Russell Twyce

Short Fiction by Russell Twyce

A Government Pension at Twenty Five
- A solo short story and included in the Nicholas Flamel’s Humanity Series

“According to this file,” a government bureaucrat set a reverent palm flat on the open folder,

“you’ve been collecting old-age security checks for the past five years. Yet you are obviously a man in your early 20’s.”

“Chronologically,” the young man dug out his wallet, “and by my government issued identification cards, I have just passed my 70th birthday.” He offered up the proof.

Then this has to be either forged or in error.” The government agent stated after he had intensely scrutinized the document. “What year were you born in?”

“I was born in 1940 and I aged normally until 1985, when I discovered the secret of eternal youth. From then to now, I’ve been growing younger, instead of older.”

“My year of birth was 1955.” The civil servant announced in a mocking tone. With grey hair and many facial wrinkles, his physical appearance exactly matched his 55 years of age. “And you are NOT fifteen years older than I am. So let’s get to the real truth of this situation.”

“The honest truth is exactly as I’ve said. You can look into my tax records or you can have the police fingerprint me and compare the result against any government files you can drag up. I was born in 1940 and I am currently seventy years of age.”

“You didn’t invent the secret of immortality.” The pension official scoffed. “I should think that such a discovery, if proven, would’ve made an international news splash. I don’t recall hearing anything about it in 1985 or since.”

“I didn’t seek any publicity and I didn’t care if anyone verified my results or not.”

Click Here to Try Conversational Hypnosis

“Right.” The disbelieving government man said in a sarcastic voice. “So you actually are seventy and you fully expect me NOT to cancel your old age security benefits?”

“Correct.”

“And I suppose your cute wife over there,” with a nod he indicated a young woman in the waiting area, “is fast approaching sixty-five?”

“My girlfriend there is twenty-two. My wife passed away awhile before I uncovered the secret of Nicholas Flamel’s philosopher stone.”

“Does she know that you’re seventy?”

“Absolutely.” The young looking old man smiled. “She appreciates my maturity and experience, while still being able to enjoy the physicality and vitality of my second twenties.”

“Philosopher’s Stone and Nicholas Flamel?” The scoffing of a minute ago had been replaced with a pang of envy: whether the old-age pension claimant was 25 or 70, that girl was certainly a knockout. “You’ve obviously been to a Harry Potter movie.”

“JK Rowling didn’t invent either the name of Nicholas Flamel or the philosopher’s stone idea. Nicholas was an alchemist born in 1330 and he returned to his youth after learning of the philosopher’s stone from an ancient manuscript.”

“And I suppose you know this for a fact.”

Definitely. Nicholas Flamel is a friend of mine. He contacted me after he deduced that someone else had achieved his eternal youth secret. Nick is a cool old guy, who looks like he is twenty. He thought it was hilarious that he was immortalized, off camera, in the movies. But the author has no clue that Flamel really is still alive.”

“I suppose he collects an old-age pension too?” The bureaucrat jotted down the name: he would look it up in his files later.

“No. Nicholas is an alchemist. Whenever he needs money, he turns lead into gold.”

“Since you have his eternal youth secret, why doesn’t he give you the transmutation tips too?
Then you wouldn’t need to keep your pension.”

“Nicholas has his thing and I have mine. When he was born, there wasn’t a public pension plan in place, so he needs to make gold. I paid years worth of exorbitant taxes to earn my retirement income, so I’ll use it for my ‘golden years’ and I’ll keep collecting it for a VERY long time.”

“Unless I stamp your file as a fraud and cancel it.”

“On what grounds?” The young man asked in a resolute voice. “The proof of my age and even the ‘before’ and ‘after’ pictures are iron-clad in your department of motor vehicles. The stored license photos will show me growing older until 1985 and then progressively younger until my most recent one.”

“On grounds that I work for the Federal Government and can therefore do whatever I want to you and your case!”

“With impunity.” The young man added through pursed lips. He bit his tongue from saying what was really on his mind. ‘And that mentality is precisely why I haven’t shared the gift of eternal youth with everyone.’ “But that political superiority will not live on forever.”

“Your life won’t be much longer than mine.” The agent misconstrued the comment as personal instead of global. “How long do you have before a return to infancy?”

“Your facts all seem to come from fiction.” It was now the younger man’s turn for the mocking tone. “I’m not living a backwards life, as the ‘Curious Case of Benjamin Button’. I’ve rejuvenated as far as I want to, so I’ll stop using my philosopher stone. I’ll age normally until I choose to start growing younger again.”

