in the United State's Treasury to Pol Pot's election campaign.

I am a direct descendant of Roger Sherman. There is a famous painting of the signing of the Declaration of Independence depicting four of the signers standing before the signing table; that same painting is also on back of a particular United States currency denomination. Roger is the tall guy with the tall forehead.

But I guard from every Southerner in the exact same way and for the exact same reason that Teller guarded the H-Bomb secret the fact that I am also a direct descendant of General William Tecumseh Sherman. You probably figure that the reason is that it was General Sherman who finally figured out how the North might win the Civil War. No: it is because every Southerner regards Grandpa Sherman the same way as every Jew regards Adolf Hiter and every Cambodian regards Pol Pot.

Grandpa Sherman's deep love for the Southern people and the reverent awe with each he regarded the genteel Southern culture gave him the insight to enable him to understand how the Northern people might win back the friendship of the Southern people: tear a huge, broad swath all over the entire Southern United States, savagely and mercilessly destroying everthing and murdering everyone in his path.

It was Grandpa Sherman's Heaven Sent insight that lead to so many Southerners dying in the Civil War. The Civil War was just as destructive to the United States as World War II was to Europe. It took well over a century before before the bleeding from the wounds every Southerner suffering from the great gift Grandpa bestowed them finally stopped bleeding.

While many unsuccessful tries were required before Edward Teller figured out how to light the Hydrogen Bomb's match, they knew they were well on their way to the insight they were required when some concrete was mixed not out of cement, sand and rocks, but cement, steel punching and steel ore, then allowed to set in a large box after a narrow piece of pipe that reached halfway through was placed in the middle of the box. The box was taken to a Pacific Island, placed on a tilted platform carefully pointed directly at one of Teller's prototypes quite some distance away.

The small piece of plastic in the middle of that box's heavy radioactive shielding was carefully removed right after the test, then carefully studies by a Physicist through a powerful microscope.

"Hot Damn!" he shouted with joy, upon finding that piece of plastic film completely shot through by tracks left by the particles that were the result of the Hydrogen fusion that sent some of its people round to have a chat with a piece of plastic buried deeply inside a box made of an incredibly heavy concrete.

The entire city of Livermore, California was completely overcome with horror when they finally realize they might know to to light that that match. The popping sound of the first Hydrogen Bomb's Firecracker made the entire city of Livermore, California to be thrown headlong into deeply delusional, mind-altering batshit paranoia when it actually worked.

Edward Teller hopped on a plane for a non-stop flight to Washington D.C. then asked his secretary if the President had a few minutes to spare. "We need to create a new kind of security clearance. The very existence of that kind of clearance must be classified as well. To leak the very existence of this kind of classification should be considered Capital Treason." The president need no explanation whatsoever.

You will easily understand why the entire planet was thrown headlong into the most delusional kind of paranoid, batshit psychosis when, not long afterwards, a seismograph in the United States was able to easily detect the pop of a firecracker all the way from the Soviet Union, then, a few laters later, China as well.

Not only did the United States carefully guard the Hydrogen Bomb's secret, they went to all kinds of effort to carefully, clearly and so lucidly explain how the Hydrogen Bomb worked in such a way as to enable the simplest fool to understand in great detail how the Hydrogen, but actually be so far from reality to as to be delusional.

Magazines and encyclopedias from the 1950's are filled with diagrams of the complex structure of the hydrogen bomb, typically depicting several Plutonium bombs inside a large container of Lithium Deuteride that all detonate at the exact same time. That's how my own encyclopedia enabled me to understand Hydrogen bombs myself while I was still a young boy.

"It's that simultaneous detonation," Edward Teller himself carefully explained to the reporters at the press conference that morning in Livermore, "That finally enabled us to heat the Hydrogen nuclei hot enough so they would actually fuse."

The entire nation of Pakistan was thrown headlong into a completely altered state of reality in 1974 when a certain Hindu diety paid a personal visit to the Prime Minister of India to explain a way to make India's neighbor quit bitching about the fence between their yards. The entire nation of India was thrown into a similar reality Pakistan refused to heed their advice so they decided to bury a half-dozen or so Plutonium firecrackers at the exact same time.

