Story Time: Christmas Ever

Merry Christmas, Dear Reader!

As you may know, my good friend and missive writer extraordinaire, Cade Fon Apollyon, unexpectedly died in July. What you may not know, however, is that at the start of 2022, he was about to be made homeless…

*It’s not been great, Clicky..*

… Fortunately, that didn’t happen but the start of January was a worrisome time; he had to decide what to do with his stuff that he couldn’t carry on him, which included his computer and all his writings on it…

*That was a epic scrolling sesh through DMs last night to find Cade’s permission, Clicky…*

Christmas Ever was Cade’s first foray into fictional writing and it appeared in Underdog Anthology IV in December 2017. It is kinda long, so I suggest you get yourself a drink, settle back and enjoy because the pay-off is spectacular… 😉


Christmas Ever

by C.F. Apollyon

Voice: What is clean?

Patient 4: I’ve had some thoughts about that.

We spend a great deal of time trying to work out the particulars of the concept of clean. We remove. We add. We remove one thing by adding another. I sometimes wonder about the mechanics of the processes involved in cleaning, and the oversight involved in determining what is worthy of the label: clean.

Aren’t all of those things connected? These things that are removed….where do they go? And where did they come from that they needed to be here? What is this strange factory that produces these things that need to be removed? And is that company also owned by the same people that create the things that need to be added to remove the other? Anyway, these particular rooms definitely appear…clean.

Four white walls covered by what appears to be an ocean of white paint. Upon closer inspection, hundreds of small rivulets of this paint can be seen just about everywhere, so one might assume that the entirety of the painting process was done in rapid fashion. Maybe we are onto something there as to the origins of this cleaning process and its necessity. Perhaps cinder blocks, or, “breeze-blocks” as they are known elsewhere in the world, were not meant to be painted?

The channels of mortar between the gaps in cinder blocks appear to be the catalyst for the paint rivulets. Perhaps the paint itself is to blame, or even the choice of paint type? What if the blocks were painted prior to installation? No…that wouldn’t work. Surely the masonry workers are as hasty about their work as the painters, and there would surely be chipping of the paint as these heavy blocks were moved about from place to place. I wonder how many times these blocks were moved from place to place before finally arriving here where I find them today. I wonder what the person who manufactured this particular block here, had for dinner last night.

What did I have for dinner last night? Was last evening last night? I try not to think about day and night that much anymore.

White flooring with slightly shiny and reflective tiles that are somehow not slippery except when wearing only socks as a footwear choice. They take our shoes, and only give us socks to wear here. Only one door to get in and out. I know where the door is, but considering the socks and how slippery the floor is when wearing them, I won’t be getting out of this room in any hurry. I guess I could take them off. Under duress, I wonder if I would have time to remove my socks, and how the time taken to remove them would improve the amount of time it would take to cover the distance to the door. To be as complete as possible in my thinking, there would be much more distance to cover once one were out the door and beyond this room. Perhaps I should take my socks with me should I need to put them on again.

Thinking about it now, and under certain circumstances, I’m not too sure as to how “clean” this single door design can be. But it appears that someone worked it out as being acceptable, and now here it is, willed into existence. Never mind that the locking mechanism that can only be opened from the outside is going to be a hindrance should I need to vacate this room post-haste. I don’t recall anyone mentioning that we were to be housed in locked rooms to which we, the volunteers, would have no key.

Brightly lit. I’m not sure that I’ve seen this many light fixtures in such a small room before. Not that the room is particularly small. It’s actually quite large, and certainly large to be a room designed for a single occupant. Irrespective, the number of light fixtures seems…excessive. The manufacturer who makes these light fixtures most likely had a heart-attack at the amount of money to be made on this contract, should they be the one to win it. It was probably simultaneously heart-breaking as they carved pennies off of individual components here and there to come up with a winning bid. I wonder if they kept track of how much money was lost by being the winning bidder. Considering the number of light fixtures in this room alone, multiplied by the size of this facility…Wow. I would imagine it would have been enough to pay off the mortgage, and still have enough left over to buy summer homes for every employee in the company. Not that companies are known to do that. Probably just paid a lot of overtime wages for the duration of the contract in lieu of wage increases, and the workers were probably thankful for it. Make hay while the sun shines.

Does the sun even go down any more?

The desk is rather small, and the chair quite uncomfortable. In tandem, it is quite uncomfortable to sit and write for any period of time. Such a massive room compared to the “major” components that currently occupy it. A room designed to be occupied by a single occupant. I wonder how far the designers went in calculating who and what would occupy this room. Much to think about there with respect to who chose what and where over spans of time. Perhaps the desk is not small, but that the room is big? No. I can’t think like that. Destructive thinking in a constructive environment serves no one. There can be no standardization within standardized testing without a certain resonance to maintain that flow. They certainly didn’t hire anyone familiar with Fung Shui to design this place.

I can only assume that “flow” from a scientific perspective, requires room. Vast amounts of room, with little to no hindrances. Sounds more like a vacuum to me. And that’s what this pressurized and climate-controlled “clean” building feels like – a vacuum. But doesn’t science also contend that vacuums are “unnatural”? Maybe that’s what causes the underlying “insidious resonance” that permeates this place. An unquenchable desired to return to its natural state, which is foiled by exacting dimensions of exacting specifications, that are relentlessly reinforced by the electricity that drives the machinery, which never allows this structure to relax. Pressures and temperatures are strictly maintained, and inputs closely monitored to determine outputs. All routines are…well…routine. These routines are extraordinarily involved, and yet quite mundane. So much for “exemplary” being anything other than “average” I guess. But isn’t that the nature of flow? Aggregate? “No one raindrop thinks that it calls the flood?” or something like that?

I noticed a hole in one of my socks this morning. I wonder how long it would take me to locate and reassemble those missing fibres?

They’ll be coming soon. I’ve no idea what time it is since they don’t afford us clocks, there are no clocks in the hallways nor anywhere else, and no one wears watches in the entire facility. Not that I’ve seen anyway, but I do know that they’ll be coming soon. I can only wonder what they will make of these most recent – how do I describe this? – “Most recent events”. I certainly don’t understand them.

It is certain that I can comprehend these changes in myself and my room, but I’ve no understanding of them nor what transpired as to what cause them. Unusual that they would happen at a “less-interaction” time period. A scheduled period of time where no staff interacts nor engages directly with me for a specified time. These times vary, and I never know how long these periods will be. Or at least, I’m not supposed to know. But, I have gotten quite good at guessing when they will occur and for how long. Irrespective of my ability to interpolate and estimate quite accurately, and my newfound quandaries as to when estimates cease being estimations, I can honestly say that I didn’t see this coming. I only need to move the bed before they get here. Or should I leave it for contrast?

It’s doubtful they will notice I’ve left my clothes locker in its original position. It’s small since it only contains three t-shirts and two pairs of these sleep-pants they make us wear. It remains firmly planted on the floor in its original position, just to the right of the door as one enters my room. Have I mentioned that there are actually two doors in my doorway? The outside door opens out, the inside door opens inwards towards the room, and I suppose that this is to act as a noise buffer. I once recorded some of my music in a recording studio that had the exact same design. Two heavy oak doors that were meticulously hanged in their frames, and further sealed with sound-proof weather stripping wherever there was a gap. Quite clever actually.

They aren’t fond of change, changes or changing. The logic in this thinking of theirs baffles me since the whole point of their drug testing program and programs are to actuate and facilitate change. To be more specific, they are trying to change a change that is in mid-change. No wonder they seem to despise change. They are doing the equivalent of throwing a running chainsaw into a wood-chipper to see which one wins, under what circumstances, and repeating that same test over and over with completely new and different subjects. Trying to isolate and quantify a variance that they themselves are generating.

I wonder if they see their methods the same way that I do. Irrespective, their methods most likely keeps chainsaw and wood-chipper manufacturers happy. Perhaps scratching their heads as to where all the trees are coming from, and where they are going to, but happy. I wonder if those manufactures also had to bid for their contracts. I guess I’d better digress before I get too silly with my analogy that somehow compares a competition between chainsaws and wood-chippers, to modern medical drug testing programs and their methodologies. Dumping a medication into a person isn’t even remotely close to a competition between shredding and chopping devices….is it?

It baffles them that I know exactly how long I’ve been here, yet keep no calendar, nor do I mark time in any way. 3 years, 4 months, 16 days. Strange that I never know whether it is day or night. I wonder if they are simply humoring me by telling me that my knowledge of my time spent here is exact. I’m certain that my inability to know whether it is night or day confounds them. The staff works odd shifts, and they rotate these shifts so as to keep all of the drug testers off-balance is my best guess. However, I can only assume that certain staff actually live on-site for certain periods of time, which is how they somehow appear to never sleep, arriving at all hours of the day and night.

I can’t remember what it is like to sleep. “To sleep? Perchance to dream?” I cannot help but giggle to myself that I remember those lines, but yeah…that’s destructive…don’t go there. That does get me to thinking though…I wonder if the staff, or at least some of them, are actually former drug-testers like me.

Perhaps I should mention how long the tester, 17 doors down from me, has been here. Or maybe both the tester 17 doors down and the tester in the adjacent building that is in room A-11-A on the 7th floor. I can only wonder as to their reaction should I be correct. Perhaps they should shuffle us in our rooms and see if my sequencing abilities remain intact. Or if not, how long it takes them to re-coalesce. Why should a room be numbered “A-11-A” that is on the 7th floor? And should I tell them that I also know that sequencing schematic and all of the particulars as to why they do it? The tester across the hall was bleeding for some reason last night. Not sure from where, nor why, but there is a bit of blood that remains on the t-shirt they used to stem the bleeding. I’ve never actually seen the tester across the hall, but I know them a bit. I know they went to great lengths to remove the blood from the shirt, and that they are nervous about the staff discovering it.

Oh no. The tester across the hall is bleeding again. I hope they know that I am on the verge of tears over here. Not to make them feel guilty; I certainly don’t want that. Just that I know that they are worried and scared, and that I’m not trying to intrude. I feel for them. Good thoughts. Good Karma. Good vibrations. Fung fucking Shui. Chi or Chee or vanilla chai tea or whatever in the hell it would take to make them feel the slightest bit better.

God almighty! Am I beating them up with Kung-Fu Kindness? I shudder at that thought. Is that possible? Suddenly, that “killing with kindness” quip sounds less appealing than ever. Maybe just a quick prayer of sorts will be sufficient. The time has come for me to move the bed, and I’ve estimated it’s going to take me approximately 6 hours to do so. That’ll leave about 17 minutes. 17 minutes before the first of what will most likely be a record number of visitors today. I wonder who they will be.

I just had the most odd of impulses. I have these impulses all the time, but I usually dismiss them because of the staff rotations. But I have the strangest feeling that my first visitor is going to be one of the directors. One of the directors meaning, one of the managing directors. He’s a doctor. Actually a doctor many times over, who holds multiple PhD’s in medicine and business. Also a Master’s Degree in music of all damn things. I’ve met him before, we’ve spoken, and I can only assume that my being a self-taught musician, and his holding a Master’s in music is cause for some of the friction between us. Ironic that we are both musicians whose musical careers were both commercial flops. Perhaps we should start a band. Heh Heh Heh. Got to go, but maybe if the opportunity presents itself, I’ll inquire as to his interest in starting a band. I guess I’ve got 6 hours and 14 minutes to think up a band name.

It just occurred to me that I’ve been here for 3 years, 4 months, and 16 days. I entered this room on August 8, of 2014. August 8th is my father’s birthday. Or at least, it was my father’s birthday until he died. Anyway…that means that today is Christmas Eve. Wow. Why are specific dates suddenly flooding into my head?

That means today is December 24th of 2017…Christmas Eve. That means, that tomorrow is Christmas…Christmas Day.

Note to self: I may or may not want to wish Dr. Music a “Merry Christmas” and “A Happy New Year”. Gotta factor in that this day will probably stick with Dr. Music for some time to come, and perhaps the rest of his life. Christmas Eve becomes Christmas Ever for Dr. Music and his colleagues and investors and family and on and on and on. It’s a lot to think about, and it really does weigh on me. Ironic that visually, I would assume that not much would appear to be weighing on me at all. But he can make his own best determinations as to the physical qualities of my being when he gets here. I’ve no idea what to tell him. Maybe “the band idea” will lighten things up a bit. Why am I suddenly calling him Dr. Music?


Voice: What are you doing?

Dr. Mews: I wish that I knew.

The sun is setting. It’s low in the afternoon sky. That cannot be right.

Voice: Why not?

Dr.Mews: Because my alarm clock will be going off soon. There is no clock on my alarm, so why do I still refer to it as an alarm clock?

Voice: Only you can answer that.

I’m standing alone in the living area. The view is outside the rear window on this house. I say “this house”, because I do not live here. Or at least, I don’t own it. It’s owned by the Company, and used to temporarily house employees that are in site-to-site rotation. Its rear window, made of four huge glass panes that must be at least twelve feet tall each, faces the river. And the river is to the east. I am facing east, and looking east, yet the sun is setting. Why is the sun setting in the eastern sky?

Voice: Where is your family?

Dr.Mews: They are at home. Asleep like me. I’m dreaming. I’m thinking of them, but I’m not dreaming of them. Is that an unusual distinction to make within a dream?

Voice: I’ll let you answer that one as well.

I have to be dreaming this, because the sun is setting in the eastern sky. The sun is in the correct position to set were everything flipped and facing west, but the sun rises from this same easterly direction in a completely different place. So it has to be setting. It’s entirely too far south to be rising.

Voice: That picture there. Is that your family?

I listen to the voice as I continue to look out the window at the unusual setting sun, turning my head slightly to notice the picture of my wife and three children that is sitting on the small table next to the window. It’s the only personal item that I carry with me when I travel. As with the rest of the contents of the room, everything is oriented as it should be within the photo. Correct places, correct orientations, my wife’s wedding ring is visible and on her left hand, which appears to the right since she is facing the camera.

Dr. Mews: Yes, that is my family.

Voice: How many are in your family?

I count the faces in the photo.

Dr. Mews: My wife and three children. So…there are four in my family.

Voice: I see five.

The alarm seems to work in one regard. I’ve no idea what time it actually is, but the crests of where the horizons of earth and sky meet seems to be the correct shades of blue to properly indicate morning. I guess it works in all regards: one, it’s loud; two, it’s precise; three, I’ve no idea what time it is and; four, it’s efficient and effective.

It’s also irritating on virtually every level, but at least I can sleep. The same cannot be said for many of the residents on-site, but hopefully that will change. That’s the goal. Or at least, one of them.

This is quite a nice residence, but I admit that I hate being on-site. I cannot bring my family, and it makes me feel so distant from both them and everyone else that lives here. Like some rogue interloper that’s always leaving one family for another. Let’s skip the coffee and get to the pertinents.

The Time-Sequencer-Variant-Unit, or, Tim’S VU. Not very creative with respect to acronyms, and the “VU” portion admittedly took me aback when I first heard it since “VU” usually refers to a Volume Unit Meter. But when I learned that the person who created this apparatus was named Tim, and that Tim was also a musician, it started to make a bit more sense to me. Time and timing is everything in music. Many parts, at many times, and Tim’S VU was much more than some randomly timed noise-maker that told you when to prepare for sleep and when to wake. It was more like a clock of clocks that somehow kept no time, and yet kept perfect time, as if it were somehow dialled in and connected to the universe itself.

I’ve understood the basic premise of the device since I was first introduced to it. But the embedded nature of some of the thinking that Tim did to create it still confounds and amazes me. I wonder sometimes about asking Tim to actually connect a VU Meter to one of these devices for me so that I could perhaps watch it rise and fall as it does whatever it is that it is doing. I’ve spent some time in a recording studio myself, and watching the VU meters rise and fall on the large mixing consoles was always like watching a choreographed dance of indications as to the sounds being routed from and to their proper places within the whole of the music being played and recorded. Needs a little more here, a little less there. I’ve no idea what led him to, nor how he actually connected these things, but he did.

Now the entire system is connected via satellite via a complex routing of a minimum of computers and infrastructures. “A Merging” is how Tim himself describes it. “Non-Impact-Architecture” is what the base system has become to be known internally. An active and passive sonar system of sorts, that pings only when and where it can, and listens the rest of the time for these opportunities to present themselves. How it pings, who it pings and when, Tim admits is as much a mystery to him as everyone else. He simply stumbled across these “time gaps” while looking for something else entirely. The dimensional aspects of these gaps, and how the system calculates them is also quite involved yet mysterious. The system has no database and no records are kept.

On record: This is Dr. Issac Mews dictating. We are currently on-record until otherwise specified. Again Dr. Issac Mews dictating on unknown date, at unknown time, and I am dictating post a successful TSVU sleep arousal from a successful sleep cycle. Sleep cycle commenced at unknown time on unknown date. Sleep cycle was alone, in a bed, and occurred in unspecified guest residence on unspecified site. Specifics will be amended per standard procedure in what should be Appendix A of this report unless otherwise noted.

One dream in the most recent sleep cycle, and the dream was fairly lucid and clear. Contents were primarily known landscape and known infrastructure within a known and familiar environment, with the only discrepancy being that certain aspects outwardly were reversed, such as the sun setting in the correct position but in the wrong direction, while certain inward aspects remained constant, consistent and correct. Inward aspects that remained correct were and are, familiar and/or personal items that displayed dimensionally correct. Physical proportions in all cases, inwardly and outwardly, remained consistent in scalar terms, and no size aberrations were noted. Initial post-sleep conclusion being that the most recent dream-state is indicative of both normal REM sleep and continued normal sleep patterns.

Off-record. Good Morning to you Transcriptionist Number 74.

I’ve no idea who Transcriptionist #74 actually is. I only know the procedures and protocols that are used within the division of the Company that handles all of the transcription, and know that the suffix of the report number on each transcribed report refers to a specific transcriptionist. As in “Report #AAA000.74”, with the “.74” portion of the report number being a reference to a specific person.

I know this, because up until about 4 years ago, this number was always changing when I proofread my transcribed dictation. Typically, I had to send a report back 4 to 5 times with corrections. After speaking with several others about the quality of their reports, and their telling me similar with respect to corrections, I became convinced that some department had to be padding their particular cost-center numbers for some reason since our cost-center is billed by the line with respect to transcribed reports. An internal conspiracy may be a bit of a stretch under the circumstances perhaps, but after reading the reports while listening to copies of my own dictation, I could not understand how the most simple of words could be misheard and mistyped by a professional transcriptionist.

Professional medical transcriptionist no less. While we typically do no use much medical terminology in most of our dictation within the company, we are most of us medical doctors. These medical transcriptionists are people who spend their days typing at a furious 80 to 100 words per minute, and these words are mostly what one might refer to as “25-cent words” of the medical variety. Words like “Ganglioglioma” and “Gastroenteritis” and “Gastroenterologist” or “Campylobacter” would probably be considered some of the more tame terminology in our unusual vernacular. I can only imagine what the word count per minute must be within transcribing reports that contain a more common and less medical vernacular. I am thinking of both “less-medical vernacular” and “Campylobacter” in the same thought. I’ve no idea why that sprung to mind. Which reminds me that I need to eat.

I made a few inquiries as to the quality of my reports, and eventually everything began to change. The quality did not improve, it got worse. So, I made a few changes myself. Upon listening to my own dictation, I began to notice things on the recordings that seemed to synch-up with some of the errors on the transcribed reports. Things like me coughing, or turning my head, or dictating while I was driving, or on an airplane. One of the worst though, was leaving my hand-held recorder on after I had stopped dictating. I later learned that the transcriptionist must sit there and listen to the silence, no matter how long it is, to ensure that I do not begin dictating again. Most transcriptionists do not get paid to sit and listen to silence.

I also learned that there are routines built-in to the software that transfers the dictation portions from the recording device to the transcription servers. During the upload and transfer of the digital audio recordings, these routines search the digital files for extended periods of silence, remove them, then concatenate the file portions that contain audio back together. However, these routines are typically not successful when the recorder is left on where people are talking in the background. I suddenly became aware of the possibility of a transcriptionist having to sit through a sudden romantic interlude between me and my wife that occurred on the kitchen table because the children were out of the house and we were alone. We were not; some damn fool had left the handheld dictation device on just prior to our rendezvous. We’ve been known to be…spirited.

