This is the title which some of you have requested. You're welcome.

 

She keeps us to herself while tearing up. I live in a one-room house near a school yard. The companion who we share in common is not one to compete for our affections. It dithers and it dathers, but still we behave as old friends have come to expect. 'Circumspection' doesn't begin to describe our approach. On the other hand, if either of the three of us feels neglected or otherwise held apart from our fellows, all we need to do is issue a proprietary rejoinder, wait a few minutes and then resume our studies at the field house under the guidance of experienced mental laborers. Their own coatings still hold clues to the events leading up to a precarious climax. No one is the fonder for having held any old package for this long. Quite the contrary, in fact. I try not to go there much anymore on the slight chance of a not-so-random rebuke. But then again, why should this cause alarm at the end of a long and gruesome day?

It's plain to me now that if I leave her under the care of a loathesome surgical resident, I will only have myself to blame if she feels justified in scrimping on the deployment of strategic affections. A photograph of a minor child in need of psychological assessment is what brought us together in the first place. This was years ago, before either of my parents learned to drive. Yes, that minor child in the photo is yours truly. But no, you continue to be quite mistaken in your sweeping assumptions. It wasn't for nothing that when we first moved to the Coast, I made it known that anyone who issued a statement in her presence could expect a major winnowing in the months and years to come. And, in case that wasn't clear enough, I made it a practice to expose the remaining spouses to some harmless bacteria to see how they liked it. By now we've agreed to patch up the garage we share and ask someone to make an offer. If I am prodded by any more false alerts, you might try asking me to sit lengthwise in an Army Surplus tent. I've heard they're having a clearance downtown. Please look into it.

I've already glued a surfeit of pages into our handbook. These will comprise the addendum that so many have found lacking from the opening boomlet. But, it's very important to tread carefully so as not to offer false comfort to defective stragglers. They could come at you with all manner of hooks and scythes. In the event that we decide to purchase a vacation home in which to conduct 'the experiment', we both intend to keep ourselves at arm's length in the expectation of another penitent breaking out first. There's one particular party who excites our instinct for survival. He's obviously the kind of bloke who trods roughly and garrots a big wimp. But even if our postural learning curve has flattened to a bare incline, why would it be anyone's business if and when we see fit to settle our affairs in the most  public way imaginable? It's not for nothing that the morning trend line is all that people talk about anymore. They just can't get it out of their system, is all I'd like to avoid saying. But, if anybody sees me scurrying through a Carbonetta HQ while the others avert their eyes, then you'll know that my work is far from complete. Please approach the bench.  

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This 'Family' Isn't What It Seems . ..

 

There's a family that appears regularly on our side of the fence, usually after we've retired for the evening. But once when I was scrounging in the shed for some maple-inflected duct tape, I observed them on the security monitor. Two adults, male and female, and three children, two female and one male, which is why I assume they're a family. They appear to be of Alsatian-Dutch lineage and seemingly have zero fear of dark wooden objects. The male adult, hereinafter referred to as 'the dad', carries with him a neutrally shaded cylindrical ice-posket sled measuring about three and one half by seven and two thirds centimeters. Occasionally the adult female, hereinafter referred to as 'the mom', coughs an odd number of times, most often three, and periodically seven, nine or five, at which time the whole group lies face down on the sandy surface (this is in the Southwest of the property) and 'plays dead' for about fifty seven seconds, before sitting up, retrieving writing implements and paper from their pockets and lightly tapping the paper with their pens/pencils.

After consulting with my wife and our attorney, we've decided invite this 'family' to enter into a web of deceit and lies. Their hair color alone should make this a cinch. We're going to keep this color 'close to the vest' for the time being for obvious reasons. When our son, Lucas Kylie Jr., graduated from the Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland, I had the bright idea of forming a squad of kendricks to uphold a standard of dignity and forebearance in the nearby towns. No one of this variety has seen fit to approach us with a plausible solution. 

When my handkerchief was stolen at the MiniMart on Presidents Day eve, it was all I could do to not fail to call in my chits from the negligent parties who comprise the lion's share of thought-leaders who infest the Council Flats down the way. By the standard of excellence that we've set in previous decades, there's no doubt that an extension could be made available in which to store a pervasive vehicle. The paint will be offloaded at the Port of Baltimore and my gift to a search party near City Center will consist of a balsa wood replica of Joe Dimaggio's World Series ring.

But if anyone is wondering about the crew of deaf-mutes who have almost completed the construction of our new septic system, they should (please!) relax, as they're likely to inflict only the most unavoidable frottage, to the point that I'm regularly called out-of-state. I'm not sure if I haven't yet forgotten to neglect to write something. If it comes to me later while taking a shower I'll be sure to post an update. It's not my intention that anyone should be kept in the dark. Sometimes less than desirable events occur in conditions of negligible light, even while sometimes to the contrary notwithstanding. Peace out.

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Late Breaking Reactions to the Current Situation.

Since our negative welding tour last year, my wife's smell has occupied an increasingly catastrophic load of bandwidth which is only now bringing to bear those difficulties the chewing of which we had bit off too much. When I say 'she had it coming', you can be sure that I am being as mild as current regulations allow. However, on those occasions when I'm heard (or seen) to mouth the lyrics to a half-century old 'also-ran', then we can all agree that the time has come to put various items in an order which won't arouse the kind of suspicion that can have someone refusing to eat out of the hands of warm-hearted carpers. The illusion of control can take us far afield in a way that disabuses iatrogenic pest framers of their former jubilation to finally be rid of the context which had kept them pegged to the very end. I always knew that I would stand by them. But in the interim I had sufficient cause to undergo bladder surgery in lieu of an invitation to a Calming Supination sponsored by a Mr Dennis Grant of the Randolf Hines Foundation.