“And then what?”

“I’ll make another philosopher stone.”

“What does an eternal youth granting philosopher stone look like?” The middle-aged man excitedly inquired. He was suddenly buying into the young man’s story – and he imagined himself as becoming the same.

“Exactly like this.” The man with seeming eternal youth pulled a white stone from his pocket. It was of a pyramid shape with rounded points.

“I suppose you’ll want to be eighteen again.” The government guy’s eyes flicked askance to the ageless man’s 22-year-old sweetheart: if available to him, the 55-year-old with lecherous tendencies would want even younger girls.

“Nah. I’m happy now and my looking even younger would present more problems. I went to a bar recently and was asked to show proof of age. The bouncer noticed the disparity between my eternally youthful looks and my official age. It turned nastier when the doorman called over the police who were patrolling. They wanted to charge me with using false ID but their computers confirmed who I was.”

“That incident landed you on my scope. The cops were not pleased with the outcome, so they furthered the information up the line. And as a fraud investigator, your case landed on my desk.” Then the government official stressed a sentence. “Where on my whim, I can approve or deny the status of your old-age pension.”

“I see that.” The young pensioner said flatly.

“But I am interested in learning more about your philosopher stone.” The agent lightened the atmosphere with a perky voice. “How does it work? Do you use it continually? Is it fully automatic?”

[private_Chevron]“When I sleep, I have it nestled somewhere against my body. During the day, I put it in my pocket but I cut a small hole inside the material. The stone functions when it is touching skin. And there is a mental component too.”

“Mental?”

“You have to spiritually bond with the philosopher’s stone. It is called a philosopher stone and not an eternal youth stone because the real trick is in knowing that the stone will bring eternal youth. Then the stone activates a gate into the quantum universe: more precisely, the stone is that quantum gate.”

“How do you spiritually bond with a philosopher stone?”

“That is as easy as feeling that it is there.” The young man explained. “I reach into the stone with my imagination – for lack of a better word.”

“This is a product of your imagination.” Said the investigator in a disillusioned way.

“Quantum space is all about possibility and that is formulated in an imagination. Then with a gate open, quantum space manifests the mind’s possibility into reality. I am youthful beyond my seventy years, and that is my fantasy’s possibility transformed into my physical reality – and your reality too. Because to your eyes, I am twenty-five years old, when all your files show I’m nearly three times that.”

“The commercial prospects of a bona-fide age reversing product would be huge!”

“I have personal reasons for not wanting to do that.” The young man’s statement and the abrupt delivery left no invitation for further discussion.

“Then let’s get back to your pension case.” The middle-aged bureaucrat said aloud. But his mind was exploring what the personal reasons might be. Perhaps with some sleuthing might uncover a past tidbit that could be used to exert leverage. Having a cut on the sale of eternal youth could be worth a vast sum of wealth. All he had now was a cloudy issue of the rather small federal pension – but he could milk it for what he might get from it. “Why should we continue to pay a pension, when you are so obviously capable of being a productive contributor to the national product?”

“I worked my allotted years and a percentage of my earnings went to pay pensions for those who retired before me. Why should I be required to continue slaving in the anthill, just because physically, the years have been extraordinarily kind to me?”

“Why indeed?” The sly functionary softened his tone in preparation for the ‘hook’. “The federal pension is a universal benefit and revoking it in one instance might be politically sensitive. It would also likely mean public disclosure of your philosopher stone and seemingly, we both need to weigh the desirability of that eventuality.”

“What are you proposing?” The stone’s owner was not as naive as his youthful look suggested.
“If you give me your philosopher’s stone,” again, the slippery government agent glanced lasciviously at the girl in the waiting area, and he subconsciously licked his lips in prurient anticipation, “I’ll deep six this file until I’ve seen the stone in action. Then after I’ve consulted with my superiors, we can discuss the matter further.”

“I’m done with it now anyways.” The young man pushed the pyramid shaped item across the desktop. “You may as well use it. I’ll make another in ten years or so.”

With exaggerated theatrics, the ecstatic bureaucrat stamped the papers with ‘No Further Action’. And the deal was done with a final handshake. The aging agent’s pulse thundered, as his mind’s eye conjured up a bevy of nubile beauties frolicking nakedly in a lavish suite littered with piles of cash. He barely noticed the young looking man rejoin his girlfriend and leaving the building.