This got me to thinking about audio levels, which got me to thinking about Tim’S VU. I discussed some thoughts about automation with my colleagues, but they suggested that I was already on the right track by attempting to be more mindful about when, where, and how I was dictating. I agreed with them. Automation is not always the answer, and sometimes not even “an” answer. Automation doesn’t always exist, and where it does it exist, augmentation to existing processes always has the potential to create more problems than it resolves. In addition, they congratulated me on having a frisky-wife and added that they would love to hear the audio, should it ever surface. Doctors can be cantankerous. But in parting there was yet another glimmer of hope – it was noted that transcriptionists are quite well versed in both poor dictation habits and cranky doctors with attitude issues. Also that transcriptionists tend to be quite discrete and even protective of those who they transcribe for. There are more than just and only doctors and transcriptionists involved in these processes. We are dealing with patients and those patient’s personal information. Personal information so sensitive, that most of the time this information is only shared between doctor and patient via a patient that would most likely rather not be sharing it. Noted. It’s amazing what we sometimes forget, and why.

On-record: Aberrative observations. One: A detached voice of a primarily interrogative but seemingly non-malevolent nature. Approximately 3 to 5 questions were asked, all were addressed directly to me, and were all specific to me. However I would add that direct as though these question were, there was an unusual vagueness within the specificity of the contents and contexts of this and these inquiries. Almost as if the unseen presence already knew the answers to the questions I was being asked.

Note to typist: colon aberrative observation one comma footnote one colon to follow. Continuing current dictation, comma, I would also note that this exchange was brief but within the confines of what can only be described as a casual conversation between acquaintances, with no further qualification as to the depth of the relationship between these acquaintances. The lack of any further qualification being an attempt on my part to avoid any unnecessary nomenclatures or distinctions.

Off-record: Hello again Number 74. I actually think I said good morning the first time, but I hope that you are having a good day, whatever time it is where you are. I’m going to take a quick break and then try and skip down to aberrative observation one, footnote one. I apologize for having to insert that note where I did, and hope that my jumping to old school dictation techniques didn’t throw off your rhythm too bad. I just remembered something that I think important during the process of me trying to recall my dream. I’ll let you know if we need to start anywhere other than footnote one. Be right back.

I double and triple check the handheld dictation recorder any time that I turn it on or off. Perhaps Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is actually some personal penitence that we assign ourselves to keep us from repeating our same mistakes.

Whoever Transcriptionist #74 is, they are a master at what they do and have been so since the first day they appeared in my life. I didn’t request them nor anyone else, nor have I requested that #74 remain the only transcriptionist that transcribes my reports. But that is how it has worked out.

I no longer have to dictate punctuation. They add it for me, and it’s almost always perfect. Why is my mind suddenly wandering to Patient #4? I’m going to assume that it is the “4” in “74” that has my mind straying a bit. I rarely have to inform #74 that they need to call up certain templates for certain reports, but I tend to try and do so. A horrible thought has just crept into my head. What if #74 were to suddenly disappear? Would I be dictating a linguistic nightmare to whoever replaced them? I think my head and heart are suddenly feeling just about as low as humanly possible right now. What sort of corporate nightmare have we created?

I appreciate everything that this person does for me, all while simultaneously taking it for granted. My God…has this person ever even had a vacation? Had to take off sick? Bereavement? I depend on this person absolutely, and yet I know nothing about them. I’ve always considered my dropping by to meet them in person as being rude, and potentially even creepy, never mind that it violates Company policy to do so. Is that why I feel so comfortable? Company policy?

Still off record Number 74. I’m going to start off with footnote One, but I did want to give you a bit of a heads-up. After the footnote is complete, and barring any other unforeseens, I will be moving on to form Alpha Eleven Alpha. That’s capital letter “A”, dash one one, dash capital letter “A”, or Alpha Eleven Alpha. I hadn’t intended on this, but I think I’m going to need a special form to prepare for today, so if you want to go ahead and do whatever it is you need to do to call up that particular template, maybe this little heads-up will help. I have to pause here for a second.

It’s not unusual for doctors to make “off record” notes in their dictation. However we always try to keep it brief, to the point, and as business related as possible. However, it is also not unusual to make non-specific personal annotations and comments directed specifically at whoever is listening to the recording of the dictation and actually transcribing the report. However, only one person transcribes my reports, and has for several years now. Is that what’s bothering me? Or is it my upcoming visit with Patient Four? What the hell. You only get one opportunity to fuck things up completely and correctly, so why not.

Still off record Number 74. I don’t know who you are, but I just want you to know that I appreciate everything that you do. I apologize if and when I take you, and what you do, for granted. Even though you will not be transcribing the previous sentence, I’m sure that it would contain all of the commas or any other punctuation in the correct places. I do notice these things and I thank you for noticing them too.

On-record: Aberrative observation One, footnote One.

I had to pause again. I was tempted to fall back on older methods and actually dictate the punctuation and any other specifics, but I feel I cannot do that here and now. I have to let them be who they are. It is, after all, why they are where they are. I guess I better take a few more breaths and collect myself before continuing. I have to rely on them, and rely on myself to rely on them.

An interesting note about a specific exchange within the scope of the conversation that took place within my dream-state. There was a particular query that was originally thought by me to be rather straightforward and direct. The question asked of me by this detached voice was simple: How many are in your family? My answer appeared to be incorrect according to this unseen participant. Within my dream, there was a picture of my wife and children, and it was and is the same photo that I carry with me when away from home or travelling. I have one wife, and three children, they are all in the photo, so in response to the question asked, I responded four. The detached voice quickly but gingerly corrected me, and stated bluntly that they saw five. “I see five”. That was the verbatim response. I can only assume that the fifth member of my family to which this voice was referring to was me. In my dream, this voice had specifically referenced the photo, so I simply counted the faces of my wife and children. For the sake of space, I will be omitting further comment at this time. However, I’m going to request that an additional copy of this report be sent to my office so that the report can be amended later.

Off-record Number 74. And if you could pull up that Alpha Eleven Alpha template now, I should be dictating less hindered from here now that I have that footnote off my chest. It felt like the elephant in the room was sitting on my chest. Apologies for the parlance.

Beep Beep. The Time-Sequencer-Variant-Unit just beeped twice. That means two hours until my visit with Patient Four, give or take ten minutes either way. Once you start operating on Tim’S VU time, absolutes with respect to time, as we know it, go right out the window. Did I think the word “fuck” earlier? What in the hell has gotten into me?


Voice: What are you doing?

Patient 4: I have no idea.

This is not what I expected. Not where I expected to be. It’s been four hours, and I’ve somehow managed only to move the bed to the opposite side of the room. On the upside, the bed itself is upside-down. Heh heh. A strange upside perhaps, but an upside nonetheless. I’ve two hours to go. Perhaps I’ve missed something?

Moving the bed may seem like a simple task, but not here, and certainly not now. The beds here are more of a cot than an actual bed. The bed’s frame is light and rather flimsy, topped by a thin, soft mattress that gets replaced every few months. More aggregate and more vendor contracts to contemplate. I wonder what they do with the old ones.

I had six hours to complete my task of moving the bed, but I didn’t calculate that it would actually take that long. I also need to remember to move my clothes locker a bit once I get the bed moved. But just a bit.

I was quite convinced that there were no surveillance cameras in the rooms, but I was only partially correct. There are cameras in the room, or at least, a camera. One – in the corner – above the clothes locker, and the clothes locker is situated to where it is out of view of the camera. I suppose so that the blind spot in the corner would be the only place where someone could hide, and the clothes locker being placed in that particular corner prevents someone from hiding there. Anyone standing in front of, or even crouching in front of it, can be seen by the camera.

Quite clever actually. Someone obviously put a hell of a lot of thought into this. If the clothes locker is moved at all, even slightly, it will be visible to the camera. If the clothes locker is moved to a different part of the room, they will notice and assume that someone is hiding unseen in the corner. I’m sure they have some sort of checklist for when they first turn the camera on, and the clothes locker is most likely the most important item on that list. Not that there is much in the way of furnishings in this room, but there is some beauty to the simplicity of it all.

The cameras are almost never on. They turn the camera on a few minutes before any visitors arrive, leave it on for the duration of the visit, then turn it off a few minutes after the visitor leaves. The camera is tiny, well placed, and it took me a long time to discover it. I’ve never actually seen it, but I know it’s there.

My thinking is that if I move the clothes locker just enough, its top corner should be visible in the camera when they turn it on. This should cause them to change their visitation protocol for the current visitation, and Dr. Music will not be my first visitor of the day, but my second.

Any visitors after Dr. Music will most likely have to draw straws among themselves. I can’t imagine anyone being anxious to drop by. But Dr. Music will be. He’s already anxious about visiting, but I get the feeling he’s very nervous.

Voice: Any ideas as to what he might be nervous about?

Patient 4: Camera. Wait…not “a” camera…but…cameras. Cameras, as in…plural.

Voice: Pictures?

Patient 4: Pictures? Or…”a” picture? Yeah. A picture.

Voice: So, if I’ve got this straight, your Dr. Music is nervous about cameras, plural, but only “a” picture. Do I have that straight?

Patient 4: That’s the best that I can figure.

Voice: Pretty good at figuring are you?

Patient 4: Not really.

A few tics under two hours. I won’t move the clothes locker until I can get my bed moved to where it needs to be. Perhaps I should move it back to where it was, and start over.

Voice: Whatever you think is best.

Let me try a few other things first. I’m not fond of going backwards. The last time I went backwards when doing something like this was quite unpleasant.


On-Record: This is Dr. Issac Mews, dictating from Residence One, Site One, and the current date is October 24, of 2017, exact time unknown. We are currently in the year of a twenty two cycle, that’s two two cycle, so the actual date is December 24, 2017, with October 24 being two months behind the current actual date. The uncanny nature of the lack of numerical variance within randomization routines is, ironically, remarkable. Not only is the lack of numerical variances within approved randomization protocols remarkable, this significance is augmented by the numerical significances of the numbers themselves. Even attempts to randomize the randomization routines themselves have returned result sets that can only be described as extraordinary.

God almighty…I have to pause for a moment. The date is supposed to be October 24, but it’s actually December 24. Two months forward, and two months back. Two plus two equals four. Two four two. Or even, twenty four forwards, forty two backwards. These numbers meant nothing to me until I stumbled into the exact wrong place at the exact wrong time. Don’t numbers start to lose their meaning when we tinker with an established and relevant base? I’ve no idea. Or at least, I don’t know any more.

I swear, if there is an afterlife, and I get there, I’m gonna punch someone in the nose for all the grief they’ve caused me. Not really, but it’s a funny thought to imagine to take the edge off. What in the hell am I doing here on Christmas Eve? Gotta remember to punch Carl Jung in the nose at some point. Maybe I could call it “The Synchro-Fist-City Punch”…or something like that. I only know that the numerics portions of his “Synchronicity” concept are cause for a great deal of dismay in certain sectors of this modern world of ours. I guess even the most staunch of any discipline or belief system can be bent or broken under the right circumstances.

Form Alpha Eleven Alpha, and I am recommending Alpha Eleven Alpha, Back To Front Protocol. All eyes, all departments, all eleven divisions, All eleven exclusions. It is my recommendation that standard randomization protocol be followed for the eleven exclusions of eleven, and under no circumstances is standard randomization protocol to be modified in any way prior to the randomization event. One exclusion per division, and the eleven excluded employees are to be included within 24 hours of report delivery. Standard procedure dictates that the eleven employees randomly selected for exclusion are to be included 48 hours after an A11A report delivery, but I am modifying this ad-hoc to 24 hours, and recommend that this be the only deviation from any and all A11A handling protocols with respect to this particular A11A report.

Break. Personal annotation.

There are those groups, within the company and elsewhere, that tend to scoff at the significance of numerical patterns, and I include myself within these groups although I personally do not identify with any particular group or school of thought. However, the basis of most all work with numbers, is in fact, the search for numerical significance and significances. I cannot help but note the duality that becomes apparent in two different contexts of finding these numbers we seek. Set A being finding the numbers we seek, and Set B being finding the numbers we were not seeking, but expected. One tends to bring happiness and possibly even relief, and one set tends to bring anger and possibly even dismay.

I feel it necessary to point out that in and among these duality sets lurks a third set, and that is Set C – finding numbers that we were not seeking, unexpected and/or do not understand. Finding numbers of this and these qualities tends to invoke fear, and perhaps even inspire terror, as we find ourselves, for lack of a better term”off the map”. I must also point out that in my studies, subsequent to the events that provoked their necessity, have shown that these unforeseen results sets are anything but “off the map”, and are in fact quite well documented. At the risk of sounding a shade, for lack of a better word, “edificationistic”, the numbers recently so common in our studies are indicative of not the numbers being off the map, but rather it is that we ourselves are “off the map”. What exactly this means, I am not entirely sure. I am simply of the mind that any and all considerations should be given to the significance and insignificance of our findings, and that both are potentially equally applicable.

There are going to be some who aren’t going to like me changing the delivery time frame for excluded employees, and they aren’t going to like it one bit. But it’s within my power to do so, it’s my prerogative, and I’ve never done it before. Never felt the need. I wonder if #74 even knows what “Back To Front Protocol” is? I better mention it.

Off-record: hello again Number 74, I’m going to be as thorough as I can here, but I feel the need to start with the History section since there will most likely need to be some need for oversight and fact checking with respect to Form Alpha Eleven Alpha, going all the way back.

Wait…scratch that…I’m sorry….I need to start with Requests and Recommendations, pending, and then we’ll go to History from there. Are we straight on that Number 74? God I hope you are, because I’m all over the place today. I apologize for that. Also, not trying to tell you your business, but it just occurred to me that you may not be familiar with the “Back To Front Protocol” for form Alpha Eleven Alpha. I described it in my dictation a bit, and it simply means that everyone within the company will get a copy of this report. So I guess that means you’ll get one too, so you may not want to make any typos. Just a little humor Number 74. Oh, and eleven employees will be randomly selected to be excluded from receiving the report for 48 hours, but I’ve amended this to be reduced to only 24 hours. Just thought you might like to know that in the event you didn’t already. I guess if you don’t get the report when everyone else does, it won’t really matter since you are hearing it’s contents well in advance.

I’ve little doubt that there are those… um….”within the architecture”, we’ll say, who listen to each and every dictation by each and every person. I’m also quite sure that there are most likely some of these “less official” raw diction recordings that “make the rounds” when they are of particular interest to whoever they are of particular interest to. If so, I’m sure that my sudden banter with Transcriptionist #74 will most likely raise some eyebrows, but I don’t care. I tire of the voyeuristic nature of the managerial processes and processors that are completely removed from the processes themselves, yet somehow deeply entrenched in the process. I’m not even sure that my synopsis or estimation of what is transpiring where, and at who’s behest, is even quasi-accurate. Hell, I’m not even sure it’s quasi-classifiable. I don’t despise my fellow executives and managers. It’s as tough a job as any. I’ve no idea what I’m trying to convince myself of here.

On-record: Requests and Recommendations, item one. External. Department of Fish and Wildlife, the request is dated October 23 of 2017, and this is this actual date of request with no internal amendments nor alterations to the date specified on the request. Specific contents of request and copy of letter to be included with this report. Summary of request is the addition of four to eight more wildlife observation sites on and/or at Company Site One, internal site designation Potomac Plus. Fish and Wildlife observation sites are to be equipped with one video camera and/or one trail-cam per site. These additional four to eight observation sites are needed to augment the existing thirty-two sites that already exist, and The Department of Fish and Wildlife states that they need these additional sites to augment the existing gaps in coverage that exist because of oversight with the design and placement of the original thirty-two sites.

Jesus H. Christ. I’ve had this request for barely a week now, and it makes my head want to cave-in just thinking about it. It was sent and received, right at what is now two months ago, and I’m already quite certain that someone has already somehow taken some further liberties with the existing observation sites that they installed three years ago. I’ve got to settle down a shade; stay positive, keep your humor, just…tame it, OK? Fuck it.

Request is approved for eight additional sites with conditions, and conditions to be met are as follows.

Condition 1: Each site is to be equipped with either a single video camera or a single trail cam, and not both. Any wildlife observation site, including existing sites, that is found by company security, maintenance, the lawn care team or any other employee of the company, to have, or appear to have more than one camera of any kind, will be hereby authorized to take any/all additional cameras, as long as they leave at least one at the individual observation site where the additional cameras were found. They may then do whatever they choose with this and/or these additional cameras, as they are now their own personal property, since there is only supposed to be one camera per observation site.

I can guarantee, that the NSA or CIA or FBI or even all of those, are going to be falling over each other trying to get those additional cameras off-site before they can be proven by their own internal investigations departments that there are in fact, more than thirty-two cameras currently installed on-site here at Site One. Should be quite the rugby scrum between agencies to see who owns which ones.

I must say though, that I am already feeling sorry of the Department of Fish and Wildlife employees who’ll be caught up in this mess, but I’m sure that there are already plenty of people internal to that agency that are well informed as to other agencies and their interests. A sharp-eyed groundskeeper found the first “aberrant” site, and it was actually one of the twenty-eight sights that are actually on Company grounds, on-site, and not one of the four sites that are just beyond the perimeter fence. That land is also owned by the Company, but technically not on-site. Hence the distinctions of Site One and Potomac Plus, which are actually the same thing. Site One is everything inside the perimeter fence, Potomac Plus is the entire site, which includes Site One.

The camera housing was pointed at the sky, but the camera itself appeared to have been removed from the camera housing, and the internal camera portion was now held to the bottom of the camera housing with duct tape. It was also now pointed directly at building three. They obviously had issues in the process, and had run a new cable that they didn’t even bother to bury in some places out near, and just beyond the perimeter fence. The groundskeeper who found it was actually trimming the hedges nearby, and the camera looked broken at first observation. But upon closer inspection, he noted the duct tape, was worried that something else was going on, and he reported it to security. For the most part we ignored it. We reported to Fish and Wildlife that one of their cameras appeared to have a wardrobe or some other malfunction. They quickly came out to “fix it”, and according to our own security team, there now appears to be at least four cameras at that particular site.

There are those within the Company that have spun some wild tales as to who tampered with that first camera, up to and including the gardener who found it. The logic of some being, the government is watching us, and they wanted us to know it. I’ve no idea, and to be honest, I don’t care. That sounds hateful. I need to dial this back.

Condition 2: Each additional site is to be maintained by Fish and Wildlife, with no exceptions.

Condition 3: That the Department of Fish and Wildlife submit for review, plans for suggestions of any sites that can be restructured, repositioned and/or removed completely.

I guess they think I don’t pay taxes, but I do, just like everybody else.

Condition 4: That the Director of Fish and Wildlife, along with the Director and/or Directors of the specific studies and or programs related to the observational data provided by the on-site video of Site One or Potomac Plus, watch the video marked 337 dash XC in Patient Four’s file, before any new observational equipment of any kind is placed on-site at Site One and/or Potomac Plus.

Condition 5: That the aforementioned meet with me personally to discuss the contents of this video prior to any additional sites and/or equipment are installed.

There have been multiple attempts within the Company to report these anomalous findings on a regular basis to The Department of Fish and Wildlife. However, we are not contractually obligated to do so. We are actually obligated to do nothing other than say yes or no to the sites themselves and what they can or cannot contain. But I guess thinking about all of this sticky mess right now is about the only thing keeping me grounded.

We, as a company, have reported what we’ve found, when we’ve found it. Thinking that it was some corporate intrusion was quickly ruled out, and The State Department has assured us that no foreign government needs to be investigated, because of all the cameras do indeed belong to The Department of Fish and Wildlife…even the extra ones. They have assured us that only one camera is ever in use at any one time, and any additional cameras are simply backups that were allowed for under the maintenance clauses of the original agreement. This revelation caused an internal relaxation of security procedures, protocols and infrastructure utilization…and that’s when everything started to change.

