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Wednesday, December 5, 2018

One Void Is as Good as Another – A Holiday Nightmare

The holiday season falls hard upon this far-west suburb of hell. Snow and fog mingle in the hissing air. But the denizens of this gloaming community – buzzards or wizards all – decorate their homes and gardens with garish displays, each one more gaudy than the last. There are robot elves with flashing lighted eyes and pickled reindeer, frost frozen snow men and flaming torches in every yard.

Meanwhile, an exploded diesel locomotive rumbles through his Christmas nostalgia, and whispering voices taunt him from behind the curtain. “There will be heartburn and hemorrhoids,” they say. “There will be fruitcake.” But even this, he thinks, is better than the silence that crushes him in his sleep.

She changes the subject – from across the room – she changes the subject, but not the setting, not the void. The void is vast. The void is forever. Awkward pauses and dead air stretched into infinity.

The disconnect makes everything everything. It’s all one, and all is one snake biting its tail singularity. He is disgusted with himself. The fuse blows. The basement fills with smoke and the stars in the sky are all crooked. He will eat alone. Yes. He knows this. He will eat alone. Hunger cares nothing for the silence. One void is as good as another.

Monday, November 26, 2018

Latimer Coulter Loved His Work

Latimer Coulter loved his work. It pleased him to do something he enjoyed, something he and his family could be proud of. He was serving his country, protecting the people and places that he loved. And he got to work outdoors with good friends. He liked it so much, he even liked Mondays, God bless him. 

He frequently found himself singing during his shift – quietly, to himself. It filled the silences. He was happy, why not sing?  Sometimes the other guys asked him about it. “What’s that you’re singing, Latimer, another hymn from church?”

He’d grin and nod. Today, again, he sang a song he’d heard in church the day before. 

“I’m just a poor wayfarin’ stranger,
travelin’ through this world of woe.” 

He hummed the melody inside his gas mask and fired another canister of tear gas into the screaming mob of immigrants on the other side of the wall. 

“I’m just goin’ over Jordan.
I’m just goin’ over home.”

God, but Latimer loved hiswork.

Saturday, November 3, 2018

Don’t Give Him Cash – a Dream

I am walking in a city at night, maybe it’s Indianapolis, maybe it’s Peoria or Des Moines. The orange glow of sodium street lights give everything a strange, sickly pallor. But it’s is a sickly pallor that we’re all accustomed to, so no one pays it any mind anymore. The people around me walk in and out of bars and restaurants, they get in and out of Uber vehicles, they text, they talk, they laugh, they move on. The jaundiced tinge to the world doesn’t disturb them.

I am carrying an oversized drawing pad and a pouch of pencils. Its large white sheets of heavy paper now appear a dull orange under the street lights.  Without regard for the other pedestrians around me, I sit down on the sidewalk, cross-legged, with the sketch pad in my lap. I flip open the cover and find a fresh page to begin drawing.

I am interested in the buildings, the skyline, and various architectural details. The people around me disappear as my hand moves across the page. I see only the graphite lines I am creating nothing else until

A slurred, mush-mouthed voice says, “Heaaay there, buddy. Do you need shome money?”

I look up from the drawing pad. An inebriated man is standing there in front of me, fumbling with a bottle of beer in one hand and his open wallet in the other. His female companion stands next to him with her hands jammed resolutely into the pockets of her coat. “Don’t give him cash, Larry,” she warns him. “He’ll probably just use it to buy books…”

Friday, October 26, 2018

Work Instruction 45-410T

No repairs will be made because no repairs are necessary. Put some paint over the hole and ship the unit. We have a schedule to maintain. Even if we are, as it is claimed, out of spec, even if it is shown that we have not followed procedure, we do not care. Irrelevant details. Get out of the way; your complaints only delay.

Inspection will be defunded. Investigation will be cancelled. The results are predetermined and external prime readings will validate our findings. You don’t need to check.  Do not pursue. We already have a story to clear the suspect and muddy the waters.

Do not pursue the obvious direct course – the evidence is fake, planted by false flag Demoncrats as part of their systematic mythology. They will kill us. They will burn our churches to the ground. They will storm the White House. So bomb them first. Bomb them now.

Keep vandals out of direct sunlight. Allow them to work in secret. Our agents, when they work, work best in darkness.

Finish the blast. Ship as many units as possible.

Thursday, October 25, 2018

The Valle Lacrimum

No one lives in the Valle Lacrimum
though many settle there.
No one lives in in the Valley of Weeping, 
yet many die therein.

That vale of tears is dry;
it is lonesome and cold, 
a valley of jagged, unweathered, 
sharp grief stones. 

But there are some,
a blessed few,
who have found the hidden paths,
a  few who know in their hearts
of the highway through,
the long road home. 

They make that desert valley
a fresh water spring,
and go on from strength to strength, 
hand in hand, foot over foot, 
until everyone has found relief. 

(Psalm 84: 5-7)
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Muted Hosannas Muted Hosannas
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