She was and still is a pretty girl and he is and always will be as long as his memory holds out a dashing, handsome figure of a man. Of course she'd be in need of companionship , strength and innate wisdom of such a superlative example of masculine privilege.
The radio crackled with static between the immediate programming the AM dial could offer, secret messages encoded in between the recognizable tidbits of teen music and farm reports. He woke up from his dream and realized he was still in the drive through lane of the local WHAT'S YOUR BEEF!?(c) franchise waiting for his KNUCKLE SANDWICH with olives.
An announcer with a voice that was twenty pounds of ground glass cut through the static and over lapping stations to make this magnificent declaration. Even through car speakers that made every sound resemble arguments from a deep fruit cellar under a country home so that it was sinking its own wait and who's entire frame sagged like gargantuan Bozo frown, the announcer's voice was clear, alert, full of phlegm which filtered his drainpipe baritone.
"What I did this morning was tape record a whole damn hour of one of those early morning fishing shows, you know, two guys inna boat in the middle of the lake not talking, just fishing for long segments of time, just sitting there with their rods and reels and not talking, just grunting, and even they do speak there's nothing but grunts and garbled attempts to find a period or a question mark. Yeah, you know the shit, I know you watched it all, waiting for something to happen. I got it a full damn hour of it on tape, folks, and I am gonna play it now, uninterrupted and unmolested and definitely unfiltered by any kind of charcoal. I am going to step out and and FREAK something goon-tankish, so now, here it is, a full hour of a tv fishing show, no image, just damn silence, 'cept, of course, the occasional splash, fart and grunt. Enjoy"
The radio fell into silence. He was still in the drive through lane when it occured him that everyone in the WHAT'S YOUR BEEF!? franchise was dead. He was , amazingly, a decade in the future without warning. I blinked and I missed it he thought. He looked in the rear view mirror to study his face. Deep furrows, roadwork trenches, folds of flesh defeated by gravity.
Still got it, he thought.
INTIMATIONS OF THE INNER REED: My neighbor NEVER stops cleaning or talking or ranting about smart cars and wokeness and cars too smart to wake up. He'd say dumb stuff like Trump is the most approved of President ever, and say I was wrong when I called him out on that and said that's not true, that the polls he was referring to were the same ones the other Q family members had referred to before, and been fact-checked on, in real time, to their face, and had to admit they were wrong. Not that that changed their opinion, but besides the point. The "misunderstandings” between us as arguably members of the human
ReplyDeleterace have largely been of a social nature. We have relegated the human aspirations to oblivion. Society has
somewhat become belligerent in its true purpose. There
have been too many lines of demarcation between the
classes and creeds. It is not a matter of the one best religion, but the one best system, by which the human race
can become spiritualized and helped. Mere effervescent
words and so-called "rot" about lofty realms of Nirvana
do not suffice. We are all "breadwinners." We all grind
at the wheels ot progress. ‘‘By the sweat of our brow,"
we earn bread. Sky pilots may preach, but we "get” nowhere. We still are knocking at the door of knowledge.
Our "misunderstandings" have led us on "wildcat" campaigns that we might save the remains ot crumbling doctrines and wornout churches. From both pew and pulpit
there is obviously an emptiness. A new dispensation
must demonstrate its possibilities.
What got me was we were talking about it once, and I was calling him out on it, as I do. I told him he's gotta stop spewing the Fox and OAN talking points and propaganda and do his own research, he claimed he did, and said that I was the one falling for propaganda, even though he was repeating shit back that was said on those networks and their affiliated partners literally verbatim. The beaten egg is the birth of tranquility. After that, I pivoted away, I was hurt, saying, "Well, they all (referring to politicians of both parties,) ought'a remember that we play for the same team," to which he responded, "That will never happen." He oozes like a leper in the shadows before we collect our brow-sweat in lube pans and talk Aerospace. He's a retired mechanical engineer, who, for the majority of my life, worked in aerospace for companies on military and government contracts. He's one of the guys who said, at the time when it was relevant, "If I'd done what Hillary had done with those emails, I'd be in prison." And it's true, he would've been, 100%. When I was a teenager, he got laid off. He got 'Volunteered' for layoffs, is the nuance there. Because the project he was working on had a serious design flaw that was dangerous, and the middle-manager idiot above him wanted him to rubber-stamp it, and he wouldn't. So he got put in the lay-off pool for the next fiscal year. Most of the time, my mortal medium on earth is the receiver; the waves of ether vibrating in perfect tune from her mortal body are the wires upon
which this message is conveyed. Trump's face bubbled up from the grease-trap behind the abandoned Arby's in the driveway of our shared spaces.
This is the whole thing in a nutshell, though you can not understand this who do not understand wave vibration. We traded orbs to the frequency of decaying oboes. (My neighbor cannot disagree because our faces shared the same gnashing jaws of refracted light in restless variations.)
There must be the stillness or silence to catch the delicate registrations. There must be the proper rate of vibrating wave, which isn't always noticed. OK! Six months later, my neighbor lost his job. Three months after that, two people were seriously injured because of the very flaw he warned about, that the guy who was hired to replace him rubber-stamped. It wasn't the first time he'd been kicked in the balls for being unbending on his ethics, and it wouldn't be the last.