Please contact my office to regarding scheduling of the aforementioned meeting. Thank you for your considerations and attention to this matter, sincerely, Dr. Issac Mews, President, CEO, Chief Medical Director, Managing Director of Special Projects.

Break for item number two.

Still on-record, Requests and Recommendations, item two. Internal. Personal request, executive level, request dated July 3, 2017. Request for time off, dates of December 24 to December 26 of 2017, and the request is from Dr. Issac Mews. Request was approved by Human Resources on August 8 of 2017, and forwarded to executive management for final approval also on August 8, 2017. Received and approved by managing members on August 9,2017, and forwarded to the offices of the President/CEO for final approval on August 9, 2017. All company guidelines and procedures appear to have been followed. Please mark the request as denied, no reason given, add copy to employee file.

Off-record: that’s all the requests I care to add here Number 74, but I would like an amendment of a footnote for one other request that I have here before we get to the history section.

On-record: Requests and Recommendations Footnote A, request from a Ms. Melanie Chadwick for a personal meeting with me, details as to reason were unspecified. However, Ms. Chadwick is former patient in prior practice. Meeting is approved, and I would like to schedule a tentative date of Monday March 6, 2018. I would also like to personally draft a reply, and do not want to use any standard form letters. This has been added to the footnote section since I will need to draft the reply myself, and will also need to wait on a response from Ms. Chadwick. Will add details to any and all subsequent report and or reports if, as, and when necessary.

Off-record: That’s all of the requests. Next will be History, and once we are through that, that should be all of the dictation we can get to prior to my visit today.

I don’t know if Fish and Wildlife will actually take the time to watch that video of Patient 4, but they should. It’s possible they’ve already seen it, but I’d really like to know why the sudden need for more sites. Every single camera points inwards to Site One, and the site really isn’t that large. Certainly not large enough to necessitate 40 camera sites to monitor both migratory and indigenous regional bird life in this one small section of land near the Potomac River in Virginia.

Patient 4 was attending a birthday party for one of his nephews. His ex-wife’s brother’s son, and the party was being held at the residence of Patient 4’s then brother and sister-in-law. The video, taken in the living area of these relatives’ residence, shows Patient 4 sitting in a chair, directly in front of a fish tank, and he, along with the rest of the people in attendance. are watching Patient 4’s nephew open their presents. The video itself is not of Patient 4. But the camera does pan over to and across him as the person who was shooting the video, presumably Patient 4’s daughter, is primarily filming the present opening process. This video was filmed on what was later to be determined to be a personal handheld digital video camera.

As the video progresses, it is clear that Patient 4 is sitting very close to the fish tank, with his head almost touching the glass. After later examining other photos and video, it was determined Patient 4’s daughter was seated next to Patient 4 in front of the fish tank at times, but in the video in question, the chair next to him is empty, indicating that she was filming the video. After the anomalies were found in the video, subsequent interviews with Patient 4’s children and ex-wife have confirmed that Patient 4’s daughter in fact made the video.

It was almost better to show subsequent first-time viewers the video back to front. But it was decided that this would prejudice anyone watching as to what they are seeing, assuming that they see anything at all. There are those who don’t see it, but those who originally discovered it were slightly perplexed as to what they were seeing. That is about the time that video came to my attention.

In the last three shots where Patient 4 can be seen sitting in front of the fish tank, it becomes clear that all of the fish in the tank have began to school just behind Patient 4’s head. Upon rewinding the tape, it is clear that in the first shot, Patient 4 had only recently sat down in the chair, as the fish are spread out rather equally all throughout the fish tank. The tank itself was estimated to be between a 40 to 50 gallon tank, fresh water, containing approximately 50 to 75 Fan-Tail Guppies fishes, and between 5 to 10 other species of fish of no more than two per species. As the video progresses, it becomes clear that the fish behind Patient 4 are migrating from all areas of the tank to directly behind Patient 4’s head which is directly in front of the glass. Patient 4 appears oblivious to the fish gathering behind his head…until the second to the last image of him.

Patient 4 seemed quite relaxed in the entire video, until the video catches him turning around for some unknown reason to look at the fish tank, and he seems to notice the fish massing behind his head. When Patient 4 turns back around facing forward, his facial features have changed from a relaxed comfort, to one of what can only be described as panic. There is almost a knowing in his eyes as to what is happening and why, but his posture and body language changes rapidly to almost a fight or flight type posture.

There was only one more shot of Patient 4 in the video, and although his posture seems to have relaxed a bit he has, what can only be described as, an uncomfortable smile on his face. Not quite a smirk, but also not quite a smile. It was as if in that short period, he had worked out what was happening, why, and what to do about it. Review of the video and photos that are time-stamped post-video observations show that Patient 4 was only seen sitting in that chair one other time, and his daughter was seated next to him. The fish were once again massing directly behind his head.

He has to know something. What that is, I don’t know. Perhaps I don’t need to. Perhaps he doesn’t know, and is figuring it out as he goes like the rest of us.

I do know that I’m very glad that I left my visit with Patient One out of the reports thus far. Visiting both Patient Four and Patient One in the same day might be looked upon as excessive. But I’m here, and so are they. All of the paperwork was done properly. It all remained outside of my office completely until returned approved, and so my personal final approval is in line with everyone else’s approvals. There is no way I could have possibly known that things would develop that required Form A11A. But, that’s what you are going to need to visit Room A-11-A, and it looks like I’ll be visiting there today as well.

I also know that I need to get something in my stomach. I’m starving.


Almost there, and with plenty of time to spare. Assuming the bed continues to cooperate with my calculations, I should have about 1 hour and 15 minutes to spare, plus the additional 17 minutes. And I gotta remember to move that clothes locker.

Voice: Do you know how that bed stays where it is?

Patient 4: Gimme a break. You know that I don’t. I mean, I kinda do, but not really in a way that I am prepared to try and explain.

Voice: So what are you going to tell them?

Patient 4: If the opportunity presents itself, I’ll talk about the singularities a bit, and then…

Voice: Sorry to interrupt, but what about the program and how these are related?

Patient 4: I’ve no idea. I’ll do the best that I can. They’re going to want, and even need to talk gravity. That means I need to stay within the context of time, so I can stay within the context of gravity, and stay the fuck away from the inter-dimensional and multi-dimensional bullshit.

Voice: Multi-dimensional, and inter-dimensional bullshit, eh? Tell me about it.

Patient 4: Go fuck yourself. I’d rather piss-glass.

Voice: No to the first, but I’ll see what I can do on that second one.

Patient 4: Fair enough. Something sad must be coming. You always try and get me giggling just prior to me thinking about something sad.

Voice: You’re too busy thinking about Patient 1 and Patient 7.

Patient 4: We’re the only three left of the original group.

Voice: Three of the original ten are left. And those three are still in a program that originally contained six thousand, three-hundred, and thirty-seven in total. Only three left out of that entire group. Should make headlines worldwide with a body-count that large.

Patient 4: I’m happy that they’ve all been released, that they are all safe, and living their lives.

Voice: Not all.

Patient 4: It’s rare that I don’t think about Patient 74.

Voice: Patient 1, Patient 4, Patient 7, and Patient 74. Three alive, one…erm…not so much. What do you think the odds are that those specific numbers are significant?

Patient 4: I’d rather try to explain to Dr. Duncan the particulars of singularities and their significances within a multi-interdimensional framework.

Voice: Sounds complex. You think Dr. Duncan is dumb?

Patient 4: No. Not even a little. Actually, I find he’s extremely smart. Just interested in other things.

Voice: I would agree with that appraisal. Have you considered what will happen if Dr. Duncan hangs out with you for a while and tries to get his own appraisal of the situation?

Patient 4: If that’s the case, then Dr. Duncan gets, and probably deserves, the particulars of singularities and their significances within a multi-interdimensional framework.

Voice: You know, your sarcasm and less-than-optimistic appraisals of situations are actually quite funny.

Patient 4: Thank you.

Voice: You are welcome.

Patient 4: I just don’t think that he’ll stay for very long. No matter who walks through that door, nor when, I’m winging it and making it up as I go.

Voice: Good thing you’ve got help.

Patient 4: All you need is love.

Voice: I like The Beatles too.

I’ve decided on a band name. Two Makes A Third. Two…makes a third, as in 1/3. Two, plus one, plus three, equals 6. Six can be interpreted as two threes. Thirty-three and 1/3. A numeric stretch, but connectible. Two failed musicians, two failed careers, joined by fate for a third attempt at stardom and fame. It’ll never happen, and it’s a stupid name, but Dr. Music might find it amusing. I doubt he’s happy about being here on Christmas Eve. I know that I am not, although I’ve no idea where I would be were I not here. Where will I go when and if they release me?

I don’t see it as such a stretch that musicians tend to be at odds with one another. Can you imagine sticking two painters in the same room to work on the same painting? What about three painters, or four, or even five or more, all working at the same time, and different times, to paint the same painting? That’s kind of how I see the process of musicians working together to make music. I’ve no further qualifications to add to that analogy.


Tim knows more about the Time-Sequencer-Variant-Unit than anyone, and not just and only because he invented it. Tim likes to say that he discovered it more than invented it. That said, there are many that understand Tim’S VU quite well, and even come up with some amazing challenges and additions to it that even Tim admits that he never would have thought of. But it’s discoveries like these that keep Tim at it. Whenever someone suddenly knows more, Tim rises to the challenge and will find multiple new dynamics based on a single find of another. It’s what he does.

Tim also is a bit of a study in virtually any and all things. He and his knowledge of more esoteric types of thinking is how I stumbled into some paths that have both helped and hurt me immensely. Based on my time spent in these areas, that’s just how it works. Help, and hurt. The study of some of the more “ancient” types of knowledge and wisdom have led me down some strange pathways to be sure. But I find solace in knowing that everything comes from somewhere.

To think that our elders and predecessors were somehow all incompetent nincompoops, is almost akin to denying our own existence. We could not be where we are were it not for them. That said, Tim has given me a way to find not only a newfound respect for mathematics and especially geometry, but he’s kept me reigned-in a bit, with respect to my enthusiasms for these strange realms. I can still recall the conversation that helped me a great deal. Like finding a master guru at something you’ve been pursuing, after you’ve spent decades trying to go it alone. Upon stumbling into this master guru, they afford just five minutes of their time, and completely sort you out in the span of that five minutes.

Tim, what about this and these ancient sites, holographic multi-dimensional whatever it is, and this sacred geometry nonsense,” I asked almost hatefully.

Tim responded with an empathy I did not expect. “Look, if you are an architect, you don’t keep the protractor or ruler or whatever tool you need on the page the whole time. You find the tool you need, you use it to do what you need to with it, then set it aside. A template for helping to create and maintain templates, irrespective of what that template is. A 454 cubic inch Chevy engine is a template.”

This took me aback. I had never thought of a car engine as a template. A template made of, and from, templates. There was almost a flicker of understanding, but he continued. “Issac, you’re a medical doctor for chrissakes. It’s in your nature to overthink, over-add, and over-reduce, all so you can find what you are looking for. You personally could have a penis the size of a Howitzer cannon, and that would not negate your trained need, plus any personal need to compensate and overcompensate. So much for society’s compensation theories that are anything but contextual and situational observations of a temporary nature.”

Tim had an odd look on his face, and I can only imagine it was based on the look on mine. I have no idea if I understood that second bit at all, but I was suddenly transported to my youth, and thought of name-calling and labelling types of associations. Temporary things that can and do change, and what changes when and where.

I’m with you. Keep going.” I somehow managed to stammer, and wondered if I was participating, or simply interrupting. He certainly had my mind working in some new ways.

Would you use a reflex hammer to take someone’s temperature, or your stethoscope to check someone’s prostate?” I would have expected a grin from Tim, but his face was stoic and rigid as he awaited my response.

Those would not be my first choices, no,” I responded, all while trying to work out the dynamics of how either of those could work under any circumstances.

I see the gears turning Issac. You are most likely trying to figure out how to best utilize a doctor’s bag, that for whatever reason, only contains a reflex hammer and stethoscope. You’ve got two more patients to see. One patient has flu-like symptoms, and the other patient is complaining that it feels like he has a football up his ass. You’re trying to make do with what you have, and make both of those people whole in the process. Who are you omitting Issac?” Tim finished on a quizzical and yet decidedly parochial tone.

I suddenly return to the present and remember the voice.

Voice: I see five.

Am I forgetting myself? Let’s go back.

OK…wait a minute Tim. I kind of sort of see what you are getting at. But you almost simultaneously validated and invalidated virtually everything within not only modern medicine, but also most modern modalities and schools of thought with respect to the benefits of accumulated knowledge.” My head was decidedly spinning and not spinning at the same time.

What the hell good is accumulated knowledge to you as a caregiver when you’ve got a guy who’s prostate is swollen to the size of a tennis ball, and only a reflex hammer and stethoscope an to fix it? Are you going to beat him to death with the reflex hammer to put him out of both of your miseries?” Tim’s argument would be almost vapid were it not for the distance that we’d already covered. But my being at a loss somehow turned to my advantage.

Maybe. Maybe that’s the exact way to proceed. I can let him wear the stethoscope so that he can more accurately listen to me do it,” I fired back.

Tim looked shocked. His eyes grew wide with dismay at my response, but then his face relaxed and he broke out into an uproarious laughter that made him start coughing.

I get it,” he said between coughs, and continued to laugh. “You worked out that the blows would probably be much louder if he were wearing the stethoscope. Some dramatic music of sorts to listen to as you go out. That’s funny. I hadn’t thought of that,” he coughed more than spoke.

Well Tim, I hadn’t realized that you had thought of any of this.”

I hadn’t Issac. Making it up, off-the-cuff, as we speak, based on my experiences here and there. Where and how we can relate, and maybe where we can’t. We each of us, handle our successes and failures however we do. But there is a lot more to life than just success and failure. Life is not just and only some constant state of peak or valley. How the hell would we know that there was a peak to summit if there were no valleys?” Tim finished on a tone that sounded as if he had given me all that he had available to give at this time. I found this an odd coincidence, as I was already dreamily wandering elsewhere myself.

Life, is not a constant state, of either peak or valley. I like that.” I must have sounded like someone who had just stumbled onto the exact coordinates of the last known location of The Holy Grail.

Feel free to make as many mistakes as you like with that one.” He was smiling again. “I enjoy talking with you Issac. You challenge me to think.”

Dah Dah Dah, Dah Dit, Dit. Tim’S VU roused me from my thinking. One, in Morse Code: Dash Dash Dash, Dash Dot, Dot. One hour to go. I need to get with it.

On record: History. Site One no longer maintains more than one-thousand five hundred patients at any given time. Total patient beds on-site is two-thousand two-hundred, divided between three main buildings and two auxiliary buildings, all of which are designed for patient occupancy. All buildings on-site are adequately staffed with medical personnel, including those buildings which do not permanently house patients, the only exceptions being the on-site executive housing which are detached and separate structures located at various remote locations on-site, and the motor pool and maintenance buildings which are both co-located in close proximity to one another and both adjoin Main Building One.

All current programs are in the process of being eliminated. All programs and their associated participants are being consolidated from remote sites and routed through Site One as these programs terminate and the participants released from their contracts. At present, there are six-hundred and thirty-seven patients, and six-hundred staff that are housed on-site at Site One. The majority of on-site staff occupies the same quarters as patients at various times during the rotation schedule, and do so in rotating shifts. All patients and staff are rotated to new quarters every seven to ten days. With current patient and staff occupancy numbers, there is a vacancy of nine-hundred and sixty-three unoccupied quarters. However, these unoccupied quarters are included within the rotations, and no quarter goes unoccupied for more than thirty days.

The rotation schedules can and do change based on needs as, if, and when they arise. The only exceptions to any of these protocols being four more or less permanent and/or long term on-site occupants. These occupants are the remaining participants of the original programs, and are patients classified as follows:

Patient 1 – Program A group A, and all programs beyond.

Patient 4 – Program A group A, and all programs beyond.

Patient 7 – Program A group B, continuing through Program E.

Patient 0 – Program 0 and beyond.

All of these participants maintain residence in the same rooms, and have done so throughout the entirety of their participation and stays. Patients 1 and 4 are located in Building Two, specific locations are classified as restricted. Patients 7 and 0 are located in Building Three, with Patient 7’s location being classified as restricted, and Patient Zero is located in Room A-11-A, although the specific location of this room is classified as restricted.

Today I will be visiting both Patients 1 and 4, with the focus being on the visitation with Patient 4. An unplanned visitation of Patient 0 has arisen via unforeseen events and/or necessity. No specific details are currently available as to this necessity, nor can specific events be cited as cause.

Standard visitation protocol is being followed, and a second doctor will be on-site at time of visitations to act as a backup to my being primary should any anomalies or other need arise. I do not know who the second doctor will be, and they have been randomly selected from a group of three doctors within site rotation that will be available and on-site at the time of visits. Doctors within that rotation for today are Doctors Duncan, Percy, and Soldano.

At this time there are no plans to change the current rotation schedule. All current programs are scheduled to be completely eliminated and participants released from their contracts within twenty-four months of January 1st 2018. All subsequent programs are currently slated to begin on or about 12 months from January 1st 2018.

Recruiting for new programs is currently underway, contract signing will begin on or about June 1st 2018, and continue through the end of calendar year 2018.

Report to continue post-visitation.

Off-record. Thank you Number 74. I’ll talk to you on a different recording when I get back. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you and yours.

God I hate this shit sometimes. The upside being, that the majority of the planet is probably in a pretty good mood right now, and will be so for the next day or so. I’m certainly not in a bad mood. I just have this weird feeling that I’ve forgotten something, or I’m going to forget something, and it’s going to be important.


Good day to you. Dr. Mews to see Patient Four.” I recognize the attendant for the ward on this floor, but don’t recall a name. She’s pretty. Nice smile, and very relaxed face. Like a Buddha that’s just pulled a 16-hour shift like it were a walk in the park. But she also looks like someone that most likely has training in several martial arts, and can break your arm with a pencil.

And a good day to you Dr. Mews. Dr. Duncan will be acting as your second today, and he has already called and assured me that he will be ‘either early or late, but still on time’. His words. Not entirely sure what that meant, but I guess we’ll figure it out.” She was able to be sarcastic without sounding bitter. Hopefully she can cheer up Dr. Duncan if he’s having a rough day.

Let me ask you something. Do you have any training in any martial arts?” I asked as delicately as he could.

Yeah, actually I do. Some anyway. I used to box semi-professionally and took some martial arts classes here and there. Why?”

Well, I have a daughter who has expressed an interest in taking some martial arts. She seems more interested in devising a valid reason for taking these classes above and beyond the typical “for self-defense” reason that most quote. She tells me that it looks interesting, and that’s the only reason she wants to take martial arts class.”

What’s wrong with that?” replied the attendant.

Nothing. And I’ve told her as much. She herself thinks that is not a valid enough reason, and I take that to mean that her friends may be exerting some influence.”

Well, I can’t say for sure why I took martial arts classes except to perhaps help me with my boxing. That’s the best I have to offer. Oh, and the second office behind you and to the left is available until time.”

Thank you for entertaining my query, and I appreciate your input.”

She didn’t offer a name and I’m not going to ask. I feel like an idiot already for not asking in the first place. I’m going to crawl into the empty office, shut the door, and pretend my attempt at being a normal human is damn near impossible when in this place. I guess I don’t think of myself as others may most likely or potentially see me.

Fifteen minutes.


Look, I have to be on the 8th floor of building two, in fifteen minutes. I won’t be up there long, I’ll bring it right back. If I’m not back in 30 minutes, you can walk over to building two, and drive it back yourself…it’ll be parked right out front,” Dr. Duncan told the motor pool attendant.

Dr. Danny Duncan could be a persuasive influence when he wanted to be. Everything made sense to him. Or at least, in a world where everything was designed specifically for Dr. Danny Duncan, everything made sense. Dr. Danny Duncan did not live in a world where everything was specifically designed for Dr. Danny Duncan, therefore, he had to improvise.

