A Vivacious Young Woman Finally 'Sees the Light'!

It was claimed that the people who motioned to her from the street had her best interests at heart. It was further claimed that they'd heard her story from folks in a neighboring township. I can categorically state that this isn't true. Why? Because I was one of those people (the ones in the street, I mean). The fact is that we were still trying to get to the bottom of the whole situation. I made damn well sure that there was a special solution in a small bottle in my backpack. In case things got hairy, I'd always be sure of what—and whose!—buttons to push if control became an unforeseen factor. Brunch with Steve and Lonnie had already gotten old more than a year before. From where I see things now, there's no doubt that we tried. And didn't fail. Until later. But that's a tale for another day, I'm afraid. But, just to be clear, I'm not really afraid, except of the 'big stuff'.

We intuitively felt that she'd hidden behind a piano to try to ride this thing out. I called out from the bottom of the driveway and her husband told me that she'd shredded the tickets of all but their slimmest markings. I knew him to be a trustworthy type of gopher but something about his aplomb just didn't sit right with people who know how to read people like books. Books about people, not just ordinary non-living things. I took the husband under my wing and got him established down near the Mexican border. He was delivering major weight on an almost weekly basis. I ended up finally learning to swim. When my show premiered on the Prison Network I overcame my inherent bashfulness and put in for bush removal. First I'd have to get the Governor's approval. That wouldn't prove easy. It sure didn't stay that way.

Once it hit three-fifty I made the call. The call of a lifetime, some would call it. When she answered I could tell she'd calmed down. I invited her out to dinner and promised her all-you-can-eat Cobb salad (her favorite, if you don't know). She got ready and came down in her best things. I was sporting a major 'office casual' look. Before I could ask her to sign up, she took my hand in hers and promised to never lie. That was a lie. I wondered aloud if she ever felt that an inherent 'wrongness' pervaded existence as a whole. She responded with a whole song-and-dance involving her Pastor, the Chief of Police and a policy wonk from Montclair, New Jersey. When I got home later that evening, I looked my remaining children directly in their eyes and promised never to lie to them. That was a lie. Oh well.... 

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Yes, I've Been in a Spot of Trouble.

I've been in trouble from the very first day. So he calls my mother in and they agree to have me removed to a seemingly neutral domicile. Before removal is complete I cling to this or that piece of furniture and practice my sub-vocal tones while they consult the manual. That—on page five—is where it says that ones like me could get mildly ornery if steps aren't taken. They've asked around town for the best expert but it turns out that he's on sabbatical and won't return any time soon. Improvisation is the order of the day.

So, on the third try I'm hinched up near the ceiling where a small opening awaits for whatever specimen I might be able to produce. Some folks in the other room are preoccupied with the State Championships. I think I recognize one of their voices but when I ask about it I'm told that people of his type would never have been allowed to be within a line of sight. Even if I weren't blind, this would come as quite a blow. So I decide to resign effective Sunday at noon. Once I assemble a team of trailing experts, we can see if anything is stuck in a way that might encourage denialism. That's a raw deal. Makes my head whip around. Gosh.

In the small of the night my benchable flask is returned to me just in time to learn to appreciate a new type of smell. We engage with some leftover freedom fighters and I transfer an old sheaf of documents which makes me look good (if anyone takes the time to reconsider). There's a countdown near the Lake and it looks as if I've been poisoned. It's not too bad, though. I mean, I can still breathe, albeit with a modicum of difficulty. The hair that I've brought with me from camp gives me a new found confidence. There's a youngish sample person just to my right who says her name is Brenda. I believe she was the one who touched me about an hour ago. There's a mark where her ring snapped. I find that I could go on about this throughout the night. For now, though, I'm still tripping pretty intensely. Some of them are delicately breaded. The others remind me that I'm no longer deceased. It's kind of a relief, to be honest. The grading in this place is designed to shock. Mission accomplished, you fuckers!

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Note to readers (HA!): It's been determined with a fair degree

of certitude that this blog has as readership of approximately

ZERO! Therefore, if you should find yourself reading this, or

anything else on this blog, or even viewing images or listening

to audio,.. what might this mean? It means, friend, that for all

intents and purposes, YOU DO NOT EXIST!  But hey, look

at it like this: I've saved you untold years of intensive meditation

practice to reach the very same conclusion, i.e, that you don't exist.

You're very welcome!

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A Problematic Neighbor.

Surprisingly enough, the other person on our floor seems to be living longer every year. The first year it wasn't so bad, but by the time we assembled our wits about us, we thought to question the very premise of any requirement to form well-cut lines with the bodies we were born with. I approach him nightly to ask for the simplest coöperation. Often he will feign a posture which momentarily puts some of the other couples in the mind of a sweeping nap, followed by a bit of 'old school' liquid. You shouldn't take that to mean that there was any danger of drowning. We are near no major oceanic, riverine or lakeside bodies. Any dream we might conjure could be our final ticket to the inside.