"We need to talk," said the Prime Minister of Pakistan when he rang up the Prime Minister of India just a few days later.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

You think I'm crazy? No I'll show you crazy: my batshit insanity can't even hold a candle to that experienced by the Prime Minister of India when he heard Pakistan's fireworks over the phone.

In reality, a large, hollow metal shell shaped like a pill capsule has a Plutonium bomb at one end, the rest of it being filled with styrofoam whose hydrogen molecules are Deuterium - a Proton and a Neutron - and Tritium - a Proton and two Neutrons. A round bar of Plutonium goes through the middle of the styrofoam from the Plutonium bomb most of the way through the styrofoam. After the bomb's detonation, the metal casing reflects the X-Rays emitted by the Plutonium fission back into the styrofoam, which vaporizes with such incredible force that it implodes that Plutonium rod.

Teller was correct in that more than one Plutonium bomb was. But he struggled desperately to prevent the Soviets to get the first clue how to arrange them inside all that styrofoam.

Tritium's twelve-year half-life was the reason they were testing Hydrogen bombs on a regular basis until the US stopped testing completely when they were finally able to build a computer powerful enough, and software complex enough to model the entire process of an H-Bomb explosion in great detail: Tritium's two neutrons enable Hydrogen fusion to even happen, but it's quick decay makes Hydrogen bombs extremely unreliable.

Los Alamos knew from the start that Uranium assembly would work: shoot a Uranium slug from a cannon through a Uranium ring thereby quickly assembling a piece of the required size. They never even bothered testing the Uranium bomb. The first one in history completely vaporized the City of Hiroshima.

They knew from the start that Plutonium would go on to make a few cubic feet of hydrogen make Moscow shine, just for a short while, as bright as the Sun does. Beijing would shine in much the same way. Both Uranium and Plutonium have the same nuclear cascade reaction, but Plutonium's is far more powerful and accellerates with such tremendous force that they also knew from the start why they need to implode it instead: the two piece of Plutonium would completely vaporize long before they got around to so much as introducing themselves to each other.

While they did know that surrounding a piece of Plutonium the size of a baseball with a layer of explosive about a foot and a half thick would lead to the required implosion, but some guy had to spend about a year snapping X-Rays of collossal detonations wrapped around steel baseballs before they realized that the way to make them implode rather than squirting out all over everywhere in thin jets of Plutonium vapor was to use explosive lenses.

Two kinds of explosives are used, one with a very fast detonation, one with a very slow one. With great care, the most talented artists sculpts each kind in a certain precise, certain specific way, then carefully assembles them around a Plutonium baseball in a spherical way.

Perhaps know you can understand the incredible terror felt by the guy who X-Rayed those beautiful sculptures just a day or two before the Trinity test only to find large air bubbles all over the inside of every single one of those high explosive art pieces. He stayed awake for an entire night, very slowly, very carefully, drilling holes through the explosive, melting that same kind of high explosive on a stove in a soup pot, then pouring it into the holes through a funnel.

You'll go batshit insane if you so much as contemplate the terror felt by the guy who gave the Hiroshima bomb one last inspection before its delivery so as to be sure that the people of Hiroshima wouldn't just toss it in the junk mail bin. Because of the bomb's large size, he had to lay right on on top of it while he carefully used a soldering iron to remove the connectors from both ends of a certain electrical wire, reverse them, then solder them back on.

A hundred thousand citizens of Hiroshima were completely overcome with joy within a tiny fraction of a second, but it took well over twenty years for the other hundred thousand people to even understand that a beautiful greeting card had arrived in their mail box that morning.

A few days later J. Robert Oppenheimer called over to Nagasaki to see how its day was going.

No one at the Instite was particularly concerned when I flipped out with such incredible velocity, just one week after discussing just the first chapter of my psychology book with my psychology class, I asked my friend Bruce Tiemann if I could borrow his expensive Canon A-1 camera. I knew I was hallucinating and that these visions were the product of my own fevered imagination. I explained that fact in great detail to Bruce, but he agreed to lend me his brother Michael Tiemann's camera because we were both so delusional as to think I could photograph them.