“I saw you give him the stone,” the gorgeous young woman said after her boyfriend had told her what happened, “and I observed that dirty old man’s creepy looks. Your giving him a philosopher stone doesn’t seem to match your character. And how can you know that you can even trust him over the long term?”

“He’ll be dead by tomorrow.” The seventy-year-old man in a 25-year-od physique laughed. “Or geriatric and senile as the average 100-year-old person. A philosopher stone acts as a battery that stores age and mine has 45 years worth in it. As soon as the bureaucrat bonds with it, the stone will start unloading – and fast. Nicholas found that out by accident after a supposed friend stole his first stone.”

“You didn’t offer that information.” The girl giggled.

“And he didn’t ask about any possible complications either. Now I’ll be back to flying underneath the radar and you’re correct about my moral fiber.” As they walked he gave her waist a squeeze. “I wouldn’t turn someone like that loose on an eternal future. Graft-taking government agents like that, their power-hungry political employers, and their greedy corporate sponsors are why I won’t put my philosopher stone onto the general market.”

“Maybe in twenty years,” she returned his hug, “when I’m ready to use a philosopher stone, the world will be ready for everyone to share in the gift of eternal youth.”[/private_Chevron]

“Is it really a gift,” he asked in a wry voice, “or is eternal youth a curse? Flamel has been waiting 700 years in the hope of seeing a society that is worth enduring.”

The End

Author notes: This story is fiction but I sincerely believe that a true philosopher’s stone is possible and that Nicholas Flamel could’ve produced one even with the technology available in the 1300’s. I’ve written a few opinion articles and blog posts on the topic of eternal youth and the theory under a philosopher stone.

Click to read the Akashic Records – The book of ALL knowledge

Short Social Commentary Fiction

The Mad Trapper’s Ghost is also on Scribd.

Some people might be disturbed by this story – so be warned.  Others might see what I’m really trying to say.  ‘Humanity has a bright future ahead that we can find only after we look critically and honestly at our past and present mistakes.’

There is MORE to Conversational Hypnosis that you CAN Realize

The Mad Trapper’s Ghost – Part One
By Russell Twyce

The snow blew in small white tornados that buffeted his stalled car.  The outside temperature was not so low that he would in immanent danger of freezing to death, but his job prospects in this devastated economy were now an icicle that wouldn’t soon melt.  The very last of his money had gone into his gas tank to drive him out to the work site – that was wasted cash now.

“Why me?’  Donald asked the blizzard.  “What have I ever done wrong?”

None of his actions had merited the hard times he had descended into.  The global economic situation dictated and the population suffered accordingly.

“Now what?”  He observed the small drifts already starting to build up on his car.  If the snow kept up as it was now, the whole vehicle might be buried in a few hours.

“Now,” a voice spoke from the passenger seat, “we can go to my place.”

“What the hell!”  Donald swiveled to his right in shock, and his astonishment then magnified exponentially at the sight of a fur-clad man seated suddenly beside him.

“I’ve been to Hell quite a few times,” the solid-seeming ghost said matter-of-factly, “and I don’t find it nearly as bad as some folks make purgatory out to be.  But this is one Hell of a winter storm out here.  So why don’t we relocate to my cabin?”

“Will I find my car again?”

“What does it matter even if a truck hits it under a pile of snow?”  The trapper said as he exited the car.

“The motor is as dead as you will be if you continue to sit in it.”

“Who are you?”  The stranded and unemployed motorist asked as he trudged along in the ethereal woodsman’s footsteps.

“I suppose that you could call me Albert Johnson.”  The mad trapper offered over his shoulder, and the words seemed to swirl the snow with a chill wind from Hell.  “I’ve had a number of names over the many years.”

‘Albert Johnson?’  Donald wracked his brain for how he knew that name.  It was familiar but the mental snows of time and events had drifted over the snippet.

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The small log cabin was snug and well chinked against the raging blizzard outside.
After brushing the snow from his clothing, Albert had busied himself in fixing two mugs of steaming cocoa.  The confused guest had stripped off his outer clothes and taken a seat next to the hearth.

“The only ‘Albert Johnson’ I knew of,” Donald said after his first sip of the soothing beverage, “was also known as the ‘Mad Trapper of Rat River’.  He killed one RCMP officer in the high Canadian Arctic, wounded another policeman and then was shot after leading the cops and trackers on an exciting manhunt.  But that was way back in the 1930’s.”

“It was 1931.”

