“He’s probably done.”
Thus I heard confirmed what I’ve been thinking, my path to health is mine and mine alone once again. Melody funneled through the white tendrils of an iPod will have to provide the distraction as I pick things up and put them down again. Here I go again, down the only road I’ve ever known, like a drifter I was born to walk alone.
Course Notes
As I like to leave things to the last day before the last moment, I re-enacted the reason why, with some proactive effort, I’d have been a person of some note. The feedback was mostly positive (“a bit slow”) but no one fell asleep or walked out or threw rotten fruit. A smattering of applause, polite or not, I’ll take it!—just think if I hadn’t procrastinated!
Death Dearth
I’m a slave in a world overseen by Forces largely unseen. My opinion that death isn’t welcome goes unheeded, probably rightly so as I have neither the foresight not the hindsight to understand. I have not been given enough data to make my opinion worth heeding and so I trudge on, hauling my carcass over my shoulders toward that closely distant Light.
Death be not proud …
In Genius
Largely inconsequential, a woman with a “phd” teaches “creativity” and blusters on about our being created in God’s image. A fact which instantly grants us ALL God’s genius for genius. Allow me, lady, to disabuse you: that you hold such an opinion forcefully debunks the hypothesis, “phd” or no.
In Mala Fide
We are all story-devouring machines. Most of us process them and egest other stories which we re-consume in a descending spiral until the only thing left of the story is a nugget of excrement.
Some—those lucky few—produce better stories which they leave scattered about for others of the first ilk to vacuum in, halting their progress, if it can be called that.
Yet even fewer others, The Remnant, produce stories out of thin air (Cf In Genius). Sorry, you can’t be a part of The Remnant because The Remnant don’t know they’re The Remnant. Now go eat some stories.
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