When the visions didn't show up in the prints, I purchased several professional photography textbooks, learned to develop and print my own film in the student darkroom, then within two months, was able to leave the most advanced professional photographer completely dumbstruck with awe with the most primitive kind of fully manual camera. Every professional photograph has a nostalgic affection for the Pentax K-1000, but they never use them for their work. My first K-1000 didn't even have a light meter. It was over twenty years after digital camera were first introduced to the public that I regarded them as working well enough to actually buy one. The Sony camera I eventually bought is so incredibly complex that it could win an aerial dogfight just by pointing it out the fighter plane's cockpit window. I set it to fully manual mode and have yet to so much as open the instruction book.

Michael Tiemann and I had the exact same idea of bringing Richard Stallman's Free Software to the private companies of Silicon Valley at the exact same time. Despite fully appreciating what a great idea for a business it was, I never lifted a finger to do more than contemplate it. I was completely dumbstruck with awe Michael Tiemman went on to sell Cygnus support to Red Hat for six hundred million during the Dot-Com boom, where he remains Chief Technical Officer to this day.

Apple Computer was completely unable to figure out how to find Cupertino on a map sketched on the back of an envelope whenever it so much as contemplated the idea of operating systems with preemptive multitasking and hardware memory protection. The company spent billions of dollars over a period of many years to do so, yet managed to fuck every single one of them up in such spectacularly creative and Divinely Inspired ways as to leave computer programmers who barely knew how to write Hello World completely dumbstruck with awe.

Perhaps you understand my claim that in reality, software bugs are not technical problems but human ones, and that the only truly satisfying way to Solve the Software Problem is not to fix the bugs, but to fix the humans.

When Jean-Louis finally realized the public would never accept a new hardware platform, he suggested the Apple give BeOS a try. When Apple accepted Steve Job's offer instead, I was not at all when I hard later that Jean-Louis then asked Michael Tiemann to lend him a hand.

I was completely dumbstruck with awe when I learned that Michael Tiemann had sold Cygnus Support to Red Hat for six million dollars where he remains Chief Technical Officer to this day. After I blew a smoking crater in the ground with my software consulting business, I came to regard the fact that I never acted on the idea that we both had as the worst fuckup of my entire career. It was only a few days ago that I realized why I made that mistake:

"Thanks for lending me such a nice camera," I said to Michael Tiemann back in 1989. "I've got this great idea for a business. Why don't I give it to you instead."

Simply learning that the North Koreans were working on The Bomb was all I required to be hurled headlong into the most incredibly floridly delusional kind of psychosis I have ever known as a result of my desperate struggle to warn humanity of the fact that all that was required to refine Uranium was to use ten percent of the electrical output of the entire United States during World War to power electromagnets made out of the United States Treasury's entire stockpile of silver for two years or so.

"We don't measure silver in tons," the United States Treasurer shouted angrily at the guy from Los Alamos who turned up one day to ask if they could borrow it until the end of the war. "We measure it in ounces."

All that is required to synthesis Plutonium is to use a Moonshine Still to distill enough water fill a swimming pool. The Hollywood movie Heroes of Telemark starring Kirk Douglas depicts what the British regard as the most successful act of sabotage during World War II: they snuck a bunch of Revenue Agents into Norway aboard a glider that landed on the snow with skis. After blowing the Moonshine Still to tiny little pieces, they also sunk a fully-loaded passenger ferry after Hitler tried to make off with his last bottle of Moonshine - but not until after the Commandoes ran all over the entire ferry cheerfully announcing to the kids that they were having a safety drill and so should don their life jackets.

Not long after the war, a swimming pool turned up in Germany. They found it odd that Hitler would bury a swimming pool so deeply underground, but were completely overcome with horror to find it one-third full of Moonshine.

Los Alamos tested Plutonium because there is some subtlety to Implosion Physics that also lead to what Feynman referred to as Tickling the Tail of the Dragon:

They fabricated two hemispherical pieces of Plutonium that, when placed together, would just be slightly below critical mass, fastened one about a foot off of the top of a table, with its flat side to the right, with the other arranged in such a way that when they let go of it, it would slide down the pole so that for a very short time it would form that just slightly subcritical mass.

The Physicists surrounded the two hemispheres with all manner of radiation detectors, but knew they would do well to split the scene completely before allowing them to slide past each other.

To Be Continued.