Line Management Schema.

 

There is a placement of lines in our local atmosphere that I'd say I was starting to get used to if not for a persistent oily rash inside my second forehead. It's not only the ratio of light to shading, but for the sound-threading itself, especially when it seems to swirl, that my very mentation assumes the status of a negligently perforated wig pattern.

But the disadvantages of making any kind of definitive statement at a time like this is that no one would think it wise to tell me where it could end, or even if a person in my position could be likely to recover a practical reason to maintain a paltry modicum of hardheaded, yet modern, religious affiliation. If all goes as it has been alleged to have been planned, by this time tomorrow I'll be ensconced in seat 32B on Amtrak's Kalthorn Moverm, with Jake and Kathy by my side, a portion of dainty comestibles at the ready and a reliably engrossing selection of reading matter to take my off the predicament I can't seem to shake rid of.

It's my name and I'm entitled to it, is all I ever said. Now that the 'professional people' are so involved, it'll be a 'day at the beach' if I can ever see my way straight again to stare a false God in the mouth and smile without leaning into a torpid, if sultry, breeze. It's because of the trim that was applied to my standing field that I find this stigmatized atmosphere so impressive. A wave of fealty has been shown to engage folks like me in a grimy, indigent spree of wisdom theft at distance.

The program begins when we are shown to our personalized crates. Even when the likely announcement is made that everything we need will be placed neatly within, a rising sense of incompletion will hold center stage at each non-professional tournament I'm forced to attend. Despite what some of the younger readers may choose to believe, when I was a kid this wasn't how things generally went. For starters, each suspiciously telltale line would be followed to its very end. Try that today and see where that gets you! You won't be disappointed, I'm sure! But even now, with the ever rising ring of phagistry overwhelming this very continent, there is still hope that a fear of waitlessness will usher in a New Era of Sun in Our Brain. It won't be soon enough. Have a good lunch. Please stop it.

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