“If that was you,” Donald said in mocking disbelief, ‘then you were shot 9 times and your grave is in Aklavic in the Canadian Northwest Territory.”

“That was neither the first time I was dead, nor the last.”  The unusual trapper lifted his shirt to point at several bullet scars.  “This one finally finished Albert Johnson.”  He appeared to be of about 30 years old: that was about the age of his bemused guest.  “I was born in 1330 and my name was Nicholas Flamel.”

“You were purported to have discovered the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Apparently,” the man smiled ironically, “those rumors are accurate.”

“You don’t sound like you’re French.”

“An accent tends to fade after a couple of hundred years.”  The one time scrivener and alchemist joked.

“But we’re not here to recount my life or rather, my many lives.  I’m with you to discuss your fate.”

“What do you know about me?”  Donald asked.

“I know enough to have prepared this cabin well in advance of your becoming stuck in a stalled vehicle here.  I’m aware of both your current situation and the straights that brought you to this life juncture.”

“How could you possibly have known that my car would break down just there?”

“The philosopher’s stone grants me the ability to peruse the Akashic Records.  Those unearthly books contain the history of the world as seen through the eyes of those who witnessed and participated in the actual events.”

Click Here to Read the Akashic Records

“Why me?”  Donald repeated the question he had asked himself in his car.  “I’m just a simple nobody.”

“Nobody is a nobody.  What you are is a victim.  The movers and shakers have rolled over your life’s prospects with utter disregard for you – or for anything but their own enrichment.  According to the Akashic Records, your existence could have ended right there on your lonely road, in the middle of nowhere.”

“Until you intervened.  Now I have a second chance.”

“That’s complicated and if I spent the next hundred years explaining it, you still wouldn’t completely understand.  But I’ll touch on the high points while we have supper.” Albert Johnson finished the dregs of his cocoa and then began to prepare a meal of rabbit stew.  He talked as he worked.  “Think of the Akashic Record of one person’s life being as a yarn.  Where time has gone from the present into the past, the record is as a solid thread but where it remains in the future, it is as frayed end fibers, each of which is a ‘could be’.  As a life progresses, those ‘could be’ possibilities dwindle as real events preclude them.  And at the point where your Akashic thread intersects mine, there are not many alternates left to you.”

“I kinda knew that before I met you.”  Donald said dejectedly.  “That job was about my last option before committing suicide.”

“Let’s talk about that job.”  Albert continued.  “Why did the company compel you to travel out to the job site on your own resources?”

“To cut costs.”

“So to save a few measly bucks, the prospective employer endangered your life in making you drive out into a wildly remote area, in a vehicle not up to the duty.”

“That car is all I had left.  Well, besides debt.”  Donald sheepishly admitted.  “I have more than enough debt to spare.”

“And you came to this debt because?”  Albert urged.

“The companies I owed the money to didn’t seem to understand that the world is in a recession.  The interest rates just went higher and higher as I defaulted on a few payments.  My last job was minimum wage and after tax, it was almost nothing.”

“What caused this economic melt-down?”

“I’ve heard it was something about sub-prime mortgages.”

“But that is nonsense.”  Albert dipped his spoon into the bubbling stew and then offered it to his guest, for a taste.  “I understand the real situation differently, and I do have the absolute truth in the Akashic Records to consult.”

“Very good.”  Donald nodded appreciatively at the flavor and his comment also had a lilt that asked the 700-year-old trapper to continue.

“Oil is a basic commodity.  And the price of a commodity should be set on; supply, demand, cost of production, and profit margin.”

“Yes.”

“But now we toss in the Chicago Commodity Futures Market.  With that going, the price is established on; supply, demand, cost of production, profit margin AND the contents of a crystal ball.”

“Futures contracts allow companies that use commodities to preplan their costs.”  Donald had learned that in school.

“Futures trading just adds some extra price gouging possibilities and it provides a glorified means of gambling for well-heeled investors.  When have you ever seen a cereal manufacturer lowering their product price on the strength of having bought grain at a better future price?”

“Never.”

“Yet the same corporation will up the price in a heartbeat, if the price of wheat was higher.  Either way, there is no net benefit for the public.  Now let’s talk about the huge global downside.  The price of oil spiked astronomically on unrealized fears of what might happen in the Middle East, but which didn’t occur.  Some traders made out like bandits, while others lost big.  Bear in mind that the commodity futures market returns no money.  For each winner, there is a looser.  It is gambling.”