It's common knowledge that we donate his plates in the Wintertime. They are framed with voluble iotas of polished copper. He believes that he has us to thank for his flare-ups being in temporary remission. Our luck so far astonishes us, since he hasn't once asked about the changing shades. Once the light is removed his skin becomes even simpler, thereby rendering our flight to safety as an open book to the parched many. He doesn't have to know any of this, because as of this week a specified condition is taking root among each of the abandoned fathers whose thefts during the late 2010s made this thing a mandatory topic of concern.

Nowadays, when I find myself inside a proper lounge-type environment, there's no longer any need to ask permission to assemble groups of parts within a flagrant basket of modular drones. I merely ponder which came first and then get to work. If he should happen to wander by, as if by some pseudo miracle, I expose one of the tickets and each shade he's brought into being will reveal itself in the brightest of cones. They're the ones you'll find right behind a rusted belt. Our opinion of said belt morphs daily with each coming wind proffering a dining plot for our organized betwittle. Even the vanyerds are said to grip you violently. Whenever there's a scratch at the rightmost part, you can count on him to run with you at least until one of you drops. There may be a tone. Ignore it if you know what's good for you. You'll see my plan in the morning. Then they won't think twice. Count on it.

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For Eyes Only.

The selling of our vanishing plate has now been approved. At one time it held a lime-green item and not even one bracket would ever have been required. We made sure of that. The approval came in a line-item just after dawn on the twelfth. Even before that though, some of the people we bought over indicated that doubts were present in their very minds, however much they may have gone on later to deny any such thing. The group, which contained a set of twin cousins, has continued to maintain a standard of candor, without which a clarifying 'talking-to' would have been strictly out of the question.

The funds which we anticipate to recover from the sale are earmarked in perpetuity. Even with a small portion of 'wiggle room', this has put a panoply of projects on indefinite hold. The stationery upon which are written the numbers hold our attention on a nearly nightly basis. Because of that, any activities involving the ingestion of substances are seen to be risky in the extreme. I will grant you permission to begin to conduct meetings in my stead while I cast about for potential alternatives in the lifestyle department. It's very disappointing to some in our field that my hairline is officially finished. If that's added to a congenitally weak chin, it can be observed by any fairminded person that a certain someone has his or her work cut out for him or her or it.

Now that we are pleased concerning the scope of our progress, we will insist that all subentries be returned within a highly comfortable washable puff. Without exaggeration, most of us are gripped on some days by an urge to master a crowd inside a limited chamber. Fundraisers sometimes compete with hidden forces for our immediate attention. Where is it written that a medium-sized pill would be enough to allow a fluid to pass undetected through a gate only recently installed with minimal assurances? If you could have it out during this time of crisis, do you think that would make you more coöperative? Your continued existence depends on your willingness to answer truthfully. Whatever you do, don't fuck this up. 

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The Reckoning Which Incites a Dubious Re-Appraisal.

A person often mistakenly thought to be one of the younger members sits on the southern corner of the moistened planchette that was installed in this room not too long ago. He thinks, more often than not, in a rhyming pattern, but for some reason today this tendency is nowhere to be found. In fact, for the moment he is concerned with an obnoxiously fading silhouette occupying the eastern breach opposite a window whose placement was vigorously opposed by several non-aligned factions. The grief which usually flounces upon his pearly countenance has transformed into an icy intransigence. Why? Because he has made it known to those in charge of such matters that certain foods do not agree with his phystein memory profiles. They cause him to question which story he's prepared to stick with. Some say it's for the best but assurance is in short supply in these matters. So naturally we consider having him eliminated in the most comfortable way that's doable within accepted budgetary parameters. Chloroform on a hankie?

Even though I offered one or more caveats—to no avail, as ever—it was decided to induct several of our local 'goons-for-hire' to extract his recently abandoned vehicle, a 2013 Chevy Malibu, from Choclateer's Ravine that bisects the Western Field where he mistakenly thought it would arouse neither suspicion nor remorse. I've been holding a collection of his photographs inside a faux pearl embalming pellet. This fact alone should ensure my safety should the lesser streets fall to the jurisdiction of the 'chosen few'. In the years since total blindness took its inevitable toll, regret at having never seen the matched sets of images has been my constant companion in the moments between implacable catastrophes. This is why I'm issuing a call for descriptive documents to be submitted into my opulent intake maw.




 

Now, when or about the thirteenth extension, more than a few are guaranteed to notice a pattern to the rides they claim to enjoy. The brace which we believe they use for leverage in a French sort of way, only serves to gull the opponents of progress. Now they even carry a cartridge. This may not end well.


He now, ever so slowly, moves his right hand from mid-thigh toward the knee. This is his signal, or at least the signal that was previously agreed upon, to request a curtain to be withdrawn from an antique shield. He doesn't know it, but the shield is, in fact, made of plaster and was used in a local high school production of Rambo. If he's told, it will set him off. Even after daily inspection, it's not certain that his hair system is not apt to explode. There is a cup of liquid in the niche in the hallway just to the right of the door. You might consider if you've thought of that before. If not, please re-read the manual. It's for your own protection.

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Sonic Aethyrs of the Antic Variety.

Michael Roper 5 · Antic Aethyrs

A Lesson in Accepting the Inevitable.