Dr. Duncan, I can’t let you take the grounds keeper’s golf cart. Much less, take it just to drive right back to a building that you just walked all the way from for the sole purpose of taking the golf cart for a spin.,” the motor pool attendant said with a hesitant indignance. The poor guy drew the short stick in some cosmic lottery for today. Not only is he working on Christmas Eve, he’s having to deal with Dr. Danny Duncan’s broken dreams of someday becoming a world champion stock-car driver.

Well, I also came to see about requisitioning a car for the evening,” Dr. Duncan fired back.

Dr. Duncan…you are on-site in rotation and can’t leave the campus.”

Is there anything you don’t know?” Dr. Duncan asked dryly.

I don’t know why you’d walk all the way over here just to borrow the grounds keeper’s golf cart so you could drive right back to where you just came from. But I’ll be happy to drive you back in it. Fair enough?”

No…but it will do until I can talk you into letting me drive it.”

As promised, the motor pool attendant dropped Dr. Duncan off out in front of Building Two, and only had to stave off two requests to stop the vehicle and let Dr. Duncan drive while they were en route.

Dr. Duncan fancied himself as a comedy writer of sorts. Always trying to find humor in any situation. During his time as an emergency room doctor, he had found that humor always has a place, even in and among the gore and tragedy that tends to overshadow that realm’s triumphs. Under duress, and under stress, Dr. Duncan was a master of timing with respect to when and where a comedic edge would serve, and when and where it would not. The rest of his time was spent planning and plotting, constantly devising scenarios, no matter how bizarre and far fetched, to ply his comedic wares.

Like the time when a woman – drug overdose, suspected suicide attempt – was brought into the emergency room. She had chosen hydrocodone, an opiate, as her way out. But once the Nalaxone was administered to counter the opiates in her system, she came out of the opiate induced slumber in a rather agitated state. Presumably, something similar to the state that landed her in the emergency room in the first place, without the aid of the calming effects of the medication she had tried to overdose on. A floor tile had recently been replaced in the emergency room stall she was admitted to, and one of the workers had left a razor-knife on one of the counters. Long after, it was a subject of debate as to how long that razor-knife had sat on the counter unnoticed and unchallenged, but it would eventually demonstrate how a light bit of humor, at the right time, can change the most determined and able of ships.

The woman had obviously started casing the room for anything handy, spotted the razor-knife, sprung from her bed, was oblivious to the IV catheter that ripped from her arm and vein as she went, grabbed the knife, and threatened everyone in the room with it whilst she retreated to a solitary corner in the room.

Dr. Duncan, who was just next door checking on a patient, heard the commotion, politely excused himself, and proceeded next door. Upon arriving, the patient immediately pointed the knife at him in a threatening manner, and commanded him to stay back. He proceeded to one of the cabinets, calmly opened the cabinet, procured some gauze and tape, turned to the woman and said, “Honey, if we don’t get something on that arm where you’ve ripped your IV out, you are going to bleed to death.”

The woman looked down at her arm, saw the blood streaming from it, and immediately started to cry. After a moment or two of reflection, the woman said “That’s pretty funny doctor. I wouldn’t have noticed had you not said something.”

By the time the woman finished, Dr. Duncan had already slowly and calmly walked over to the woman, knelt down, and begun to clean and dress her arm, all while she held the razor-knife in her hand. As he finished cleaning and dressing her wound, the sound of the blade being retracted could be heard with an audible ‘click’.

She held it towards one of the nurses, who delicately took it from her. “You know, if no one claims ownership to it, and you don’t mind removing the blades from that, I wouldn’t mind keeping that.”


BEEP!Dr. Mews? Dr. Duncan is here,” the Ward Attendant’s voice informed me over the intercom.

I’ll be right there.” Why in hell was she using the intercom when I’m right across the hall? Did I doze off to sleep? I stood up and went left the room. “Good day Dr. Duncan.”

And a good day to you Dr. Mews,” Dr. Duncan greeted me jovially. “I just got a ride in the groundskeeper’s golf cart.”

And I cannot wait to hear all about it sometime later today Dr. Duncan.”

Ward Attendant glanced at each of us coolly. “Are the doctors ready for protocol?”

Dr. Issac Mews, present and ready.”

Dr. Danny Duncan, present and ready.”

The Ward Attendant continued, “Dr Mews, who authorized visitation today?”

I did.”

Correct. Dr. Mews, who selected Dr. Duncan to act as second today.”

No one.”

Correct. Dr. Mews, what is the override password?”

There is no override authorization for today, no spaces, one five one one three.”

Correct. Dr. Mews, do you wish to override?”

I do, with right to retract.”

Correct. Dr. Mews, what is the override authorization retraction password?”


Correct. Dr. Duncan, are you ready to act as second?”

I am.”

Protocol is verified, awaiting audible confirmation from TSVU.”

Beep beep.

Audible confirmation has been attained and confirmed via all attending parties and via TSVU at unknown time on unknown date. Should any anomalous discrepancies be identified during the visual portion of this process, Dr. Mews will be in authority, and Dr. Duncan will proceed with the visitation of Patient 4. Dr. Duncan, is this acceptable?”

It is.”

Dr. Mews, is this factually accurate?”

It is.”

Only the briefest of upward of flicks of the Ward Attendant’s mouth outwardly betrayed her complete satisfaction. “Doctors, if you will please follow me to the security room, we can proceed with visual protocol and analysis procedures.”

It was a short walk to the security room. The room was cavernous looking. Previously there was an entire room lined with video monitors, and staffed by three security staff personnel that monitored patients and access passages twenty-four hours a day. Now, there was a single monitor, and it was currently black since no active monitoring takes place, anywhere, except within the room of the patient being visited by medical staff.

Preliminary security protocols have been completed. If you would, please activate the camera in Patient #4’s room,” the Ward Attendant instructed the guardian of the monitor.

The security attendant had not even looked at us when we entered the room. One person, sitting alone, staring at a lone monitor that was powered on, but had only a black screen. He knew we were coming, and must be anxious to get his bit over with so he can leave. Possibly even for the day, and get home to loved one’s for Christmas. A nice thought, but he’s probably in rotation, and won’t be going anywhere except outside of the room once we are finished.

The security person flipped a switch, the screen flickered to life, but instead of a plain black screen, there was now only a plain white screen. Nothing. Plain…white…nothing. The room was completely empty.

At that moment, the security room that we occupied, even with four people present, seemed as empty as the room that we were looking into via the video monitoring system. Is this even possible? I’m not sure about the others, but there was some unseen force acting on me that was somehow keeping my blood from running completely cold. Were we looking at ourselves?

Um…Dr. Mews?” The Security Attendant sounded hesitant.

Yes. I’m all ears,” I replied, still stunned and rapidly calculating.

Doctor, this may seem out of line. But when you came into the room, I noticed that your pants were unzipped.”

That’s why he was so goddamn stoic when we first came into the security room! He was probably trying to figure out how and when to tell me my pants were unzipped. That also must be what I was so worried about forgetting earlier. No wonder I was so worried.

Thank you sir and excuse me ma’am and sirs, while I remedy one of two immediate items of concern.” I did the standard male version of the “pants zipper check”, confirmation was attained, pants were zipped. I couldn’t help but think that my pants might be zipped up in one way, but my pants were quite down in another. One issue down, one issue to go.

I’d laugh my ass off at the timing of that particular revelation if I weren’t currently so dumbfounded with amazement in what I am not seeing on the video feed right now,” Dr. Duncan said just lightly enough to be heard by all.

Most likely less than twenty seconds had passed since the camera monitoring Patient 4’s room had been activated. I’m certain that the Ward Attendant would have already asked me for instructions had she not been interrupted by the security attendant’s method of dealing with this unfolding saga.

Dr. Mews, how would you like to proceed?” The Ward Attendant was falling back into character, and back onto protocol, but was cut short by Dr. Duncan interrupting excitedly.

WAIT!!! Right there! Bottom left corner. You see that?”

I leaned in for a closer look at the monitor. He’s right. “The clothes locker is there,” I replied.

And it’s out place,” agreed Dr. Duncan. “That means that Patient 4 wanted us to see it.”

That means he has to be in there,” I added.

What? Why? Wait.” Dr. Duncan frowned. “I agree with you on the point that he wanted us to see the clothes locker. But how in the hell does that also mean that he’s still in there? There’s nothing that indicates there’s anything in there except the clothes locker,” Dr. Duncan said in a not entirely unconvinced voice.

And how long did it take us to determine that?” I queried.

And the status of your zipper,” quipped the Ward Attendant.

Dr. Duncan stiffled his laugh at the Ward Attendant’s addition, while simultaneously turning his head to give her a look of approval. “I would say we are at about one minute, if we are including “The Zipper Heard Round The Room Incident”. If not, I’d still say the same thing.” Dr. Duncan was trying to find some humor, but retreated. “That means he’s expecting one of us in about one minute. He’s in there.”

I was already convinced, and got the feeling that Patient 4 wanted to convince me and everyone quickly. One down, many more to go.

I know Patient 4 a bit. So does Dr. Duncan, which is why Dr. Duncan is entertaining any and all possibilities at this point. I continued in my line of thinking as best I could decipher based on the information we had at that moment. Suddenly I realized that the Ward Attendant was right. Our musing to ourselves was not going to get us anywhere, and it was going to get us there rapidly.

I’m telling you, he’s in there. Something else is afoot, but I’m telling you…he’s in there. And Danny, we’ve got to get you in there too.”

I’m ready,” Dr. Duncan confirmed. He said it with a determination and confidence that filled me to the brim with a hope that was only just previously absent.

Dr. Mews, am I to assume that we are proceeding with Dr. Duncan as your alternate?” the Ward Attendant interjected.

You may. And I’ve not forgotten about you. Just trying to maintain my composure and do this right, whatever that may be.”

Issac, never mind Patient 4, where’s the rest of the furniture?” Dr. Duncan added, half-whispering in my direction.

Danny, if it were up my ass, I’d most likely know exactly where the rest of the furniture is. But it’s not, so I don’t. I think we’re all quite certain that the clothes locker is there. That one single fact is thanks to your keen eye, and that’s the best that I have to offer at this time.” It really was the best I could muster under the circumstances, and it garnered a snickers from both the Ward and Security attendants.

Noted,” replied Dr. Duncan with a slight smirk on his face. I could tell he was making a note of that one, assuming that he’s not heard it before, to use again somewhere, some day. Knowing Dr. Danny Duncan, it’s entirely possible that I originally heard that analogy from him.

Security zipper guy,” I addressed the Security Attendant. He slowly turned to look at me, obviously carrying the weight of the moniker I just just bestowed upon him. “If you wouldn’t mind, pick up that phone next to you, and get me the motor pool.”

Voice: I see five.


Wait…scratch that,” said Dr. Mews.

Good. I thought I was going to have to mention to you, that a vehicle with fewer than four seats would be less than preferable.” Dr. Danny Duncan was indeed a master at comedic timing.

All right, here’s what we are going to do. The hold password for protocol anomaly detection is ‘FOR’…that’s Foxtrot – Oscar – Romeo. Sylvia, I need you to make some calls for me.”

How do you remember my name?” the Ward Attendant asked with mild incredulity.

I don’t know how, but I’m glad that my first guess was correct. That said, I need you to call the motor pool, and have them call maintenance. Have the motor pool attendant tell the maintenance attendant they they need to call IT support for the security division, and have IT to run diagnostics on all security systems, starting with the video surveillance systems in Building Three first, and then Building Two.”

Why Building Three first?” the Security Attendant interrupted.

Because it gives us a complete on-site analysis with contrast for a better picture of what is actually happening where. We know the camera is working, we just need to follow the rules as best we can without causing some kind of panic,” Dr. Mews responded. “Anyone here feeling panicked?”

The occupants of the room looked at each other, and all shook their heads no.

Good. Let’s keep it that way, do our jobs, and we can all dream of going out for pizza and beer when we’re through this, even though we actually can’t. Sound good?” Dr. Mews was finding a confidence he didn’t know that he had. Maybe he had it, and just didn’t remember?

Again the room’s occupants looked at each other, and nodded agreement.

One more thing,” Dr. Mews continued, “I need maintenance to check their records for any maintenance done within the last thirty days, on any video monitoring systems in all buildings, starting with building two. I only need to know what if any maintenance was done and when, and any issues or discrepancies that the diagnostics results return. We’ve got four minutes, so let’s get to it. Danny, come with me. You two, I’ll be right back.”

The two doctors left the room, and went out into the corridor.

Since when do we have four minutes?” Dr. Duncan asked with quizzical twist to his face.

Since whenever we do, but trust me, we do. That’s the best that I can figure from here, and the best that I have to offer as a response,” replied Dr. Mews.

Issac, barring your sudden time variance, the best I can figure it thus far is that your plan is bordering on genius. But I think I need to remind you that you are simultaneously adhering to, and breaking protocol at the same time.” Dr. Duncan’s voice contained only concern, and no doubt.

I know that Danny. One of the privileges of helping to write the structures that holds everything up, is a simultaneous knowledge of what will bring it all down. Those can be handy things to know at certain times.”

Fair enough. But can I relate to you aloud how I’m interpreting this plan of yours as I see it happening? I want to make sure you know what I’m thinking that you are thinking, and that we are at least within a few zipcodes of each other on the map as to our thinking as a team.”

Fire away, and don’t hold back on me Danny. Not now.”

Well…since you put it that way…simplicity.”

I’m listening…”

You’re basically pulling up the drawbridge to the castle without actually doing so. Is that close?”

So far, so good.”

If there’s no smoke, and no fire, there are no alarms to sound, even if protocol dictates that you should do so. That’s why you routed that request to check the security cameras in the way that you did. To get more than a select few people involved in the goings on. Not just and only us four, and Patient 4, wherever he is. To get the gears turning without actually engaging the mechanism that sounds a warning.”

You and your powers of perception continue to amaze me.”

That there is strength in numbers, with no need to further qualify what that number is with respect to amounts. One army is still one. Raising the alarm without actually raising or sounding it. Keeping things calm, so as not to disturb a calm which already exists. Everything is already in motion, and has been for some time. Anyone who comes crashing in now, is not going to save anything or anyone, rather, they’ll bring the storm with them. Patient 4 taking the time to intentionally move that clothes locker and make it visible really did the trick for you didn’t it?”

Yes it did Dr. Duncan. Everything in that room, including Patient 4, is gone. We now know that the clothes locker is there, and he wanted us to know it was there…that’s why he moved it. He had to know that the clothes locker would be checked during the visual phase of visitation protocol. He’s telling us that he’s there, and that it is safe for someone to come in.”

Any ideas as to what I’m going to find in that room other than the clothes locker?”

I’ve not ventured there and I’m trying not to. But I maintain that Patient 4 is indeed in there, and Patient 4 needs some help. He needs some help, and he’s not sure how to ask for it nor what kind of help to ask for. It appears that he’s prefaced this need to ask for help by giving as much help as he can prior to asking.”

Saying a great deal without saying much at all. Not saying anything actually, which I find odd because I’ve always known Patient 4 to be quite verbose at times.”

Me too. And I appreciate you taking the time to ponder these things Dr. Duncan. I’m glad that it was you in the rotation today.”

Me too Dr. Mews. Anything you want me to take with me?”

Just your sense of humor wrapped in that big brain of yours and even bigger heart that powers it all.”

I think you intentionally listed those smallest to largest.”

That’s what I like about you Danny. If there’s a bright side, you’ll find it. You want me to walk down with you?”

Let’s skip that so as to keep the protocol breaches to a manageable figure, and you go back in and do your job while I do mine. Fair enough?”

Fair enough. The doors are already unlocked.”

Dr. Duncan started down the hallway, toward his rendezvous with Patient 4, while Dr. Mews retreated back into the security room.


Voice: 3D? You call yourself 3D?

Dr Danny Duncan: Sure. Dr Danny Duncan in 3D.

I’m always working on my comedy routines. Gives me some contrast. This walk down the hall should give me some time to work on that routine a bit if I slow up my pace just a shade. It’s not a race. Keep it casual…so says Dr. Mews. Noted.

Plenty of time to prepare to be completely unprepared…it’s the only way to prepare. If there’s one thing that my time in the trauma unit taught me, it’s that everyone, and every situation is different. All of the medical training that exists cannot prepare you for dealing with the reality that you have no clue what is going to come through your door, nor how, nor when. This is not a trait indigenous to only the trauma unit, nor even only to practising medicine. You’re never prepared for the first time you fall off your bike. Likewise, you are never prepared for the first time you see someone else fall off their bike. You can apply that to just about anything and everything with respect to life and the processes involved in the experiencing of it. The first time is always the first time. Even the second time is the first time that the second time has happened. Yikes…psychiatry. That has the potential to get repetitive real quick, so let’s change the subject.

So yeah…comedy. Not much of a subject change really. Not that I view psychiatry as the “tragedy” portion of that combination. Danny…you’ve no idea what you are saying nor trying to say, so change the damn subject.

Voice: Where are you going?

Dr. Duncan: I’ve not a clue. Wait!

I’m headed to a performance. A performance, in a mostly empty room. A performance, in a mostly empty room, containing, most likely, only a clothes locker. That means that I’ll have potentially one audience member in an otherwise empty auditorium. I wonder if the clothes locker is empty as well? Would that make a difference? A performance in an empty room to an empty clothes locker sounds more something generated by the likes of Dr Mews’ professional music career than it does my professional comedic career – Bad da ching – I’ve trained my entire life for this moment. And I’m opening to an empty house. And now, I’ve spent my entire walk contemplating everything but comedy. That’s pretty funny. It’ll do.

Now I’ve gotta focus on Patient 4. He’s the reason I am where I am. If Issac is right, and he needs help, please God, let me be the person for the job at this stage in the show. I’m opening for Dr. Mews. That’s pretty funny as well. A mediocre, but compelling and entertaining comedy act, opening for a horrendously terrible musical act. That also, is quite funny.

Patient 4, and his troubles lay just beyond this door.

Just and only, Patient 4, no less, and no more.

Who chooses to step through?

I, Dr. Danny Duncan do.

Voice: Well said.

I guess 3D is ready to hit the stage.

Wait a second…is Patient 4 supposed to get medication today? Damnit. We completely skipped protocol for the most part, and I didn’t think to ask. Shit! Calm down Danny. We’re not even entirely convinced he’s in there. Review, then change the subject. I’m here, Dr. Mews didn’t mention it, I didn’t think of it, and we are completely off the map anyway…so…composure check, then keep going.

Voice: Keep going…

Dr. Duncan: Damn right. Keep going.

Voice: I like the sound of that.


Upon arriving at the door of Patient 4’s room, Dr. Duncan thought to himself that now would be a good time to have X-Ray vision. Windows on the heavy sound-proof doors would have worked just as well, but neither were currently available.

Should he knock? It was not required by procedure to do so but Patient 4 had to know someone was coming. Dr Duncan decided that Patient 4 most likely knew that he was standing outside of his door right now. Things were already completely sideways, so he surmised that a light knock on the door couldn’t hurt. It may even be the polite thing to do, considering the circumstances.

Knock, knock knock.

Dr. Duncan rapped as gently on the door as he could. He wanted it to be heard, but also knew of the sensitivities to sound that Patient 4 has. He could only imagine what those “gentle” raps must have sounded like to Patient 4.

Volcanic eruptions? Claps of thunder? Nuclear explosions? He wouldn’t knock again and opened the outer door as quietly as he could.

Dr. Duncan contemplated the differences in sound generated by the outer door which opened outward, and the inner door which opened inward. Surely there was a great difference between the two from the perspective of Patient 4. Upon opening the inner door, there would no longer be a buffer of any kind to guard against sound from the outside environment. Not to mention, that any sound generated by opening the inner door itself, would mostly be directed inward and reverberate in and around the inside of the room itself. He gently turned the doorknob which responded with some light clicking of metal parts contacting one another, and the heavy door easily swung open inwardly into the room.

