Explanations Proffered, Questions Asked.

 

We live with the pains of a bygone era. But, so far, no one has thought to steal the wreck where I keep my knives. I've given them every possible indication, yet they remain perfectly still, never going so far as to crave attention from this or another gender. I've heard that if you feed them garden stories, the more inscrutable ones will assume a mystical posture of gross defiance. So, I keep my distance with the best of them. The calls arrive daily. Even so, I have my vow to consider, then make light of, for the amusement of a coterie of blind magicians who insist on calling this place their 'home turf'. No one says it better than they do. But sometimes when the light hits the shade 'just so', I can just barely see the outline of their favorite stain. This is the one redolent of steamed poplar. You'd know it if you'd ever spent time in internal exile. That's how they keep pharmers and the like under subdominant mastery. You see, it's just a game to them. It's the young people who suffer, though. I have a picture of every last one of them. Take it from me, no one wants to do this kind of work.

The framing device for these types of examinations usually involves either a vehicle, a structure, or maybe even a journey through time's fetid byways. Often one or more persons are mentioned. There may be a name, but an occupational designation will often get the job done just as well. Now, when various diseases or other biological issues make an appearance, more often than not it's to get the reader into a specific mood. No one can say for sure when the desired effect will 'click in'. We leave that up to our predecessors who paved the way long ago. You could say they 'wrote the book', but that might tempt the worst of them to stage a fake re-appearance just as you let your guard down. And the thing about guards is, if you've not already been apprised, when you accidentally-on purpose let one slip only 'this' far through a not-so-well tarnished crevice, it's as if the whole world wants to shout your third false name in unison. Then it's all downhill. Because, the  more they try, the weaker they get. Then you've got a whole passel of dissatisfied customers on your hands.

Now I suppose you might be wondering where you fit in. In what world could see yourself applying for membership? Is it safe to assume that you'd be willing to meet us halfway? Do mandated uniform colloquies give you the creeps? Was there ever a time in your life when someone approached you near a building and performed a subtle, yet vague, hand gesture which seemed to produce a burning sensation at a location remote from your physical specimen? Do discreet conversations about sexual requirements leave you wondering, 'Is that all there is?' Has anyone ever told you that your clothing choices make them nervous? How would you react if I offered you a one-time payment? Do you feel that my numerous food allergies are any of your business? And finally, at what age did you learn to swim? And, if so, why?

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