The Radio and The Internet

 

The dim metal pang of something camouflaged by its obscurment in the enormous, broken shadow of the room. The sad, mean dust of pain etched into his sinuses and synapses. Peter Nicholas Levanarskie. White t.v. glow humming like fluorescent mold in the borrowed window to the borrowed city street out there in the cheap, in the indifferent night, every word lost, every word uncertain.  *Time exists in a great many ways. There are as many forms of time as dirt can be molded into bricks or various clay shapes or really any shape at all. If you think that the greatest talent of the universe is to exist, to fling itself out of a hollow, seemingly spaceless nothingness, you are mistaken, you have underestimated the universe. To keep the point of this going: Time is the imaginary machine that any given thing that would benefit in even the least way to a reference of itself has as a right of its very, simple presence.  Doctor Milo Gollander understood (1987-) had a terrifyingly keen und...

 https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/8158680913636509372/1346711379165356213 Up is the the poem I wrote in Beacon. See it as some prototype for a "small" book in History of Writing. Likely, 5th or 6th.  *5-7/? would likely be some Sullivan Broca story dealing with warehouses, smuggling, illegal/illicit trade.  God, again... God Among the Natives: first appearance of She Who Runs With The Wolves At Night.   https://tobedeleted00.blogspot.com/2023/06/god-among-natives.html God's journey and hallucination.  https://tobedeleted00.blogspot.com/2023/10/ingredients-precisely.html All as of January 2025. 

 2033 to 2035  Think, like Hap and Leonard  Bobby Western...anywhere  ....tangential to Randall Fincher and  Sisyphus in recovery center  Samantha Grows Younger  Charles Anthony Jung is looking for Samantha, indirectly  Milo Gollander is looking for self-emancipated name-changing son  As THOUGH in general 4  corporations were trying to merge into one and the last one wasn't having it....  Then, suddenly: plagues. 

Premonition bleeds into insomnia deftly as a mouse surveying a stone floor of some anonymous building when, where 'Troy' opened his halfnumb eyes where he lay in the bed beside Samantha, Samantha sleeping. His nude body tolerably stiff in the vacancy of the bedclothes and the quiet room. Brooklyn everywhere without expiration.  In the week before that death, the dockworkers, machinists, engineers had arrived, collectively, at the sobering & final understanding that the careful, accommodating   approach they'd thus far maintained as the spearhead of their persuasion for better pay, healthier environs and reasonable working conditions had arrived at some natural apogee (in so many words) and some do-or-die atavistic gesture was all that would satisfy their position if any further progress was to be regarded seriously.  They were going to rally & protest. They were less than 200 men, total, a pithy fraction for such a thing by today's standards. In each one's m...

Grauerholz steered the van through the slow, quiet rain in the deserted hours of the morning, his stiff, capable body gripping the wheel, an act between pushing and strangling, the tires rolling over the ground perfectly, perfectly and the crates & dresses & assorted paraphernalia buzzing and rattling with the gravity of the moving vehicle.  He was neither new to driving nor was there any reason practical or imaginary to observe the laws for the police and he neatly slowed at each red-light or intersection, and he often put the van deadstill, hitting the right-blinker for right and the left-blinker for left.  He liked being the one who drove. He'd never say as much to Levanarskie or the other one for fear they'd either pettily interfere with the desire or else ridicule his deliberate want for anything.  The crates, of course, were fully-stuffed with Lee-Enfield rifles. The National Guard was really the only association permitted to import the weapons into the coun...

There's something mondogrenous about the air in this place. Everything suggests something else behind it. Or it reminds you of something else and your mind wanders to your memories of that thing and some new series of thoughts will politely, politely, will require your attention to study this new thing and sure enough you forget the thing you originally wanted to start.  It feels like we're living on the fucking moon sometimes.  Whenever we fill-out the daily check-in reports intended to gain a better growing assessment of our moods, my whole upperbody starts to clench eggszept it never finishes, like there'd be a million glittering nailheads pocking-up my back if I could crane my neck that far. (You'd see some crazy schmuck wandering the halls with his head at a 3/4s-angle like you couldn't tell if'n his manufacturer was still in the process of completion or had some minor adjustment to perform...)  No, I don't really think I'm a robot. (No, I don't...

*Knock Any Door Theory     8. Entropic Resolution                                    1. Incident     7. Compromise/Solution                  2. Characters                  6. Barter                      3. Joining  5.    Struggle                                      4. Terms of situation                                                                                                ...

I don't remember the name of the building just that  it was in the back of the Saint James Church and the other  that was, that was heavy stone that I  seemed to have retained the feeling of in my hands.  It's where you had to go for CCD if you were going to get  Confirmation if your parents were even halfhearted  Catholic like mine were. I was 10, 11 years old.  I'd go in there with my CCD pencilcases and all  the different smells of things, my assignments and  so forth. Not that I wanted to be there, of course,  doing religious study and the same years George Fischer  was giving children their first impressions regarding  sex, nocturnal emissions -- the years around when a kid  would be looking for something like a permission-slip to go  to Washington D.C. (and...incomparably, buy the  Plastic Surgery Disasters/In God We Trust, Inc. at a record store.)  And you'd have that kind of magic working its  c...