His eyes confirmed what was shown on the video monitor via the video camera in the room – Patient 4 was nowhere to be found. His bed, his desk, his chair, also missing. Dr. Duncan peered deeper into the room, and glanced to the right to check the clothes locker. Sure enough, it was there, but there was no Patient 4 crouching in hiding, waiting to pounce. Dr. Duncan thought it odd that he had not previously considered this an option.

I guess I’d never imagine Patient 4 doing such a thing, he thought to himself.

Keeping his feet planted firmly in place, Dr. Duncan leaned deeper into the room so he could see if the clothes locker had in fact been moved. There was a slight gap between the clothes locker and the wall directly behind it. Dr Duncan wondered if Dr Mews could see his head in the video surveillance camera feed. He leaned even further into the room and glanced upwards at the camera, giving a visual thumbs up.

What do you have for me today?”

There wasn’t enough humor in existence to make sense of what was now tumbling through Dr. Danny Duncan’s head.


Voice: How’d that “preparing to be completely unprepared” go?

Dr Danny Duncan: We’ll have to wait and see on that. But it would appear…so far, so good.

If only I hadn’t thought of that X-Ray vision shit just prior to entering the room. Thank God! Something tangible to beat myself up with. We’ve made this poor bastard invisible somehow, and I was just thinking about how cool it would be to have X-Ray vision. Way to go Duncan. Good job. Nice thinking.

It’s odd how we as individuals are able learn how to think nice thoughts.

Wait a second. Wait just one damn second here. My heart is racing yet my brain hasn’t yet caught up with my ears. That was Patient 4’s voice, but it didn’t come from a direction in which I’m normally used to detecting a voice from. Why do I suddenly feel as if someone has just yelled at me from a rooftop, while I’m walking on the street below? Reverberation. Time. Timing. That’s probably why my brain could be said to be failing my ears.

I don’t want to see this, but I have to see this. Or at least, I have to look in the direction my stupid thumbs up signal is pointing. Up. Up. Up. I have to look up.

There is Patient 4, seated on his bed, which is also somehow up there on the ceiling, looking directly down at me and smiling. If Patient 4 were a woman, that would be the most marvellous smile I’d ever seen. But Patient 4 isn’t a woman, so whatever I can make of it later will have to do. There was no contempt, and it became clear that Patient 4 had gone to great lengths to make this…this…revelation…as painless and friendly as possible.

Family. Why am I thinking family? Family and friends…who they are…and when…and who gets to decide. Patient 4 may not be family, but he’s certainly a friend. We continued to look at each other, and even though our positioning perspectives are radically different, suddenly, there is really nothing unusual about the things that are transpiring. We have, both of us, covered some ground. Together…separately…yet all together, even when apart. Lots of knowing goes into knowing I guess. The smile on Patient 4’s face broadened as if he were about to giggle at the length of time it’s taking me to collect my thoughts.

What do you have for me today? Do you have anything for me today?” Patient 4 said rather matter-of-factly, without sounding the least bit condescending.

I’d say you’ve had enough. But let me go check just the same.”

Patient 4 snickers slightly and gives me a thumbs up, the smile never leaving his face. as I retreat from the room, closing both of the doors quietly behind me.


*Yeah, I miss him too, Clicky…*

Have a delightful Christmas, Dear Reader and… Have a Song… ❤

Extended CLICK5… CLICKB8: HBD Cade Fon Apollyon – I Miss U…

Extended CLICK5… CLICKB8: Take Your Time…

Missive From ‘Merica: Gentle Man…

Dear Reader, I received an unexpected missive from ‘Merica yesterday evening. Not from my very good friend Cade Fon Apollyon, but from his ex-wife, letting me know that he’d passed away in his sleep during the early hours of yesterday morning. She doesn’t yet know why he died but a heart-attack is suspected. All I know for certain is that my heart is broken…

cYa | cFa

Dear Reader… Have a Song ❤

Extended CLICK5… CLICKB8: Adventures In Remote Viewing – Syncing Mystery On Saturday Night…

Story Time: Spring Fevers & Bearded, Clammy Hands

*Ain’t that the truth, Clicky. How in the fuck are we meant to be April Fooled this year?*

Hello there, Dear Reader! Long time, no speaky 😉

My good friend Cade Fon Apollyon sent me a tweet last night, depicting a weather event at his ‘old stomping ground’…

*He says that’s Tyson’s Corner in Virginia and tornadoes there are extremely rare…*

… Which reminded me of a bunch of tweets that crossed my Twitter feed earlier this week, all saying the same thing…

*Nice example, Clicky, butt that’s knot someone I follow… /lights up and smokes… Say, did you know there’s a 137 reference in that Tweeter’s bio?*

*Just a happy coincidence, then? Okay…*

… And that whole Oscars ‘Slap Heard Around the World’ scene at the start of the week put me in mind of Cade’s short story from Underdog Anthology XIV: Dark Ides of March, published in the Spring of 2021…

*Oh yeah. It even syncs… /drags… with a couple of your recent posts, Clicky… /exhales smoke…*

… So, I asked Cade if I could publish his story, here, at the LoL today, and he said, ‘Sure’…

*Knockout, Clicky, indeed…*

… So, here is ‘Spring Fevers and Bearded, Clammy Hands’ for your entertainment, Dear Reader. Enjoy! ❤


Spring Fevers and Bearded, Clammy Hands

Cade F.O.N Apollyon

If one were to read “A Novice’s Guide to Understanding Jealousy”, the first sentence of Chapter 1, Page 1 would almost absolutely have to immediately address the subject of a lack of self-awareness. In fact, I cannot see how the entire book could ever get around talking about anything except the topic of self-awareness and identifying one’s own shortcomings within the framework of this concept.

Jealousy, seems to place the offended party in some sort of vacuum. Like a shell or some sort of defensive posture where only the individual and their own interests matter. Their computational systems, assuming they have any, also seem to go offline.

“Mateo! Hel..loooo?!? Are you even fucking listening to me?”

My neighbor, John, was already agitated when he borderline accosted me in my car upon my arrival home from work. My zoning out in contemplation whilst being accused by my neighbor of having an affair with his wife is unlikely to assuage his irritation.

“My name is Matthew, Juan, and yes, I am very much listening to you.”

“I apologize, Matthew,” John fired back sarcastically. “Now, are you fucking my wife?”

“No, John, I am not. I’m standing here in the middle of my own front yard holding an empty lunch box, quasi-talking to you, really just hoping to go inside at some point and take my shoes off.”

I’d retorted with my usual dry and unemotional sarcasm. I tried not too sound precocious though as this was an extremely delicate and dangerous situation, and the last thing I need at this point is my friend thinking I’m trying to be cleverly deceptive.

“Have you, at any point, from the beginning of creation, to this very day, ever, fucked my wife?”

John was struggling, choosing his words for clarity; an obvious frustration and impatience in his voice.

“Yeah. But I only stuck my dick in halfway so I’m not fucking her nearly as much as I could be. And when one considers that my dick is only six inches long, it could be argued that I’m not fucking her very much at all.”

The look of shock and disbelief on his face reflected that my retort had caught him completely off guard. But as the initial look of surprise left his face, and his brain began to compute my actual words, his face contorted in confusion, began to relax, and I could tell it may have finally broke some ice as John’s default facial express returned. That expression then started to crack into a smile, it was obvious he was trying to restrain it, and he turned away from me briefly in order to, I assume, stymie a giggle. The slight hunch in the back, a hand to the face, and a couple of shoulder twitches were a dead-giveaway.

I’d already answered his initial query as to my ‘fucking his wife’, definitely and without hesitation in the negative. Quite easy to do as I was most certainly not ‘fucking’ his wife. Something very odd was going on here. This had to be one of his stupid, drawn out ‘practical jokes’. Surely some utterly ridiculous punchline, for which I will have to feign a fake laugh, is coming.

“Look John,” I said to his back. I have walked…” I glanced down quickly at the pedometer hanging from my belt to check the distance I had walked at work today; 17.3 miles, holy shit, “…seventeen point three miles today and my feet are feeling every foot of that. I’m going in to put my lunchbox down, take my shoes off, grab a beer, and I’ll be right back out. Do you want one?”

He knows, came a female voice in my head.

I froze. A warm tingling sensation suddenly appeared in my head, and quickly began to run from my crown, down my neck, and into my spine, as another warm and tingly feeling began in my feet and started emanating up my legs.

Great, I thought to myself. That’s all I need at this point…her.

The two opposing tingly feelings continued their creep and met somewhere in my lower back: we were connected now. That warm pulsing tingle of The Connection. We were synced.

Hello Matthew, came the woman’s voice again. I feel The Connection. I needed to speak with you. I needed to let you know that he knows. I needed to speak with you about how best to proceed regarding…

The woman’s voice was cut off as John, apparently having finally regained a composure he was comfortable with, turned back towards me.

“Yeah,” John started as he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I’ll take a beer if it’s cold Matt. You get your shoes off, and I’ll meet you on your porch in a few. I’m going to go ask Patrice about dinner. Any chance you might wanna pop over? Do you have plans?”

John asking me to join he and his wife for dinner was not unusual. I was, after all, a lonely bachelor. A lonely divorcee. A washed-up burnout who over the past nine years had been fixed up with virtually every single woman John and his wife knew. But dinner tonight did not seem appropriate. I was in no way trying to read John’s intentions regarding this particular invitation as we had too much experience between us for me to read into it as being hostile. But I had to seriously consider it inappropriate under the circumstances.

Jesus, how uncomfortable might that dinner be? I thought to myself.

If you come to dinner, I’ll make you cum, came the woman’s voice again. I’ll cum all over your face Matthew, and you can cum on mine, if you want. It will be nothing but cumming for the both of us if you come to dinner.

Dammit Patrice, can you at least allow me to get my shoes off and grab your husband a beer before I make a decision on dinner?

Sure Matthew. I know my cooking isn’t always that great, but my dessert will make that dark and lonely heart of yours shine like the sun that it actually is. Mmm, I’m getting wet just thinking about having you inside me and seeing your light.


“Matt?” John said, snapping me away from my internal dialogue. “Matt, you’re zoning out again.”

“Sorry John. Been a long day at work and I have an even longer one in store tomorrow. I have a lot of work stuff on my mind,” I said, turning away from my neighbor and heading for the faux safety of my own home.

“Already trying to think of all the stuff I need to do tomorrow. Lemme grab you that beer. About ten minutes.”

I did not glance back to see if John was retreating back to his own property as I neared the relative safety of my own front porch.

Sorry you had a long day. I hope I get a long one tonight, Matthew.

Patrice, I myself would take an explanation of any length as to why your husband is over at my house breaking my balls over allegedly, quote ‘fucking you’, unquote.

I’ll explain in a bit Matt, and it will all make sense. I promise.

As I reached my front door, I tried to put Patrice and her shenanigans out of my head. Just as I began to fumble with my key for the lock, and just as freedom seemed imminent, I heard John call from what sounded like his driveway. I froze, closed my eyes, and tried not to shudder.

“Hey, Matt! Pedometer!” he shouted. “They ought to give those to pedophiles so cops know how many kids they’ve molested!”

I suddenly felt a tinge of fury. My heart knew that I should not be feeling this feeling, but I was. Whatever my neighbor was digging for, and why he was digging for it in me no longer mattered. This asshole has to be begging for a beating, but why he has chosen me to give it to him is a total mystery at this point.

Don’t let him get to you cowboy. You are closer that you know to being free of him forever.

I ignored Patrice’s comment entirely, turned to peek around the corner of my front porch to look over in the direction of the voice. Sure enough, there stood John in his own driveway. Immobile, and looking in my direction with a giant ridiculous smile on his face as if he’d just told the joke of the century and was now eagerly awaiting my guffaws of approval.

“That’s a great idea John,” I said in an absolutely flat tone. “Fantastic in fact. Why don’t you head inside right now and dial 911 and tell them your genius idea. You can tell me all about it when you come back over for your beer.”

The dry and unimpressed nature in my voice appeared to have gotten the message across, as his previously grinning face was now melting into such a pathetic sag that it appeared it may slide off his head.

He turned, looked down and I could tell his face was now twisting with confusion, and began walking dejectedly towards his house.

I turned back towards my front door, inserted my key into the lock, opened it, and stepped inside. Closing the door behind me, I could only think one word…sanctuary.

It may be a sanctuary from John, but not from me. With me, there is no sanctuary Matthew.

I need no sanctuary from you Patrice. You are my sanctuary.

* * *

John and I had become fast ‘friends’ when he and his wife, Patrice, had moved in next door to me a little over nine years ago. ‘Friends’ in the loose sense in that it was quite obvious from the start that John more or less inserted himself into my life whether I wanted him in it or not, and he was the type of fellow that clung to certain others who could provide him with specific things. He had a bombastic way for introducing himself to others, at which point he would size them up for what they could and could not provide.

I never considered him a bad guy, just not exactly a good one. Never seemed to have a thought of his own, which, unfortunately for me and because I was both easily accessible and tolerated his bullshit, just about every crazy idea, weird concept and stupid joke that drifted through John’s transom he would almost certainly parrot to me.

I stood inside my doorway for some time contemplating the nature of my relationship with my neighbors, and wondering what in the hell John was on about. As such, I find myself back at day one of when John and Patrice moved in, and going over every little detail as to how he’s gotten wind of mine and Patrice’s, alleged, affair.

Are you fucking my wife? Who in the hell asks a question like that? He didn’t really seem that peeved or upset. Perhaps the exchange didn’t happen like it does in the movies, and as such, he didn’t know how to react?

You’re contemplating aren’t you Matthew?

Patrice’s voice, in my head again. I’d forgotten we were still actively connected.

Yes Patrice, I am. Can you hear what I’m thinking? Like, the specifics?

No Matt, it’s more of a feeling. When we communicate directly, then yes the information sent along The Connection is very clear. But when you are mumbling internally I get nothing specific. Just maybe a feeling about what it may be regarding.

So, when I jerk off at night, you get no specifics nor details, you simply know I’m masturbating.

Rawr…so saucy Matthew. So aggressive. I like it. And speaking of, what was with that ‘you are my sanctuary Patrice’ nonsense?

For once, Patrice, I guess I just felt I needed to defend myself. The walls were kinda closing in, ya know?

Good on you Matt. That was brilliant. You’ve taken yet another step into…oh wait…John is calling me, needs to talk, he says.

OK, well, I’m going to ground myself and disconnect. I need to get your husband a beer, and I really need to get these fucking shoes off.

Matt, did you really walk seventeen point three miles today?

Yes I did Patrice. It was awful and I’m currently feeling all fifty-five of my years, and then some.

John wants me to come over and talk to you Matt.

What?! You, Patrice? Why you?

He feels that he may have upset you.

He did, Patrice. But that still doesn’t explain why he wants you to come over.

John seems to think that I’ll be able to smooth things over and you’ll come to dinner.

Patrice, I really don’t know if…

Shhhh….Matthew, just, let me come over. I’ll tell John it may take a bit, but I think I can smooth things over.

Patrice, this is weird as hell him sending you over, whom he just accused me of having an affair with. I’m on edge here.

Ground yourself Matt. Grab that beer, and I’ll drink it when I get there.

Patrice wait. Patrice?

“Fuck!” I said aloud.

She’s disconnecting. I could feel the tingly feeling in my back partially unwinding. She was already grounding herself.

I was still standing in the doorway, holding my keys and lunchbox. I felt so alone in the moment. Only recently had I, by some fluke of nature, acquired the ability to speak with anyone, any time, anywhere in the world, and yet at that precise moment I’d never felt more alone.

It didn’t help matters that, for the first six months after discovering my ability, I’d been talking, via thought alone, to a someone who originally told me that they were on the other side of the world. But as it turns out, this distant and seemingly completely harmless someone was actually less than fifty feet away the entire time. Patrice. And boy oh boy, once we discovered who each other actually was, did the tone and topics of the conversations ever change. The small talk and vagaries were gone. She was suddenly a firebrand, passionate, but a rogue, a rebel and downright nasty at times: and I don’t mean just and only sexual stuff either. For the last four months, she had toyed with me and psychologically beaten on me relentlessly. I had no idea what to make of any of it. Still don’t. Perhaps she’ll explain it someday if I can keep myself from tying cinder blocks to my feet and jumping into a lake.

You’re drifting again Matt. You really should ground before some sneaky someone you don’t know tries to connect.

I reached up with the hand holding my key ring, and selected the key that allowed itself to be singled out, as which key I used did not matter. This time it was the key to my one and only padlock.

I don’t even know where in the hell that padlock is, I thought to myself. No idea why I still have the key to it on my key ring.

No response from Patrice, nor anyone else for that matter, doesn’t feel like anyone else is connected nor trying to connect, so now all that remained was for me to close the current connection completely.

I reached out with the key, and touched it to the metal screw holding the face-plate cover to the light switch on the wall. Almost immediately, I could feel the somewhat diminished ball of coursing energy in my back begin to unwind like electrically charged noodles being slurped out via my head and feet, and then vanish completely.

I pulled the key away from the screw; disconnected. With little very little gusto and no thanks given to the key for its additional service, I hung my key ring on the key rack above the light switch, and retreated inward to get my shoes off my aching feet.

* * *

The doorbell rang and my hands suddenly went clammy.

How should I greet her? Should I shake her hand? Just say hello and immediately hand her a beer, while shuffling myself outside so that she does not attempt to come in? Should I go out into my backyard, toss the beer over the roof and into the front yard, and cry ‘My mom says I can’t come out to play right now, but there’s your beer crazy woman! Just like you like it! Shaken and stirred and every other fucking thing!’

It was just now dawning on me that, not only did I not really know my neighbor Patrice, we had never really spoken before. Not at any length, and most certainly never alone. Well, not ‘in person’ anyway. And most of the “remote” stuff was so scattered, unintelligible and seemingly pointless that the fact we’d been speaking almost non-stop for ten months, now too felt more like we’d never spoken at all.

Should I check my breath? Wait a second Matt…this isn’t a date. Relax.

Only now did a calmness fall upon me. The absolute absurdity of being thrown into a tangent over nothing at all. I was rattled over basically, nothing. A married woman is standing at my door, ringing the bell, because her husband, my neighbor, not fifteen minutes ago accused me of having an affair with his wife, the woman in question is now standing at my door, and he now wants her to smooth things over so I’ll come to dinner with them. Simple. I had not a damn thing to worry about. Except…

Patrice and I have not spoken in person about our, less than conventional conversations. Wait, that doesn’t sound very good at all. “Less than conventional’ sounds exactly like what John was just accusing me of.

The doorbell rang again. My chest started to tighten.

Holy hell. It’d never occurred to me that myself and Patrice had not yet talked in person about our abilities. What if…oh my God…what if all this time, I wasn’t actually communicating telepathically with Patrice. What if some malicious asshole with psychic powers has been toying with me this entire time, and passing it off as if I was speaking to a neighbor because of some clue I’ve given away. Some game psychics play to amuse themselves, similar to a cat playing with a mouse.

I felt a very cold chill at the base of my neck, and for the first time in a very long time, I actually felt afraid. My mind was awash and digging through the memory banks for the last time that I’d even seen Patrice, let alone talked to her.

A knock now at the door. They are getting impatient and require a response. Doorbells fail, malfunction and sometimes just go unheard, but not knocks.

Face the music Matt. Grab a beer, this very second, then go answer the door.

“Hey Patrice. How are you?” I attempted to sound as nonchalant as possible as I pushed open the outward-facing glass door and made my way outside.

“Hello Matt. Is that beer for me? Or you.”

I could not tell if she was being playfully ignorant or not, so I just played it as cool as humanly possible for now.

“Why don’t you have a seat on the porch swing, I’ll sit in this chair here opposite you, and we can figure out who this beer is for.”

“Oh, OK, well, I hadn’t planned on staying long, but I guess I can sit for a moment Matt.”

“Whatever you want to do is fine Patrice,” I said while trying not to allow my face to twist with a confused look. “It’s just that I don’t think you’ve ever come over here before, so I guess I just assumed maybe you came to talk a bit, considering the circumstances and recent events.”