There's a part where, if I remember correctly, my own voice is recorded recommending sleep to a male hitchhiker during a stopover in Keene, New Hampshire. On a screen-within-screen though, if you squint, at the very same time, my wife is depicted on a discarded pamphlet that washes up on a beach (possibly on the Gulf Coast) sometime in the late 2010s. I continue to insist that these type of fabrications are virtually stripmining my reputation for probity and nonchalance. If I had my way, all prior versions would be required reading for those in need of a silent foe.

When we discuss the possibility of my joining her as part of a group effort, it is baldly recommended that I seek professional help. This was never what I would have expected, but now that I think about it, the idea seems to become more and more ludicrously afflative. I will place a wall-hanging worth in excess of ten thousand dollars inside a cheap cloth sack and have it delivered to my place of action near a secretly marked building. I know some people there who specialize in these things. One of them grew up in the Islands but is very effective nonetheless. The other is a favorite of the ladies.

The relationships which we've cultivated over the years were designed in a human interest lab funded by DARPA and lavishly ignored by the public-at-large. We can't come to any other conclusion but that this was for the best. My earnings alone are said to be sufficient to prop up a senior citizen kiting scheme. It was once alleged that I'd take her into a room if I thought everything was on 'the up-and-up'. Several of them were pulled out during the final stages. However, once we entered Stage 5, I let it be known that each of the sensors had yet to be tripped, thereby lending credence to charges of 'rigging'. In the end I was one of six entrants who could be found milling about near a Transfer Station. The only explanation that makes any sense is that some person or group of animals wanted just this outcome. No one could say that they didn't have their work cut out for them. And if anyone did, you can be damned well sure I'd try like the dickens to put a stop to it!

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Promises Made, Promises Kept!

A smaller person came by the other week. I've been told by more than one family member that he arrived in a separate car. Where they got that from is anyone's guess. Meanwhile I'm sticking with the same routine. If one or more folks can get ready in time, we'll grab a bite and pool what's left of what we came with. Even if a donation were to be enough, most of us still wouldn't feel comfortable riding around. It's said that even walking can get you killed. I have my doubts but if the people up front can just lower their shades a bit, I'm sure any of  the rest could earn a place if our team likes their feeling. Sometimes you'll notice that it's almost tan.

Once in a while I'll encounter one in a tavern that I frequent when I'm out that way. They generally have a particular method of saving themselves for peculiar sequences. Then if you utter one word out of place, or at least not in a place of their choosing, an apology will be in order. I could help you with your blood pressure medication if I get off work in time. It's said that they work with 'rhyming shells', whatever they may be. The one time I spotted a package on the back seat of a car parked at the mall I lost my nerve. Now I can't help but regret every move I make, unless the direction just 'feels right'.

Now that we no longer are apt to linger after hours, the basket that's all but empty should be enough to lead us into a room where the tests are sometimes applied. I've still got the handkerchief that we agreed on. The thing is, though, that one of us always has to make sure that each corner is folded to form an inversion. I've already wrecked three televisions. They say that if you can wake yourself up without moving into position, you can count on them to see you through to a life-long program. What I can promise you—of all people!—is to not fail to cease denying the possibility of breaking my word for good this time. Get used to it! 

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The Unusual Contingencies Which Led To My Appointment to the Restabilization Campaign.

There are some who wouldn't think twice about blaming me outright. And there are at least a few others who would actually accompany me into one of the tubes. The one I'm thinking of—and he has the hands to prove it—sometimes makes a deadly comment before I've even had time to remove my sweater. One night, after he entered the lounge area, he saw where I kept my extra skins and helped himself at length. I told him I wouldn't be but a minute and snuck out to find a napkin in which to hold my teething blade. When I got back I discovered that he'd leaked isolated water into my converter box. Sometime around midnight I approached his lawyer near the second hole. I handed him my Official Notice and became aware as I did so that he was sporting sort of an ambiguous antagonism. Within minutes I knew I had him by the balls! Score: me 1, him zero.

By the next day things started to sort themselves out, or so I thought until I heard my name called out near a service road at the Old Branchway Bridge Exit. When I asked whose concern it was anyway, I was told to 'pipe down'. The next year, after I launched her singing career in a series of false starts that left me with a telltale stain on my left instep, I became an Honorary Associate of the Restabilization Campaign. I was presented with a diagram of an office which I would one day place in a folder marked 'to be continued'. After lunch I doused her antiquated shawl with pine-scented benzene in an effort to remove the remaining flecks of dried gopher blood. My career in Abstract Expressionism was, quite frankly, in the toilet. I found it difficult to chew in the pre-dawn hours but I still believed in my original vision.

After Tube 4 had been closed permanently, the Committee decided that I would no longer be allowed to hum softly while the men were dissolving clearances within the migrontic light. That suited me just fine as I was now old enough to sew my own patches onto whatever relief pattern suited me. This was when I learned the value of true friendship. Because even though my only friend had gone missing while driving innocently through suburban Ontario, Delaware, I still kept a framed picture of her wallet secreted in a soba box underneath the stairs to the third floor servant's quarters. And I can tell you this: it gave me great comfort!

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