The Sacrifice Game

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4 Sundog, 12 Whiteness, on the ninth K’in of the fifteenth Uinal of the nineteenth and last Tun of the nineteenth and last K’atun of the twelfth and last B’aktun

Thursday, October 30, 2012 5:42:08 P.M.

To All, Whom It Concerns:

… five… four… three… almost there… one… zero… tap.

Whoa.

That’s it. I’ve done it.

Let me catch my breath here for a second.

Okay.

I didn’t expect it, but just now, at the moment I tapped that icon, I–I guess I should say even I-felt a twinge, and more than a twinge, of that gray free-falling terror, that it was really happening, and that it wasn’t reversible. Was there any guilt in the twinge? Hmm. Remorse, yes. Nausea that it had come to this? Sure. But guilt? I guess not. It won’t hurt, for one thing. In fact, you won’t even notice.

What I just did was-all I did-was I bought a hundred standard five-thousand-bushel corn contracts for February delivery, effective at the opening of the Chicago Board of Trade tomorrow. At 5:41:59 P.M. a bushel was at $7.10, so this only-“only”-took $3,550,000.00 out of my main Schwab account. I realize it doesn’t sound like this transaction could be a very big event. Certainly not something that will end the whole place. I mean, end the world. And I don’t mean just the world as we know it either. I mean the world, like everything.

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