Patrice sat on the porch swing opposite me, and once she was seated I chose one of the four porch bar-chairs that were place around a small round table I’d picked up at a garage sale a few years back. The table was small, the chairs uncomfortable and I’d really only purchased the set as decoration as I had no friends to speak of and almost never had guests. For once, the table would come in handy and I placed the unopened can of beer on it.

Hands folded in her lap, Patrice was looking at me almost impatiently as if waiting for me to situate myself. For the first time I noticed that she had very beautiful blue crystalline eyes. I tended not to like blue eyes very much, crystalline blue even less, but in this case they suited her. She was attractive. I snapped out of my study of her form as it suddenly occurred to me that I was in great danger.

My heart was pumping at this point. Not from lust, nor anger, nor even fear nor any other emotion I could think of…this was a feeling of confusion that I’ve never before felt, and it was causing my heart a stress it had never before known. Not even twelve years ago when my wife of eighteen years told me she was through with me and my broken self, did my heart suffer this kind of trauma.

“Matt,” Patrice’s voice snapped me out of my waking coma, “John just told me about what happened earlier, and I must tell you that I am horrified.”

“I admit that I am quite confused as to exactly what just transpired Patrice.”

“Did he really shout out in a very loud voice from across the yard something about pedophiles to you?”

The bottom of the entire Universe just fell out from under me.

“Um, pedophiles?” I was trying to hold it together, but it was now clear that this slimy asshole is playing some kind of twisted game with me. He basically assaults me over adultery with his wife, and he goes home and makes up some bullshit story about a very in poor taste joke, completely omitting the adultery parts? “Yeah Patrice he did, and I guess he was trying to make a joke about the pedometer that I have to wear for work. It wasn’t very funny, was in poor taste, and I admit it upset me. Perhaps more than it should, but I do have to wear this thing every single work day, and to be completely honest and open, his comment is likely going to haunt me for some time for that very reason.”

“Well, I’m sorry that it upset you Matt, but that’s really not my concern nor why I came over,” Patrice said rather flatly.

The entire Universe just exploded. This is the kind of sick twisted games that my ex-wife used to play. Say, anything. Do, anything. Nothing, matters. She, held all the cards, she, was the dealer, and I had to play her games and take whatever she dealt out because I had nothing and no one in all creation, except for her. I was nothing more than a dislodged piece of navel lint in a wind storm.

“Matt, are you okay?” Patrice suddenly sounded exactly like her husband.

“I am contemplating what you’ve said,” I fired back calmly. “Were you expecting me to say something?”

“I guess maybe I expected you to ask me why I came over.”

“You’ve mentioned that you’re aware of something your husband said to me.”

“Yes, but that’s not the real reason I came over.”

“You said that already, Patrice.”

“Matt, are you angry about something?”

The alarm bells were most certainly going off now, full tilt, and this was absolutely turning into a life and death situation.

“Patrice, perhaps you should just tell me what you need since I don’t know you that well, and I’m certainly not a mind-reader.”

Patrice did not really react to my statement, but strangely reached around behind her back, and produced a large, letter-sized envelope. She leaned forward and offered it to me.

“Oh, haha, a mind-reader!” she said in an obviously forced tone, whilst simultaneously urging me with her eyes to take the envelope. “Me and John went to see a mind-reader once, except this one was a hypnotizer. Is that right? Hypnotizer?”

“Hypnotist,” I corrected her as I leaned forward and took the envelope. “I’m quite sure that hypnotists are those who hypnotize people for various reasons.”

A look of relief crossed Patrice’s face as I took the envelope from her hand, and I fell face-first into whatever new game she was now playing.

“Well, me and John went to this show where a hypnotist would pick people from the audience.” After finishing her thought, Patrice raised her hands in an mock envelope-opening type motion, implying that I should open it now, here, in her presence. “Anyway, John of course volunteered us both, and we both got to go up on stage and get hypnotized.”

Only moments before, my fear levels had just about caused my entire existence to seize and stop entirely, but now there was suddenly this strange feeling of…clarity. Perhaps everything leading up to this very moment in time was some kind of test to see if I could in any way handle the horrors that were almost sure to materialize from this envelope’s contents.

I noticed that Patrice was arching her eyebrows as if to hurry me along. I looked for a moment deeply into her eyes, and that gloomy image which was beginning to form of Patrice being John’s soulmate or clone or whatever it was had disappeared. Odd that it continued to rattle on outwardly as I peeled back the flap on the envelope and produced what appeared to be no less than five folded pages.

“John barked like a chicken and clucked like a dog.”

I had only just started to open the letter when it struck me what Patrice had just said.

“He barked like a chicken and clucked like a dog? Don’t you mean that he barked like a dog and clucked like a chicken Patrice?”

“That’s what the hypnotist said Matt. He told John to bark like a chicken and cluck like a dog. I don’t know how John did it, but he did.”

“That’s…frightening, Patrice. I don’t even want to know…”


The first line of the first page jumped off the paper and hit me like a lightning bolt. Instinctively I started to reach down and grab one of the metal legs on the small table, but my survival instincts kicked in and I resisted the urge, thinking that this may be a trap of some kind. But almost as quickly as I began to doubt, I remember the odd feelings that I’ve felt during the processes of being grounded, ungrounded and The Connection. Being both an electrician and a semi-amateur radio enthusiast, there are things that have been happening over the past ten months that I can in no way begin to explain.

I looked up from the letter and at Patrice. She gave a small nod, and there was a calmness to her being which provided just enough assurance for me to throw caution to the wind and play along. Knowing that the table’s legs were a poor ground, I reached out and grabbed one anyway and continued to read as Patrice continued to ramble.

“I don’t really remember being hypnotized, but everyone said I was. They said I got trapped in a box that wasn’t there, and I couldn’t get out.”

‘Dear Matthew,

For the time being, please read down only to where it says ‘STOP HERE!’, keep reading until you get there, and I’ll ramble on about hypnotists in the meantime. Also, keep your hand firmly wrapped around that metal leg on the table until we finish here, and please do not begin to wonder internally how I know all of this. I do, and answers will come later.’

“John says that he can remember being hypnotized, and he can remember everything he did, but I don’t remember anything at all,” Patrice continued. “He says he only did what he was told because he knew he was part of the act. But me? He says that I was absolutely terrified and screaming. He said I really honestly thought that I was trapped in a box even though there was no box.”

‘We are both of us in great danger because of our, ‘gifts’. I would ask that you, later at some point this evening, find yourself a proper grounding point, and read the remainder of this letter ONLY when grounded. I will go ahead and tell you that I am a beard. My marriage is an arranged sham so that my husband can collect his inheritance, and myself and John will not be married much longer as he is already arranging the divorce and planning to move to somewhere in Java. I will of course get a piece of his inheritance as payment for services tendered over the past fifteen years of marriage. More on that later though. The Great Magician is awake, and I have reason to believe that The Great Magician has somehow found the both of us…meaning you and I. Does this mean anything to you? I am so very sorry for all of this. Hopefully, the rest of the letter will better explain what I know, and what I don’t. P


A quick thumb through the sheets indicated that this letter was approximately eight pages long. Visions of Armageddon suddenly swirled in my head as my mind flashed back to the horrible tales of the end times taught me in church as a youth. But that’s exactly what this moment felt like. I felt like I had just walked out of the sunshine and green grasses onto the burning and bloody fields of Megiddo, and me right in the big middle of the fighting between the warring factions of good and evil.

“Which reminds me, Matt. John did ask me to tell you that he was sorry about his joke he made earlier, but the real reason that I came over was I wanted to know if I could borrow a cup of milk. I’m making John some cornbread for dinner, and I need some milk.”

“Patrice,” I said calmly, looking up from the letter. “Did you know that you can substitute beer for milk in certain baked goods?”

Patrice’s face was aghast. Honestly, aghast and unknowing. I’d hit her with a curve-ball.

“Really?” she said.

I folded the letter and thoughtfully placed it back into the envelope, before sliding the envelope into my shirt pocket as I stood.

“Yeah really really. I have a beer sitting right here, which I am going to give you. I’m going to go inside and get you…how much milk do you need?”

“I only needed one cup of milk. Whole milk if you have it,” she said rather sheepishly.

“Okay Patrice, I’m going to go inside and get you one cup of whole milk, and if you decide that you would like to give the beer a whirl, only use half of a cup of the milk in your cornbread, and use a half of a cup of the beer in substitution for the other half-cup of milk.”

“Will that really work?” Patrice asked disbelievingly. “What…what does this do?

“It gives the cornbread a bit of a different flavor is all. Better in biscuits, but it works with cornbread too. And you’ll have exactly four ounces of beer leftover you can sip on if you want.”

“Sure Matt, I’ll…give that a try. Thank you. Do I need…”

“This beer has already gotten kinda warm,” I said, not letting her finish. “Just make sure you allow it get a little warmer before adding it to the mix. I’ll be right back with your milk.”

I retreated into the house thinking that I had no idea what answers, if any, Patrice’s letter might contain. At this point, it was apparent that her rather substantial looking letter was more likely to contain mystery than clarity. One thing was certain though, I’d had just about enough of being at the mercy of the whims of an assembly of douchebag neighbors and cryptic mystics playing their god games. It was time for me to stop being a leaf in the wind, get serious, and hit the books to start researching this insanity. It was time that I become the storm.

Right after I get Patrice her milk, of course.


*Wait. he tweets out ‘it’s Friday once again’ each week, Clicky… /stubs butt… Doesn’t he?*

*Ah, ya got me…*

We hope you have enjoyed today’s post. If you’d like to read Cade’s story in proper book form, as well as 12 other short stories and a substantial poem from a variety of authors, then Underdog Anthology XIV is available for a staggeringly low price…

*You could get a full set of Underdog Anthologies for well under twenty quid. That’s fantastic value…*

Until next time, Dear Reader, have a Song 😀

CLICK5: Shrove Tuesday Shamble

Extended CLICK5… CLICKB8: Adventures In Remote Viewing – On The Map…

Missive From ‘Merica: Steamy Fixins…

*Whoa! What you doing, Clicky?*

*Is that? …/rustles pages… It is! It’s a new missive from Cade…*

*Fabuloso! Let’s get down to it, Clicky…*

Hello there, Dear Reader 😀 

I know, I know; it’s been exactly 100 days since our last taste of the Okie Devil of TextUS’ special fixins…

*Yeah, it was on 5th November last year, Clicky… /lights up and smokes…*


… This one’s a bit on the steamy side. Enjoy! 😉


There are many moments in life. One of the more interesting being when you are folding a comforter, having to suspend it way up in the air by holding it up over your head so you can straighten it out, your knuckles come into contact with particleboard paddles moving at speed, and you suddenly remember…”HEY! I have a ceiling fan, and the damn thing is on!”

Don’t fret tho, I’m fine. I really didn’t need those particular layers of epidermis anyway.

^Matt Lange – Morbidly Obese (Redacted Mix)^


OK, so, calm your sex hormones, I was asleep and it was a dream, but…I GOT LAID LAST NIGHT!!!


About as close to sexual intercourse as am ever to get again, so, close enough. Anyway, she was quite young, probably 35 years old, and quite fit. Yeah, lotta red flags there, and I’ll go ahead and spoil it in that I honestly didn’t wake up feeling great about having an meaningful erotic dream because the whole damn dream was so full of red flags that I’m still torn as to whether I had a good time in the dream or not. We’ll get to that tho.

Anyway, I’m in this huge room in a house that I do not know, the room is painted flat white, plenty of lighting although I would not exactly call the room bright, the dark beige carpets and many assorted rugs everywhere, and the room is rather strange because it had to be at least 30 x 30 feet (9 x 9 metres) but the room contained no vaulted ceilings nor even elevated ceilings. Seemed more like a giant garage that someone had finished out. Another weird thing was that there were all manner of people coming and going. Seemed like every 5 seconds, someone was popping in one door, then exiting another, which brings up another oddity about this room in that it had an excessive amount of doors. Only 4 walls but each wall seemed to have way many more doors than even a room of this size would require, and I started to think maybe this room I found myself in must be a centralized type room rather than some add-on type room.

To make matters even more strange, everyone who popped into the room never loitered, and they always closed the doors. They’d walk into the room from one door, close it, make a beeline for another door, open, ingress, close. And yes, there were also a ridiculous amount of people moving about. So yeah, here I am in this room, reading a book, and this gal pops in and starts chatting me up. Really strange as not a single person has paid me one bit of attention, then all of a sudden this on lady not only notices me, but she makes a beeline for me instead of a door, then starts up a conversation.

(red one, and I mean NO ONE in my real life ever strikes up a conversation with me, and if they do, I can almost be assured that they want something and they think I have it) 

I cannot recall how it was that this conversation turned into a sexual encounter so rapidly, but I do recall her beginning to strip down to reveal a bikini, immediately removed her bikini top, mentioned that she’d been interested for some time in perhaps becoming friends with me but could never work up the courage to speak with me, and she then said something like, “I’ve also heard you were a great lay and I want to see for myself”.

(yep, another red flag) 

Let me interject at this point to explain that “the feeling” of the dream was as such that none of this felt particularly awkward within the framework of the dream itself. Yes, I recall having a “is this really happening?” type of feeling, but at the same time the environment itself did not emit that “RUN!!!” vibe. Like, somehow, and embedded within the framework of the dream itself, there was nothing within the perceptible realms of sensory and logical data which even hinted at the “something is really fucking wrong here dude! Fucking run! Run for your fucking life!”, which I know for a fact is quite prevalent within my actual life. Which is why I am single, why I do not “chase women” or date or whatever, why I am hesitant about trying to find a relationship, blah blah blah.


So, at this point I’m sitting on the floor with the book I was reading still in hand, this really attractive and shapely woman is standing right in front of me wearing only bikini bottoms, looking at me, and I finally have this strange vibe wash over me. It is not really a warning signal of sorts, more of a “this relationship is unlikely to work out long-term” more than a “this relationship will end very badly” sort of vibe. It is at this exact same moment that she quickly stoops down, begins kissing me quite passionately (or at least, forcefully) and simultaneously begins to unbutton/unzip the shorts I’m wearing. Is it weird to say “the shorts I’m wearing”? Is it really necessary for me to point out that the shorts she is unbuttoning/unzipping are not a pair in my dresser drawer? Should I have said “my shorts” instead of “the shorts I’m wearing”? Not sure how to phrase that as both of those seem odd to me.


Once unbuttoned and unzipped, she grabs the sides of my shorts, then backs away and pulls them off. She’s bent over facing towards me and she pulls my shorts down rather hastily but unevenly/alternates which side she is pulling on, and as a result her breasts, which are not large nor particularly pendulous even due to her posture, rock side to side as a result of her pulling motion on my shorts. Gonna take a moment here to mention that the form of a woman and the motion(s) of her being are fascinating to me. Even when a woman is standing still, and even in/with women who are somewhat less than “the ideal woman shape(s)”, her form is moving always. The curves, the bends, the way in which a woman moves…everything about a woman’s form is an absolute delight. Oh, and again this woman was quite fit, but she had hips for days. Even if she’d had more substantial breasts, and even had she not been wearing French-cut bikini bottoms, I don’t think either would have diminished the majesty of her hips. I’d not seen her ass yet, but I’m about to.

Moving on. 

As soon as my shorts came off, she dropped them to the floor, and without missing a beat she grabbed her bikini bottoms, off they came, and to the floor they also went. She quickly marched right back towards me, straddling my legs and facing me and placing her public mound almost right in my face, again leaned down/bent over, grabbed my shirt at the bottom, which now placed her breasts right in my face, she then stood again taking my shirt off as shit did, dropped it to the floor, then offered me her hand. I put my book down, she pulled me to my feet and then led me to one of the many rugs that were laying about the room. She sat down, never releasing my hand, pulled me to the floor then pushed on me indicating I should lay down and on my side, she then turned opposite me and then laid down in the 69 position for a moment, but then immediately flipped over laying facing away from me putting her ass right in my face and she said “I want you to start by my licking my ass”.

I told her, and rather matter-of-factly I might add, that “we are not well acquainted enough yet for me to do that sort of thing.” She sat up on an elbow, looked at me, then gave a mock frown, she then got a really alluring look in her eye, her face turned from the fake frown to a sultry smirk and said, “well then, that will give me something to look forward to at some future meeting. But as for now…” at which point she flipped back over facing me, and things get a little blurry at this point.

Yes, we engaged in all manner of “freaky sex” encompassing just about every position and configuration you might be able to imagine, but it really was blurry. We were doing these things, but within the framework of the dream and even now that I am outside of the dream, there was all kinds of stuff happening but it all had this strange air that it was not actually happening, even tho it was. Keep in mind that during all of this, people are still coming and going in and out of these doors. Not a single soul is paying us one bit of mind, and we too are generally not paying them any mind other than perhaps I did seem to notice that people were coming and going.

So, with that in mind, we’d been “at it” for some time, when suddenly, a woman walks into the room via a door, and she makes straight for us. This is quite jarring of course since everyone else seems to not know we exist at all. This woman walks over and seems to know this woman I’m having intercourse with. She is what some might call “a bit heavyset” or perhaps “chunky” or “healthy” or some other nonsense nomenclature that we pigeonhole folks with. She’s pretty, with long hair that is kinda frazzled as if she’s been walking outside in the wind, sizeable breasts that do not appear to be restrained by a bra, and through her shirt, I can see that her breasts almost appear to be resting on her belly, even tho she really doesn’t have “a belly”.

I guess I don’t feel bad about somewhat “sizing her up” as I’ve tried since she arrived to make eye contact with her but she is ignoring me completely, and it’s almost as if she can see me attempting to make eye contact but consciously avoid it it. So, here I am sitting on the floor, my legs extended out straight and my hands behind me/holding me up, the woman I am with is atop me in “regular cowgirl”, and this other woman is just standing there and looking at my partner, who is also looking at this woman/they are in eye contact, and this new woman says rather flatly, “Can I have him next?”


I didn’t laugh in the dream, but I gotta laugh here because I think at this point my brain has to KNOW, even in slumber, and without a doubt, that this, is a dream. The woman I’m with shoots me a glance, has a smirk on her face, and whilst still looking at me she says “I don’t mind sharing him if he doesn’t mind giving you a turn of your own.” The other woman did an immediate about-face, went straight for the same door she’d entered the room via, and left, all without so much a shooting me a single glance or acknowledging me in any way, other than her request to my partner “for a turn”.

OK, so at this point, the fuzzy sexual encounter with this current partner gets even more fuzzy. I only know that we seemed to have continued our exploits in some way(s), but I honestly have no idea in what way(s) nor the length of time expended. I only know that it seems like a large amount of time was somehow compacted into a small space, and then suddenly, she was gone. The very moment she was gone, her “friend” reappeared, marched right over to me, and said “did you know that she is married?”

Somewhat aghast, I replied that I did not know she was married, and now I’m suddenly thrown into this rapid depression of “fucking hell, now I gotta deal with this shit”. I guess this friend of hers “wanted a turn” only to come back and tell me that her friend I was banging, was married. This had all been some kind of setup I guess. But to make matters even more strange, this revelation did not seem to phase the friend one bit. I guess she could tell that I was distressed at the news she’d just provided me, she’s standing above me staring at me rather blankly, she then reaches down and grabs the bottom of her shirt with both of her hands, removes the shirt in an extremely rapid motion, then bends down and starts to kiss me. Her breasts are indeed quite large, and not only are they pendulous, but they are very pendulous.

^The Judy’s – Milk^

Yeah, that’s where the dream ended. An no, I did not wake up in a puddle of goo. I recalled upon waking that she had a lot of orgasms, but I myself don’t recall having any in the dream. I guess I was having entirely too good of a time to bother with the orgasm. During the entire dream, the first lady had some kind of air about her that made me feel at ease. I’m unlikely to be able to describe it to you in any detail, but there was something about her and something about being in her presence that caused no alarm bells, even tho there were most certainly red flags popping up everywhere.