“Like high stakes craps?”

“It’s far more damaging to everyday people that anything in Las Vegas.  While the oil price was artificially high, all the energy companies grossly ramped up production to poke as many holes in the ground as possible, to get the oil to sell at a big profit.”

“That is when I had my last decent job.”  Donald recalled.  “I optimistically bought a few assets that I later lost, but which created my debt.”

“As many others did.  Conversely, the excessively inflated energy costs made some people loose their homes, which weighed heavily onto the sub-prime mortgages.”  The man with eternal life and youth said as he ladled the stew into two large bowls.  “Then when those Middle East fears didn’t materialize, there was an oil glut that sent the commodity price into the cellar.”

“And companies involved in the energy sector laid off workers in droves.”  Donald lamented.  “The recent hires like me lost their jobs and many who were longer term employees were out of work too.”

“So who or what was really to blame?”

“The Chicago commodity futures market?”

“Precisely.”  The mad trapper sat at the table.  He savored a bite of stew before he continued.  “Yet what we’ve discussed told of the oil fields but I haven’t mentioned all of how this affected the financial services sector.”

“People out of work defaulted on loans?”  Donald guessed.  He was one who did.

“That added pressure but the bigger damage was done at the major investor level.  To purchase a commodity future contract, a person only needs to put up 10% of the capital and the rest is on margin.  When the oil prices sharply moved, both on the way up and down, the investors would’ve been asked to top up their investments with more money.  These are called ‘margin calls’.  But as the price had already gone so high, or so low, that the futures gamblers were better off just folding and walking away from the table.  Those loan defaults were really the ones that hurt the financial institutions but the sub-prime mortgages took more than their share of the blame.  The bankers and the media would rather point fingers at the small people, than to put the real situation up where all could look in disgust at it.”

“Blaming the people,” Donald mused, “the bankers went to the Government and asked the taxpayers to foot the bill.  And the big money people reneged on their bets but walked away still rich.”

“Yah.  That’s the way it works.  I’ve seen it happen over and over again.  One should think that people would eventually learn – but they don’t seem to.”

The stranded and unemployed guest munched away on his stew, while his mind digested the conversation.  The mad trapper’s ghost was also quiet during the rest of the repast.  After the last drops of gravy were daubed up with buttered bread, the two men carried the dishes to the washstand sink.

“What do you want me to do?”  Donald finally asked.

“I’m offering you the opportunity to make a loud statement.”  Nicholas Flamel said.  “I’ve stocked this cabin with everything you would need.”

The Mad Trapper’s Ghost – Part Two

It was still winter when Donald entered the Chicago Mercantile Exchange Building.  Under his overcoat, he had an array of loaded weapons strapped to his body and his satchel contained both spare ammunition and some improvised grenades made with dynamite taped up with nails for fragmentation.  He started his killing rampage with a shotgun.

“This is as easy as the mad trapper said it would be.”  Donald muttered as he killed and he recalled the discussion with his mentor.

‘I don’t think my good conscience will allow me to take a life.’  Donald had said.

‘The law will actually assist you.’  Flamel had countered.  ‘Don’t think about killing or hurting people.  Concentrate only on the laws against murder that you are harming.  Each law is an imaginary item that belongs to the hated government.  In fact, you’ll find that they are good targets, regardless of the living people hiding behind them.’

“Take that you sleazy law!”  Donald yelled as his automatic rifle mowed through a group of commodity traders.  The eternally young trapper’s views on law had been the final argument that had shown Donald what he needed to do.

‘The most pernicious document in the history of mankind was signed 115 years before I was born and my extended life’s mission is to show common people just how badly the Magna Charta hurt them.’  Albert Johnson had explained.  ‘Putting law in place was the Sophists finally defeating Aristotle.  The creation of law doomed folk to hundreds of years of serfdom to greedy liars and lawyers.  Law is the real cause of heinous crimes like debt-based money and commodity futures trading.’

The killer expended all his ammunition and threw all his grenades to devastating effect and unmolested by the police, the death toll climbed.  Finally, Donald was done.  He kicked open the front doors and strolled out with his hands in the air.

“If even a few of you had any guts,” Donald said under his breath as a knot of cops raced up the stairs towards him, “you could’ve entered and engaged me, to the effect of saving any number of innocent lives.”  He saw that the police forces had stayed outside establishing a cordoned off area, and hiding behind their squad cars when shots were heard.