Sometimes there is no cause which can be isolated to bring about undesired results. In that case, if you should decide to meet me halfway between here and there, I can promise unlimited access to my collection of antique spinach strainers. These will help you attain a vibrancy which you formerly scorned, not so much in the manner as in the breach. I will take it upon myself to bring you one of our most loyal specimens so that you may exert your evocative wiles on an innocent nomad. Don't let that name fool you, though. We've had to run through over sixteen thousand cherry-picked professional liars before one could be seen as adequate to waltz through a covered display. At pains to risk exposure, I pulled her arms through a device which flattened them into a manageable tightwad. Please don't say that we didn't try. That would be a shame. That's why I'm telling you. 

In our own last-ditch effloresence of strategic bonhomie, I was informed by no less than the Principal Actor that my own hazy recollections of past exploits would scarcely do the trick to insure our inclusion in all manner of striated gumtwats. When I tell you that this has caused indelible damage to our forensic image clusters, you can be sure that I know whereof I speak. To treat people with a laminated disregard is all we ever hoped to achieve. Instead, I'm now faced with a boiling hot reaction to my placement in a row of picayune onanists. The result has been as harrowing as it is fulfilling. In my own narrow-guage fashion, I will judge each of my tormentors in a way which brings credit to our own cohort of tungsten-eschewing allergists. When faced, as we were, with a delayed faction of unyielding psychopomps, the rules of engagement were thrown to the dogs and my own weight became a thing of true futility. For this I have you to blame. You're welcome.

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The question answers itself, if you ask me.

 

A question has been raised repeatedly in recent hours. It has to do with where a person in my position, or indeed, a more principled co-mingler of funds, could go to locate a rare segment of vegetable matter and still find the time to execute an overbearing ontology in the run up to a crisis of conscience in the American South. No one who has brushed the lawns in our division has any doubt that blame should be laid in a direction that couldn't even last the night, if there were ever to be one. Even those who claim to speak with the authority of a Higher Force are quite pleased to be rid of the rooted paranoia which, at the time, seemed to go so well with underhanded leisure-time pursuits in the face of overweening opportunism. Likewise, the cunning 'Mistress of Ennui' has served notice that her stilted frame, once thought to be impervious to the mildest reckoning in years, is holed up in a damning process of epidemiological fooforaw. Yes, I had the same reaction.

In case anyone would care to assume the duties of my personal monitor, they are well within their rights to demand a reading of the relevant articles in the company of impudent returnees from a formally redundant speed-reading competition. It might help if all seven living former Secretaries of the Bastard Nations be consoled as to the affordability crisis afflicting a random sample of sullen pre-teen assailants. The way some people scoff at all hours when a snacking duo slips the precious umber dot under my already weirdly inflated pudendum, is enough to discourage all future trackless manbots from ever straining to spring a leak from a perilous cancer flood. It irks no less than the purveyor of life-giving waters to have to witness this disgraceful display on the banks of our very own sulphurous wave. Some might go even farther. Everyone is advised to remain glued to their sets for further updates. As morning turns to afternoon, a certain delicate morsel will be indicated by a subtle itching sensation in the center of the palm. On the other hand, anyone worth their weight in salt has all of our permission to lie in wait in lieu of performing a perfunctory procedure. Could anyone register a position as to why it has come to this? At this very moment, no less?

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We need to work this out privately.

 

Would anyone you know be willing to approach a stranger in a hallway not far from here? It shouldn't take but a minute or two and in the end, those who wondered what I was made of can finally get the answer that they were afraid to hear from Day One. On the off chance that I'll be visiting my cousin, the Lance Corporal, I'll be incorporating some fecal material into my routine. And if anyone thinks that's 'not kosher', please take it up with my de-platformed road manager, Ira Soskin. He seems to be under the impression that you, or someone you might have met a couple of years ago, has something to hide. I'll never stop trying to talk sense into that man, however frustrating it may turn out to be in the end. To tell you the truth, I'll be saving my major firepower for a character widely rumored to be sort of intelligent. He goes to great lengths to look the part, always figuring stuff out in his head, even while his wife is looking at five to fifteen in the State pen. I know it might sound funny to say this but, you've got stop taking every little thing I say (or write) literally. They say that a mind which is frozen is cold to the touch. I say that one out of three bastards will have his work cut out for him when I start wearing a very attractively styled new uniform.

Yes, it's true what you've heard: we all strive in our little ways to follow precedents and decorum. I keep a stick of gum hidden in the flap of my hat and sing in the Youth Choir of my local habitat. It turns out that not all plant species are beneficial to eat. It comes down to consuming stuff in patterns which are built one brick at a time. A road crew can be asked to help you make ripples in the morning crud. When you receive the latest scouting report, you should look for a name which doesn't rankle people who are touched in the head. For all the others, it's okay if you relax on the beach in the off season. Who would ever think to look for you there? Not anyone who's submitted their forms on time, that's who.

Could we get down to particulars yet? To wit: why have you seen fit to patrol in my neighborhood without risking societal opprobrium? It would never have entered any of our calculations that someone in your position might have once broken bread with Harry Belafonte Jr. We were even somewhat surprised that you entered one of our eateries unaccompanied by individuals of a high caliber. It showed us just how wrong a person can be when they take it upon themselves to move all my furnishings into a squalid sub-basement without provocation. It makes sense in a bizarre kind of way that your doings are plastered all over the Conway even while the youngest of our children are shut out of the job market entirely. Does this strike you as 'fair'? I ask because you've never seemed to be that kind of person, at least not when I knew you growing up. Some things never change, though. And you know exactly what that would be. Don't lie.

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