The only actual alarm bell I got was from the second woman, and that was only because of her telling me that the first woman was married. I got no alarm bells from the second woman either, but there was the one red flag (other than the fact that she wanted to have sex with me) and that was that she told me that the other woman was married.

Yep, a red flag and an alarm bell in one. 

Lemme splain…see, I got no alarm bells from the first woman, so, even tho this second one says the first is married, how do I know that? The second woman may be lying. I got the red flag in the dream, I got the alarm bell in the dream, so why is it that it only occurred to me after waking that the second woman may have been lying?

Fucked if I know either. 

I only know that I felt totally at peace with the first woman and she seemed totally comfortable with herself. Maybe it’s because most of the time she was speaking to me as if I were a person, other times were very matter-of-fact, and there was little in the way of actual seduction or vamping, and I never had the feeling that she was trying to charm me. More like a situation where two people were talking, and it evolved into something else. And for the record, I don’t think that her being considerably younger than I, and also falling within a physical category that I tend not to pay much mind to really played much part. I personally have always had eyes for older women, and “older women” tend to almost never fall into the same physical categories as “younger women” with respect to dimensions and “perfect dimensions” and all that jazz. Got nothing against anyone being younger than me, and at 54 I’m not even sure what “being younger than me” even matters or what part it might play once a woman is deep into her 30’s or 40’s.

Yeah, if some 23 year old woman waltzed up to me and expressed interest? Fucking hell, Jesse Owens time, cause something is wrong with this scene and I’m getting the hell out of there. But someone that is 45 or so? Yeah, that’s weird to contemplate as even tho she’s 9 years younger than I….SHE’S FOURTY-FUCKING-FIVE FOR CHRISSAKES!!! Probably already has an AARP card, owns a burial plot, a vegetable garden, and cares for a minimum of 5 indoor cats and probably at least 10 outdoor cats. Levity aside, she’s been around, and likely loaded with battle scars and baggage.

That, I can relate to. 

Experience. And that’s not to say that younger woman or younger folks cannot have experience, because they absolutely can. I guess I’m just a bit weirded out that this one particular woman appeared to be in her early to mid-30’s, but she moved and behaved like someone that was much older. Well, perhaps not physically moving as an older person because she was quite spry and I guess it’s possible that older women may not have the ability to be all sporty and ambitious sexually, but I really wasn’t thinking of “how she moved” as it pertained to coitus. More her mannerisms, how she carried herself, how she behaved.

And why was my time with the second chick so brief? Why did my brain decide that I’d had enough? Very perplexing the lot of it. No idea what it all means tho.

Dreams are weird.
^Animal Collective – My Girls^

Not a clue why I’m suddenly having a dream about a woman.

Two, no less. 

Yeah, I’ve had eyes for a few ladies (and I do mean few, meaning, I think exactly four to be specific) over the past 5 years, but I’ve never pursued any because I am in no position to do so. Were my position different, yeah there’s a good chance I would have likely prompted them for an immediate rejection long ago, but I’m in no such position. I’ve not much money, no automobile, I’m old, I’m weird, I’m outcast in my family and have few friends, and am unattractive in just about every way imaginable. Question here being, why am I now dreaming about a woman/women? And why so casual? Is this something in my subconscious thinking about finding a partner that accepts me for who/what I am, as I am?

Meh, I’ll shutup about it and figure it out on my own. Maybe I can figure out something that will result in me getting laid. Will keep you posted.


Actually, I won’t keep you posted. I’m not very gossipy and certainly don’t kiss and tell. Cept maybe that which transpires in my dreams.

^Cocteau Twins – Lorelei (Extended Version)^

If you are plumbing the depths of philosophy, and suddenly find yourself thinking that you are smart or wise or learned or have reached enlightenment or you’re a master now or whatever? That feeling of power you are experiencing is actually nature’s alarm bells ringing. You can go ahead and get all high and mighty if you so desire, just know that if you do choose to go that route, an ass-kicking is likely awaiting you somewhere down that path.

Maybe even more than one (assuming you survive the first one and decide to continue on).

Hell, maybe the ass-kickings are worth it. Maybe some special something lay at the end of the path paved by cravings for dominance. And if you think about it, probably the most egotistical path that anyone ever took (or at least so far as I know) was the path taken by God. And yes, that “God” of the Holey Bobble.

I mean, Bible, Holy. 

When dissected, that entire creative act was nothing but ego, and all for ego, resulting in a shitload of ego and egos. Seriously, have you ever stopped to consider that God had to, at some point, stop themselves prior to actually creating things, and contemplate the concept of “what if things go wrong?”

Really...chew on that for a moment. 

The resources of “existence” are, so far as we know, finite. There’s only so much matter and only so much energy available to work with. If you burn up too much, or even burn it all up, what are you left with? What are your options? To me, I read the creation story of Genesis as an entity taking a very big chance. Yes, this entity was totally alone, probably quite lonely, maybe wanted some company, but if this fucker was/is as smart/intelligent as advertised, that means they HAD to know that, if this doesn’t work, I’m (potentially) fucked forever.

Lotta dynamics in that creation story, but it’s been my experience that no one ever wants to plumb these depths. Really break down what God may have been thinking. Too much reliance on the “all powerful” and “all knowing” angles, with no exploration (nor empathy) at all regarding the psychology of the act(s). Not publicly or outwardly anyway. Good fucking way to get your ass ostracized or maybe even tied to a pole and set on fire. THEN who are you gonna have to talk to, eh?

^The Cure – Catch^

Yeah, at the end of that previous section, I suggested that “siding with God” tends to get one’s ass kicked to the curb, or at least sent to the back of the bus. Even by “the godly”. People have their own understanding of things, and that’s good enough for them. Trouble is, they also require it to be good enough for everyone else.

What I also suggested in the end of the previous section, was that maybe God is isolated because we put them there. Cast them out. Push them away. Look, I am totally honest with you when I say I have no fucking clue if God is real or if there are gods or whatever. But I can also say in complete honesty that “there is something”. I don’t believe, I don’t disbelieve, I exist, and I attempt to assimilate and understand the data provided me as best I can. And holy shit is there a fucking mountain of evidence to suggest that “something” exists. “Something” outside of our understanding and beyond it. Not just and only in the myriad of tales coming to us through the ages either, but here, and now. That the unknowable exists, it can be known to exist, and simultaneously remain unknowable. Now, if that doesn’t instill you with some kind of hope, I don’t know what will. To me anyway, it says that not only can the unknowable be known of, it can be incrementally known, which means that at some point the unknowable can be entirely known.

I would imagine that our mortality/our finite amounts of time as we measure it here could put quite the dampener on such thoughts. Make such a quest seem hopeless or maybe even impossible. But let me add this, and that is, if it is impossible, then from whence does this desire to seek it emanate?

Something is feeding this desire. 

If knowing the unknowable was truly impossible, I’d think that the desire to seek the unknowable would also be impossible or incapable of existing. The desire to know the unknowable cannot exist on a plane where the unknowable also exists, yet cannot be known. That says to me that, not only does the unknowable actually exist, but the possibility of knowing the unknowable also exists. I’d also think that the desire to know the unknowable could not exist if the unknowable did not also actually exist.

Wait, did I just repeat myself there kinda? Say something I already said? Meh fuckit…just wondering aloud how I can posses a desire for a something that does not exist. How I can have knowledge of a something that does not have even the tiniest of perceptible indications as to it’s existence.

^Gary Numan – I Dream Of Wires^

Ya know, another thing that seems to be dangerous within philosophy is omission. Suppression. Relegation. Dismissal. Unqualification or even misqualification. These things seem to express themselves for a reason, and to dismiss or otherwise incorrectly qualify them seems to be an invitation for disaster of one kind or another. I know I know, you cannot have distinction without specificity, and specificity requires some level isolation. But this is philosophy we’re talking about. If money ever had competition for attracting gluttonous and/or insatiable persons/entities, I’d think philosophy would be it. Meaning, to “not want it all” with respect to philosophy almost seems like missing the point of philosophical meanderings entirely.

Hey, do you catch the irony in me saying to exclude exclusion? Suppress suppression? Relegate relegation? Dismiss dismissal?


I think maybe more than anything I’m thinking of being mindful of when one is being exclusive or when one has excluded a something. Remember that you have done so. Might provide some insight upon encountering impasses. Just, be sure to remember not to suppress your remembering, lest ye forget.

^Ministry “We Believe”^

The stress finally got to me yesterday. It took a shade over seven days to crush my spirit, and I spent a good portion of the late afternoon and evening feeling absolutely terrible.

Physically. Drained. 

Like some part of me had given up or maybe just collapsed under the strain. So much hope and so many thoughts of a fresh start, plus perhaps some thoughts of maybe just a little time to breathe and reflect and maybe do some soul searching in the midst of a new perspective…


An extension of the old. And why not tho? I’m still me, right? Same old person? Seriously, will anyone ever allow you to be anything other than what you are, which is actually an amalgam of what you have been? Nah, people like you the way you are…even if they hate or despise you. People like reliable things. Consistent things. They want others to be reliable, and yes, even if you can only be counted on to be a dirty dish rag. It bolsters their own position. I mean, if you get your shit together and they no longer have complaints about you, they’re out of a job. Suddenly, they become what you were…

an unemployed loser. 

On top of that, they were wrong about you, and no one like being wrong. They gotta figure out how they were so wrong about things. And I’d figure they’d also need to either endeavor to put you in your place, or find a new recruit.

Q: Is this what codependency is?

A: ???

A need to find individuals on which one can project their own world view, and self-reinforce that world view in order to reinforce individual perspectives on how the world is and/or how they think the world should be? I only ask because it sounds like codependency with a healthy portion of gaslighting. But, I admit that I don’t understand a lot of these psychological archetypes, and I also think that I’m too hopeful of a person and too happy a person to always try and paint folks in such lights.

Wait! Hol’up, hol’up…wait just a damn minute here…

Q: Is “being hopeful” and/or “being happy” to be considered a psychological condition and/or psychological conditions?

A: Like, a negative psychological condition?

What is it that we are ever, supposed to be. What, is, “right”? Anyone have any ideas?

^Fiction Reform – “Whites in Their Eyes” Basement Records^

One of the problems with philosophic, psychological and similar or related studies is that you cannot engage in studies of such areas without getting dirty in some way. You must leave who you are behind and become something you are not, or at a minimum get out and dabble a bit. Let’s be fair, one does not really need to obtain 3rd degree burns over 90% of one’s body to know that fire is hot and/or fire burns.

One of the interesting dichotomies about the realms known as Heaven and Hell is that these places and the entities that reside in them are so wrapped up in their own individual archetypes that they lack any empathy for their opposition whatsoever, hence, they cannot step outside of their realms and know anything except their own realms. This includes any preconceived notions they have about their opposites and the inherent need to support/reinforce these notions due to where they are. I mean, if you are a resident of Hell, probably not the best of ideas for you to start making “what’s so bad about Heaven?” types of inquiries.

If the Heaven/Hell example doesn’t work for you, maybe think “Democrat/Republican” or “Tory/Labour” or similar. Anyway, the point is, to truly understand the whys, it would appear that you cannot take these answers from the lore of your peers. To truly know, you’re gonna have to go.


You’re gonna have to soujourn, and you’re gonna have to do your best to carry some objectivity with you, otherwise, you may as well just save yourself the time and hassle and just stay home. I have sometimes wondered if this is how the plane we currently find ourselves in, first came into existence in the first place. Entities stepping outside of their bounds of light or dark, questing to know otherness, and here is where they wind up. It’s neither, it’s nor, it’s…whatever this is. Some call it a “middleground”, but I personally have a problem with that because it suggests that “purity” can only exist in light/dark or good/evil, and that this plane cannot have a purity of its own. Cannot have its own essence. Cannot have properties of both (or neither) which make it a thing unto itself. Wholly unto itself. It’s not that, and it’s not that, it is this.

When I think in those terms, this “3D” existence that we are said to occupy, in my mind anyway, breaks down entirely and retreats to its base forms of light/dark. Hell, maybe that’s how universes are destroyed. When the dimensions are as such that they can no longer support a thing where it is a thing unto itself, it collapses.

Standard stuff, right? 

Welp, what about the opposite tho? A thing becomes such a distinct and well-defined thing unto itself, that the sources which originally created it are no longer required, and those source universes/dimensions collapse. I have to wonder if it is possible for the ether or perhaps nothingness to collapse. Nothing becomes a something that is not nothing. Would that be a singularity? Or maybe a type of singularity?

/shrug...I'm miles from where this section started.
^Cocteau Twins – Blue Bell Knoll (Dirtyhertz Remix)^

Water is a thing.

Dirt is a thing.

Water + Dirt = a thing called mud.

Mud ain’t an actual thing tho. It’s more of a state of two other things when within a proximity to each other.

What I’m getting at here is how “physical laws” pertain to the abstract concepts known as good and evil or right and wrong or whatever. More than that tho, assuming that pure evil and pure good are tangible things which actually exist, why is there no “pure neither”. When thinking about “states”, there’s a transitional or transient nature to the idea, or at least a finite one. I’d think anything “pure” could be none of these things. It is fixed and yet permeable. Non-reactive. Non-finite. Scale or amount within a wider context is irrelevant. Even if a only single atom of a something exists within the entirety of the known universe, and if it is indeed “pure”, it is non-finite. I guess what I’m pondering here is our own definitions and applications of the term “pure”.

EX: There are those who say “Adolph Hitler was pure evil”. Well, if he was pure evil, why was he so finite? The fucker had been dead for 22 years before I got here, and my entire life, people cannot shut the fuck up about him. Moreover, does chalking up Hitler as “pure evil” give everyone else in history a free pass from evil? Comparatively? Ok yeah, Torquemada was bad, but not as bad as Hitler. This makes no sense as it lessens “the evil” of Torquemada.

What I’m really thinking about tho is how, if Adolph Hitler really was “pure evil”, why did it take so long to manifest in him? An opposite to Hitler is Jesus/Yeshua, and that fucker came out pure pure pure from the get go. Occurs to me that if someone is indeed capable of being “pure”, they’re gonna be pure start to finish whether good or evil. You cannot catch the the good bug or the evil bug for a period of time, ride it for a while, and expect to be “pure” good or evil. It’s more like you’re infected or have had some kind of mental break. Finite. Passing. A phase.

Look, I’m think that it’s impossible for us to know anything “pure” because we’ve developed some really fucked up ideas as to what pure is via our ideas on how purity is obtained. Mainly via absence of impurity, which if you ask me is totally fucking backwards. Like, water cannot be “99%” pure, but it can be “1% impure”. We just flip it on it’s head because it sounds better to focus on the pure bits instead of the impure ones. We basically lie because the truth is too painful.

That's....that's totally fucked up. 

I guess such is life in a world that exist because of, and survives upon, percentages.

^The Naked And Famous – Punching In A Dream (One Temporary Escape)^

Ya know how they say “idle hands are the devil’s workshop”?

So, why is it then, that when some do-gooder who has nothing better to do gets a wild hair up their ass to go out in the world and shake things up, why then, are they operating under the assumption that they are doing good?

Oh, that’s right, they are “good” hence anything they do is also “good”.


Soooooo…all one really need do is obtain the title of “good”, and everything you do after that can be concealed under the title?

Fucking hell…you never have to be wrong, ever again…if when you are wrong.

^Pixies Hey (Junk DNA remix)^

HEY! That reminds me…you douchebags been participating in the Gloom Dog Book Club? If not, you should be. I’ve gotten so excited over the concept that I’ve been reading and reviewing books that aren’t even on the list. Gotta be honest tho, that trend started because there have been a few books I could not find, so I read and reviewed some random something just to have something to read and review. Will say this tho, this reading adventure that CStM is guiding us through has rekindled my love of reading. I went to the library the other day, got this month’s selection called “The Help”, and I checked out 5 other books too.


I’m telling you, I’m getting jazzed over this reading stuff. Anyway, if you were unaware of Gloom Dog, you’re aware of it now. Join us. Or not.

^Sigur Rós – Ekki múkk^



*I don’t know if that’s a thing or a state, Clicky… /stubs butt… Here, have you got Leggy’s tweet?*

We hope you’ve enjoyed reading Cade’s missive, Dear Reader. Just to let you know that CstM’s other half, Leggy, has opened submissions for the next Underdog Anthology. Short stories of all genres are welcome 😀

Have a Song… ❤


Missive From ‘Merica: Syncing Spooky

Happy Tuesday, Dear Reader 😀

The latest Underdog Anthology, volume XV, is now available for purchase…

*I saw you posted the Afterword, Clicky… /lights up and smokes…*

… And in plenty of time for Halloween…

*What in the actual fuck?! …/flicks ash… Wait, Cade’s missive begins with spoo… /rolls eyes… ‘k… /drags… Seriously, what a bunch of wankers. Unvirtuous, virtue signalling wankers…*

… I’ll post my Halloween story ‘OK Charon!’ at the LoL on the day, but right now, we have a new missive from the Okie Devil in the great State of Text US. Sit back, take a load off and enjoy the wry musings of Cade Fon Apollyon…


If I can achieve and maintain an erection, but my penis is not currently under contract from any outside vendors, does that make me self-employed when/if I masturbate? If so, do I owe myself money?

I'm potentially running up quite a debt here. 

Makes me wonder about the nature of ejaculation as it pertains to nocturnal emissions. Is there some dream girl floating around out in dreamland who owes me money? And what is it called when a day-sleeper has a wet dream? Is that a diurnal emission? Do the rates change from night to day?

I must know these things.
^Ben Böhmer – Promise You^

Ever operated a cash register? Ever handled cash? Most importantly, do you know how to make change? Lemme ask that again…do you, know how, to make, change.

Do you, know how to make change.

Do you know, how to make change.

Do you know how, to make change.

Do you know to make, change.

Change is all the rage, so if you don’t know how to make it, how can you ever change?

As far as that goes, if you don’t know how to make change, how can anyone else ever expect to make change? You are a knowitall, after all. That’s the rumor you’ve been spreading anyway.

^Chris Lake – Sundown (Original Mix)^

There have been a great many teachers that I look back on with a great deal of love and admiration. However, I get the feeling that I never fully appreciated them back in the day. Don’t get me wrong, as bad as I hated school, there were absolutely a few classes that I really enjoyed taking, and there were some teachers who I really looked forward to seeing them and hearing from them each day. But there was a dynamic that existed at the time which I’m fairly certain never made me appreciate them as much at the time as I now think that I appreciated them then. Meaning, yes, I appreciate them very much now for the things that they taught me back then, but back then I was too green and stupid and inexperienced to appreciate them as much as I think I did.

What’s the purpose of exploring this idea in the here and now? Respect. More than that, acknowledgment in the now of my own disrespect back then. Owning my own shortcomings, and not making my relationship with teachers past out to being something that it was not. Don’t put my finger on the historical scale simply because I have the benefit of being able to do so in the here and now, for my own gain/benefit, and I can do so with little fear of exposure for my fraud. Own the times when I was an obnoxious, rebellious, ignorant and disruptive little shit who caused my teacher(s) a fuckton of grief that they likely did not deserve. I may have even hurt some. Randomly hit one of my teachers with a smart-ass verbal twist or jab during the course of their day, all so I could stand out in the moment amongst my peers. Make my fellow students laugh. I never thought of the weight that may have put on my teachers’ shoulders. Never took a single moment to think of my teacher(s) going home that night with a heavy heart because of something I’d done during the course of their day. Never contemplated what it might be like for them to sit alone in their apartment pondering what in the hell they did to deserve that, or try and relate to their partner or roommate or whatever that a student of theirs had humiliated them during the day.

I don’t know if I can say in the very moment of me writing this that “I am sorry”, nor express myself in such a way as to relate that yes, I am indeed very sorry for always attempting to be the class clown for my benefit at their expense. But I have accepted (or am trying to accept) that these things have happened, did happen, likely continue to happen, I can’t think of a single instance when there was malice in my heart, the fact that I had no malice in my heart really doesn’t matter, but mostly I’m aware that I owe you a great deal of gratitude for hanging in there and putting up with my bullshit during my own learning process(es). Hopefully, via these experiences, you learned something too, and I’m really hoping that whatever you may have learned isn’t just and only that I’m a dry and sarcastic smart-mouth who you don’t understand and comes off as a bit of an asshole sometimes.