The mass murderer used his final few seconds to reflect on Albert’s explanation.  ‘There’s no such thing as an innocent life.  The Akashic Record shows that each happening is earned and owed as karma.  I’ve perused the Akashic Records and have seen that some of those you’ll take have well and truly earned a death even in this life.  But no soul is ever harmed.  They will return in another life.’

The police gang tackled the surrendering shooter.  Then as he went down under the fists and kicks from the swarm of thugs, Donald triggered his last piece of ordinance.  And the girdle of TNT under his sweatshirt exploded.

The Mad Trapper’s Ghost – Part Three

“Job well accomplished.”  Albert Johnson watched the breaking news segment.  “The video of the exploding scrum of cops was especially compelling.”

“Now we will likely never know why.”  The newscaster’s voice was near breathless.

“Even had he lived you would never find out why.”  The 700-year-old man scoffed at the TV set.  “Because you main stream journalists are deathly afraid of asking that 3-letter question.”

Nicholas Flamel shut off the TV and left the motel room.  He had some work to do in erasing the evidence of his involvement.  The cabin would be burnt to the ground.

‘What caused you to first understand law as you do?’  Donald had asked in the final moments before his terminal walk from the pickup truck to the building.

‘My wife Pernelle was taken from me in the flower of her regained youth.’  Nicholas Flamel had explained.  ‘Since its very inception, law has been people’s worst enemy.  Law is insidious though because through the Sophist’s deceptions, the common folk wrongly believe that law is protecting them.  What law is really doing is stripping away freedom, while concurrently making crime into a growth industry – which is precisely what the Sophists want.’

‘I’ve seen mass killings like this before.’  Donald said as his friend and teacher keyed his ignition.  ‘But I’ve never understood them as I do now.  Did you have your fingers in them?’

‘Some.’

‘Will my message be understood?’  Donald asked.

‘Many will wail and ask why.  A few will understand that the only possible reason is as a political statement.  And a couple will think it through further to realize that it wouldn’t happen if the law didn’t pave a track to it.  As individuals, people are quick on the uptake but as a group, they are slow learners.  It’s difficult too, with Sophist spin doctors planting misdirecting propaganda at each step of the way forward.’

‘Is it worth it?’

‘If you don’t think so,’ Albert patted his short-term friend on the forearm, ‘then don’t carry it through to the end.’  Then he waved goodbye and put the vehicle into gear.

Metaphysical Youth

You may have read Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, or perhaps you’ve seen the movie.  But did you know that neither Nicholas Flamel nor the philosopher stone were products of JK Rowling’s imagination?  Nicholas Flamel was real and purportedly, so was his gaining eternal youth though use of philosopher stone.  Did Nicholas Flamel gain eternal youth and eternal life by using the metaphysical Philosopher’s Stone?

[private_Chevron]My belief is that though Nicholas Flamel may well have gotten eternal youth, he would not necessarily have eternal life.  His eternal youth could have been easily cut short with a sword and during the 1400′s, with the hundred years war still going strong, And even into the 15 and 1600′s France was not a place conducive to eternal life, or even an especially  long life.

However, the intent of this post is NOT to prove, disprove or even to discuss whether Nicholas Flamel is actually alive now.  I’m really just interested in talking about the philosopher’s stone.[/private_Chevron]

Are you interested in reading the Akashic Records?

[private_Chevron]One element of my 2004 death experience involved my metaphysical impression that eternal life was a reality in eternity but that eternal life and eternal youth were both possible in life too.  I had already heard about the philosopher’s stone and Nicholas Flamel so for the past few years, I’ve devoted some time to learning more, and to theorize on the metaphysical possibilities.  And this effort has finally born fruit.  I’ve already made my own philosopher’s stone and I have begun experimenting with philosopher stone with the objective of achieving eternal youth.  I believe that I’m having some success.

I’m not ready to start selling philosopher stone or offer the prospect of eternal youth and eternal life to anyone yet.  Honestly, I’m not sure on the ethics of metaphysical youth yet and that’s what I’d like to discuss with interested people.  I keep asking myself, ‘why didn’t Nicholas Flamel make his philosopher stone available to anyone else?’  Would I like to see criminals having eternal life?  (By this, I mean criminals like most politicians, corporate CEO’s and lawyers).  Please contact me is you’re interested in learning more or offering your input.[/private_Chevron]

PS.  I’ll keep this blog posted on the results I experience with my philosopher stone experimentation.  (I had another post on this topic but deleted it because my tone wasn’t right.)