Not my fault you're projecting.
^N-Joi – Anthem (Official Video)^

What I was really thinking about in the previous section was the idea of me and my writing probably sometimes coming off as little more than a heckler, sitting in the cheap seats, and doing little more than taking cheap shots at those who are out there actually doing a something and making a difference or whatever.

This is not my intent. 

I realize that doesn’t matter, but yeah, my intent is not to be a someone who sits in the wings and makes clever observations for notoriety/attention. We live in a world in which virtually every arena, the information flow is one-way. We are spoken to, and rarely, if ever, are we allowed to speak. Speeches, messages from the pulpit, rules, laws, practices, instructions, procedures, wishes, spells, charms, formulas, movies, newspapers, magazines, books, newsletters, television, radio, the web, you name it…virtually everything as it pertains to any dialogue of any kind in our society of our times, is all one-way, and the time and opportunity for questions, observations, suggestions and interactions of any kind are almost nil.

On those rare occasions where we mere mortals are allowed to speak, we’re usually so traumatized by the experience/opportunity that we fuck it up completely. We stumble, stammer, our voice shakes, or we’re so afraid to say what we really and actually want to say because we’re afraid we’re gonna look/feel like an idiot, so we throw a softball pitch, or don’t say what we want to say, or change the wording, or change the subject, or worse still, we say nothing at all…in every case, it’s a fucking nightmare on hell’s wheels. We never actually get the opportunity to speak enough, to actually learn how to do it. We never get to interact enough, to actually learn how to do it. This makes us very poor at expressing ourselves and expressing ourselves well, this lack of opportunity to speak also has the quality of seemingly encouraging us to express ourselves incorrectly or perhaps even inappropriately. We just flat out do not get enough “at bat” attempts in our lives to get better when it’s our turn at the plate and we’re facing down that major league pitcher. We never get to know, who we really are, via those experiences which reveal to us who we can be.

Me? Sure, I realize that there are likely times it may appear that I’m just some douchebag of less-than-average intelligence, taking pot-shots at “known” people from the relative safety of the shadows of anonymity where I reside, but the question is…

Q: Am I?

A: ¿Am I some douchebag taking cheap shots at targets of opportunity as they arise/present themselves?

I’ve got no answer(s) for you, and you probably wouldn’t like my answer even if I had one to give. I can only tell you that I am aware of this dynamic, and more than that, I try to be mindful of this dynamic. Beyond that, I guess you’re just gonna have to make up your own mind and speak your own piece. I’m not in the business of thinking for you nor am I in the business of speaking for you. Get involved. Speak for yourself. Mix it up a bit. Learn how to do it. Take the chance of sticking your own neck out, do so of your own accord, and let your own thoughts be known. That’s what I’m doing. I’m no fucking good at it, but yeah, that’s what I’m doing.

^Alex H – There’s No Turning Back (Dub Mix)^

You wouldn’t have any inhibitions about drinking water that came from a huge lake would you? Or water that came from a large river, or some massive glacier or iceberg? Modern water considerations and concerns notwithstanding regarding water/impurities/pollutants/etc., what I’m getting at, is that if your water came from some large, easily-accessible and popular source, would you not drink this water specifically because it came from a large/easily-accessible/popular source. Mainstream, if you will. Just wondering why someone would feel guilty about consuming a something that came from the mainstream. Like say…oh I dunno, pop music for example. If it tastes good, and it satiates your thirst, what’s the problem? You afraid someone is gonna see your ears drinking that stuff? Feel like you’re alone in a bar and sucking on the cheap swill for a cheap thrill because it’s something you like, when suddenly all your friends burst in and catch you indulging in something that is not up to their standards?

^LMFAO ft. Lauren Bennett, GoonRock – Party Rock Anthem (Official Video)^

Pure candy. Pure ear candy. Let’s us run that Willy Wonka-esque creation through some aftermarket filters and see how the video tastes after.

^Music videos without music: LMFAO – Party Rock Anthem ft. Lauren Bennett, GoonRock^

Sooooo much better with the music. In fact, that song is pretty fucking good without the video. Uptempo, good foot-tapper, anyone can sing along, it follows the “anthem song” template whilst adding enough of it’s own spice and flair to stand out in the pack, ain’t much if anything not to like about this new spin on an old dish. But then, you get added to the mix. You and you uptight and exclusive friends and all those rules and regulations and protocols and procedures governing what you can and cannot consume. Then, this song comes on…and you, like it.

What to do?! What to do?! 

Maybe this song is a signal from the universe that it’s time for you and your pals to part company. For you to go your own way. I mean, that’s the point of exclusivity, right? Go your own way and be your own thing? Now, who the hell woulda thunk one could obtain exclusivity via drinking from the big pool.

^Pharrell Williams – Happy (Video)^

When you see a tornado, that’s probably what you see.

When I see a tornado, this is what I see.

When one views the Earth/Terra from outside, we seem to have little to no difficulty rotating everything 90° in our heads. We look upon our sphere as if we’re looking out on the horizon rather than looking “down”. I guess maybe this is because our planet is nestled in the void, and something somewhere in our being lets us know that we are basically looking up, which really, is looking out. What I’m thinking about here that, from outside of our planet, we don’t seem to have as much difficulty with translation as it pertains to position as we do when we are on our planet. When one is “upright” on terra firma and/or somewhat upright, we seem to have difficulty with the notion that up is out, out is out, down is out, left is out, right is out. Everything is out. The only “in” that seems to exist is from, the outside. But even that doesn’t hold up for long once one goes deep enough. Keep going in, and eventually, in will once again become out. Some point exists in space or “a” space where everything that is, flips, and becomes everything that was. Gravity and attraction would have to play a part in this I would think, but there’s also something strange going on there with lines and curves. Hiding within that and those, appears to be some strange and unchangeable something. Some absolute. Some programmatic-ish something which exists in nature that says…


if is <> is

then is := was;


Maybe that’d be better stated as…


if is <> is AND was = is

then do

is := was;

was := is;



Something weird about that tho since a something would almost need to happen, before it actually happens. If for no other reason than to ensure that both things happen simultaneously, which should ensure that the values are passed correctly with little to no impact on the system. Tachyons? Maybe also a delay in processing time, to hide the procedure from the observer/experiencer maybe? Maybe also a third heat via speed and distance in Neutrinos and some other goodies? Never can be too safe afterall and a cushion could certainly provide some insurance to ensure that the flip always and forever, occurs. Still, one would think that over time, that’d build up a helluva deficit in time. Maybe that’s how time is actually created tho. Build up a time deficit within time that can never be repaid, so to speak. Keep paying, and keep paying, expansion, expansion, etc., plenty is paid, but the original debt can never be repaid because the meter is still running, always has been, always will be.

^Lane 8 – No End In Sight / Outro^

Odd linear quality to that previous thought. Not so much an expansion as much as an expansion in a particular direction, at a particular time, from a particular perspective and/or certain perspectives. What I’m thinking about here is, imagine an hourglass turned on its side, and some mysterious force is pushing and pulling the enclosed sand from one end to the other. In our Universe, science and scientists always seem to see a balloon. I can see that, but what I mainly see is what I described above. A back and forth. Some is rushing away, some towards. Just kinda depends on where the observer is as to which direction matter and energy are running at that particular point in time. And I guess instead of a single hourglass, there could be many. I’d think there’s nothing prohibiting things moving in different directions at different times, nor that there’d a be any limits on the iterations, instances, nor any limits on the nesting/embedding. Cept maybe the aforementioned of course. That…thing…that causes “not” to become “is” whilst simultaneously, all things remain unchanged.

^Ben Böhmer – Purple Line^

Hrmmmm…I get the feeling I’m being trolled here in some way.

Of all the things I can think of to do with a pressure cooker, banging on the fucking thing whilst it is under pressure is NOT, one of them. Still, I cannot tell if the advertiser is being totally irresponsible here for the sake of advertising, or if they are just trolling me in some way.

Both are a possibility I guess.

Oh, and you’ll need to watch the video below to know what I’m talking about.

^Avery Products – Pressure Cookers vs. Avery^

Speaking of “not following the rules”, being irresponsible and/or being deceptive in making a buck, seems like more and more “the rules” are being flouted, and either A) no one is paying attention, B) no one knows that there are rules to be followed, or C) no one cares. Could be all that.

Are those Hawaiian rolls and coffee really from Hawaii?

Quite sure that packaging is supposed to indicate where a something is actually manufactured and/or where a something comes from. It indicates that there is an audit trail, which indicates nothing shady is going on anywhere along the line, and that stuff you are shoving into your pie-hole is probably for the most part safe/not going to cause harm. Of course, loads of interests out there that don’t care if gold comes from illegal mines in South America or Philippines, or if diamonds come from some war-torn country in Africa, or even if your titanium is coming from illegal purchases made from Russia by your own government…but you can’t eat that stuff, or at least none of it can hurt you.

(so you think anyway) 

But rolls? Yeah, if I go to Hawaii looking to contact the manufacturer of some rolls that had a bunch of metal shavings in them or made me sick, but the manufacturer ain’t actually in Hawaii? Well, what am I supposed to do now? Where did these phantom rolls come from? What recourse do I have? HELP!!!! I guess I have to turn to…my government.


Isn’t my government already supposed to be on top of shit like this? Prohibiting companies from operating in such a way as to be deceptive or misleading? I swear I have to do everything myself.

^Kaskade & Moguai feat. Zip Zip Through The Night – Something Something Champs [Cover Art]^

Knowing what we know, offering the vaccine “for free” isn’t much of an incentive. Hell, all kinds of products and services that offer that “free introductory service” or “free introductory time period” bullshit, and we KNOW what a scam that is.

It's a trap. 

Get you in the door, and they can treat you however they want. Always trying to up-sell you, weird charges and fees, damn near impossible to cancel, impossible to get help, and if you bitch or show even the slightest inkling of dissatisfaction, they’ll cut you off. Can’t help but think this “vaccine for free” stuff isn’t any different.

^Above & Beyond – Sun In Your Eyes (@Spencer Brown Remix)^
Eventually it’ll be virtually impossible to talk about anything objectively without looking like an idiot.
Eventually it’ll be virtually impossible to talk about anything objectively without feeling like an idiot.
Eventually it’ll be virtually impossible to talk about anything objectively without being an idiot.
Eventually it’ll be virtually impossible to think about anything without looking like an idiot.

Eventually it’ll be virtually impossible to think about anything without feeling like an idiot.

Eventually it’ll be virtually impossible to think about anything without being an idiot.

Remember, your opinion…does…not…matter.

Helluva rabbit hole there.

One helluva weapon.

^Kalsy – Summertime Bliss^

You want signs?

Here’s a sign for you.

Gun manufacturer Smith & Wesson moving headquarters, some production from Springfield to Tennessee

That there is a fucking sign and a half.

^Lumidelic – Awakening Dreams (Original Mix)^

Let’s explore some psychology on the topic of being accused of something you did not do, defending oneself, and let’s use one of history’s most famous bad guys, Al Capone. Al Capone was accused of not paying his taxes. If Al were to say “I didn’t do it”, does that actually constitute an affirmation/admission of guilt? Al is actually accused of not doing something, as such, saying “I didn’t do it” actually means “yeah I did it”. Nevermind that Al was only being accused of income tax evasion because the attempts to convict him and send him to prison on other charges all failed. You can’t get someone on the charges you want to get them on, so you get them on those charges in a roundabout way, by getting them different charges.


More than that, sounds just flat out wrong. Ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, the reason you cannot get this someone on the charges you want to get them on is because they are…innocent of those charges? Lemme splain where I’m going with this. There are many groups that have vetting processes. Sometimes these vetting processes are better defined by calling them “initiations”. It is with that in mind that we should point out that these vetting/initiation processes are usually done “in-house”, but we should also note that sometimes, people can take it upon themselves to engage in these processes. “Prove themselves”, if you will, and do so without knowledge, consent, approval, nor at the behest/prompting of the group typically responsible for these processes. Some lone wolf wants in the club, this lone wolf researches/learns what they think the vetting processes to be, then they start doing these things of their own accord in the hopes of getting noticed and eventually being welcomed in to whatever circle they desire to join/be a part of.

To make this a little more relatable, maybe think of some person seeing a bunch of “punk rockers” on the street, this person decides they too want to be a punk rocker, goes out and buys a bunch of “punk rock” clothes, gets a “punk rocker” haircut, maybe pierces their cheek, gets a tattoo or two, then proceeds to loiter in the same areas/venues that punk rockers do. In our case however, we’re thinking more about gangsters circa 1930’s Chicago and/or New York, and maybe that there were “wannabes” out there who maybe started doing some gangster shit in order to get a reputation and hopefully get noticed by the mob. Maybe even get asked to join, because like, you’ve already proved yourself for this very reason, right?

With that in mind, let us take this in a bit of a different direction since “the mob” or even “gangsters” is a bit ambiguous. There are, after all, usually many more than just one faction, and these various factions within “the mob” are more likely to be at odds rather than the homogeneous/homologous something it is typically made out to be by outsiders. That’s right, if our lone wolf gets noticed by “the mob”, it is likely that our wolf is on many different radars, and no telling how these various interests may decide to handle this situation. Hell, they’ve basically got a rogue element that they can play six ways from Sunday, do so to their own advantage, having little to no culpability themselves, and maybe even take out their competition in the process. See where I’m going with this yet?

Yes? No? Maybe? 

I don’t either. Just out for a drive for the sake of driving.

^Shapeshifters – Lola’s Theme (Club Mix)^

The St. Valentine’s Day Murders have always been spun as a clear-cut case of agents acting according to the will of/on the instructions of one Alphonse Capone whilst Al himself sat it out in Florida. However, what if some rival faction actually performed this operation for the specific purpose of getting Al pinned with the crime. Al was Public Enemy #1, everyone wants his head, so, why not give one of your own enemies the knife to do it with? Hell, the US Government itself could probably rationalize and justify killing all those people just to get to Capone. Not only are you getting rid of the gangsters to be murdered, you get Capone in the process…

it's win all around. 

In thinking of pursuing Capone on things that are basically unrelated to the real reasons you are persecuting this someone, occurs to me that this is a long, dark train that has no end. Creates questions instead of answering them. It’d be like me yelling at my girlfriend for not fixing dinner, when I’m actually pissed at her because she wrecked the car and I couldn’t give a fuck if she fixed dinner or not. They may have been guilty of both, but the lack of clarity and “solving” one problem via another just seems wrong to me. Convenient for me in the moment perhaps, but it opens a door that may be difficult or maybe even impossible to close.

^Binary Finary- 1999 (Best version released)^

Don’t ask me why initiations have been on my mind. They have tho. And even tho it’s been a coupla weeks since that above was written, something damn weird just appeared on my radar…

All this talk of jab, the jab and jabbing are bad enough, but what was really strange is that it made me think of a tweet I’d seen only last night…

And of course there was this just a coupla days ago…

Not sure what to make of all of it other than 1) things appear to be getting back to normal, and 2) I guess that security bridge in Operation Bridger is still under construction or something.

Operation Bridger

The word “bridger” appears to have some interesting meanings.

“One who bridges, or connects two previously separate things.”

“U.S. fur trader and mountain man, noted for his tall tales.”

That lockdown interlude gave the world but such a brief taste of happiness, hopefulness and harmony. Now that’s ending, it’s “game on!” I guess.

As you were, citizens. 

Oh, and it appears that David Amess dude has died 😦

Sorry you died/got killed dude. Hopefully you and your party haven’t left too big of a mess in your wake.

^Gareth Emery – Long Way Home [Official Video]^

Was the final sentence in that previous paragraph totally out of line?


Welp, hopefully nobody turns the dude’s coffin over and creates a mess of Amess at his wake. Assuming he has a wake. The dude sounds like he was more or less upright and righteous, or at least tried to be, and we all prolly know how hella hard that is to do in this wicked old world. Prolly even more difficult to do in Old Blighty, land of sin, evil and corruption.

But what I was thinking about is I get the feeling that Conservatives and Libertarians alike are quite furious at Conservatives currently. I mean sure, all this SARS-CoV2/COVID-19 stuff and some other weird shit has gotten Brexit almost completely off the radar, but no one in the UK (at least on the Conservative side) seems to be very happy about how Conservatives have been handling themselves regarding CO\ /ID. I guess at its heart, instead of opposing this restrictive and quasi-dystopian legislation, the Conservatives appear to be whole-hog for it. Track and Trace, firing the hero essential workers of the NHS who refuse to get the COVID vaccine even tho they somehow survived the entirety of the initial pandemic, social distancing and mask wearing requirements not being eased and lockdowns that last forever, difficult if not impossible to travel, all kinds of crazy shit that really doesn’t make sense from a “conservative perspective” I guess. But, they are a political party, and every political party is gonna have a mantra of “toe the line, or else”, so maybe they’re just showing their true colors? I mean, I don’t live there, so I have to wonder how “conservative” conservatives really are in the UK.

Maybe there’s some other game afoot here. Maybe the conservatives are playing the long game, and too many people are too focused on the short game(s). I know here in the US, the best way to get something banished forever, is to legalize it. Once a something is actually on the books and in the system, just about anything can be done with it. Assuming the game plan of the Conservatives is indeed to get the laws on the books via their own methods and means so they can better drive them from there, that is. Sounds risky for sure, and a helluva lotta people are gonna pay some hefty short-term prices that may really fuck them up long-term. And it’s not like the Conservatives can come right out and say “hey, we’re doing this for the sole purpose of fucking it up completely and making sure no one can do this very easily in the future”, it’s all gotta be done on the down low and hush hush. The down side to playing such a dangerous game is them getting voted out of office, the Conservatives don’t get to see it through, and all those juicy control laws are on the books unaltered and unchallenged, and just waiting for the right wrong person and/or people to come along and get their filthy mitts on them.

^Source Code – Morning Glory^

The other day some random dude followed me on Twitter. As per usual, I didn’t pay them much mind for a span to see if they’d unfollow me if I didn’t immediately follow them back. Lotta folks on Twitter appear to do that. Follow account for the express purpose of obtaining a follow back.

Trolling, for followers. 

Anyway, as per usual, I went and looked at the dude’s Twitter feed and started the brief vetting process that I typically do, then followed the dude back. I then get what I assume is an automated DM to me encouraging me to go listen to his music and “help spread the word”, I guess about his music, and him and his enterprise or whatever. No way this automated process or bot or whatever could know this, but I’d already listened to the song they sent me in the DM, and my first inkling was to reply back and solicit them to, in return, purchase a copy of the latest Underdog Anthology and maybe go read me and my friends’ blogs.

 rofl...yeah right. 

Ask a bot or automated process, to buy a book. I guess maybe I could query it as to possibly buying/reading the Kindle version? Anyway, not ragging on the guy really as much as just pointing out that, I, tend to plug people’s shit because I choose to of my own accord. If I find something interesting, I share it because there are others out there who might dig it whether it be music or movies or art or information or whatever. Like I said, I’d already listened to that song and was already gonna plug it even tho it’s not really my kind of music if for no other reason that it’s not bad and because I know that there might be someone else out there who’d like it a lot. I’d be there Bridger in this case: bringing people together. And also, there’s a bit in the video that says “MAKE IT ALL ABOUT YOU” which, was syncy as hell because I’d just written something for my own blog where…I make a section that is not about me, all about me. And now that I’ve done the same by making this entire section about me, me and me, here’s the fucking song. Enjoy.

(it's actually pretty good)
^Scott Krokoff – Far Too Many TImes (Official Video)^

cYa | cFa

^George Hall & His Taft Hotel Orch. – Good Morning Glory (1933)^


*Do what?! …/stubs butt… Just another bunch of unvirtuous virtue signalling wankers… /sighs… Spooky…*

So, there you have it, Dear Reader. Thank you for your time and attention, and… Have a Song…