ultimately, the reductionist claim will murder all our senses

Stop counting?

I should just stop counting?

No............................ yes, wait, you see? wait.. ..........................................................
...................................................................
...................................................................
......................................................................
............god-less whore of a traiter gets arrested, penalized, sentenced, punished, and in traffic, crosses the street accidently, without a goddamn clue then you can resolve the issue of unfairness, peacefullness, bigotry, when he is hit by a truck, a UPS truck......................................................
.........................................................................
......................

I am not going to stop counting.

There are still fifty left over. I hate remainders. She is still working on that proof, you know, that 1=1. The rest of it, and I would motion toward all of it, is rather irrelevent without that.

I wouldn't kill anybody, not even myself, not for fifty left overs.

the single and only acceptance, like the future, like the past horror

He's a fucking animal, she said and she was upset, you know, red in the face, and crying, like she'd been hit. I know he hit you, I said. And she said, no, he didn't hit me--she said, he didn't touch me, he didn't, she said, no, he didn't hit me, and she grabbed me, you know on the arm, she grabbed my arm, and told me, you know, told me looking in my eye, she said, he didn't do this, he didn't hit me, and she told me to look at her, to look at her in the face, and she said it again, you know, making sure she was looking at me, making real sure she was looking right at me, and...I don't know what happened, honest, I am sitting here right now, you know, all together, talking like I am completely under control just as I was standing right there, all under control, watching her lower lip shake, just like it was off its own goddamn course and, I was under control you know, and I went to touch her hand, and I was thinking, he goddamn fucking hit her, that fucking asshole and I went to grab her hand, and she had this big cut on her hand, you know this massive cut, she was bleeding, she was bleeding on her hand, and she didn't even know it, but she must have noticed something because she saw my face change, you know, like it must have changed real quick because she started back, like she hadn't known she was bleeding, like she hadn't known she was all in blood, all over her hand, and then she started screaming, just screaming, and I ran out of there, you know, I can't really tell what was happening after that, you know just running, like real fast, and not really seeing anything around me, not really taking notice that there was anything around me, not really, but I could feel it, even when its all passed, I can still feel it, I can remember that blood in the skin, you know that rising blood level, like your body is storming, like its kicking up the sea, and its picking everything up, all the pieces, its picking them all up and throwing them all over the place, and changing the directions of everything until you don't know where the sky and the sea is, you don't know where your skin ends and the world is starting, you don't know if you are walking on actual streets, looking at actual houses, seeing actual people, you know, in actual places. But now, I don't know, I just remember her screaming, just screaming real loud like, like she knew I was going to go do something terrible, like she knew I was going to confront him.

He's a fucking animal, she said. You know, she said it, she came in, all red in the face, torn up, and she said it. Every once in a while, once in a blue, this blood picks me up, you know, picks me up like that wind and takes me somewhere else, somewhere over there, strips me of my clothes and my hair and all the things that are me, that detail me, that make me recognizeable. And I'm undressed, running. You know? I was real angry. I know I was angry. But that's not the thing that's ringing, you know, after the screaming, after she stops, somehow stops, its not that I was angry. I know I was angry. But after all that, you know, just sitting here, I can't help but think, you know, I can't help but know: I let that fucking man tell me my own place, my own future. I let that fucking man take my face long before I resigned to exist like this, you know, like this here, all confined. That fucking man. I let that fucking man tell me what I was, all that I was, all that I was ever gonna be. And I was ok that he was telling me that I was nothing, that I was without it all, undressed, unfit. That's the real horrow, you know. The real horror is this willful submission to all that I was ever told, all that I probably ever even knew, all that I was gonna become no matter what. And I fucking accepted it.

{break}

I thought it would be easier to perhaps integrate, not differentiate, the exact rate of change the difference you see between me and you. hwere and aI s thav toenca 't the ths ess see

that is noise on an otherwise purposeful signal.

"Assigning purpose or other intension to the observed process of matter and mechanical things is folly, and how we got religion in the first place, jackass."

He said. I think he really meant it. Blackboard's singing in the wind, I caught a whole lot of rain on my tongue and drowned.

Does God separate signal from noise, or it is to Him always and only signal -- pure relevant meaning?

or is it all noise

xxzzzxzxcv vcxxxxxxcvvdsaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaqaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah

my early escalation into dissatisfaction

I could tell him to fuck off, you know, be really direct about it, just come out and tell him that I am tired of this fucking shit:

Where are you going?
I am going to class. I have a class. I need to sit in class.
Where is your friend?

I don't know. I haven't seen him. I think he is in Africa. Building houses and walking around the desert, real lost like.
Do you think he is lost?
Not really. He doesn't get lost.
Have you spoken to him lately?

No. I haven't spoken to him lately. Not in a long time. He is off walking on sand and then flying to strange places and eating strange foods.

I was hungry, real hungry, I think, I mean I must have been really hungry, like starving, you know, like hungry all over, like you are always a little bit faint, like you aren't getting the right things into your body even though you are getting something into your body but it's mostly the wrong things, or it certainly isn't enough of the right things. I don't think I was getting any of the right things. I was tired all the time and hungry. And then I was faint. I was crawling out of my skin, real sneaky like, like I was just letting my body crash. Then I collapsed, I just collapsed. It had everything to do with a dream, I think, everything that I've ever had with dreams. I mean, that is how you describe it, right? That's how I describe it, like a dream, at least that is how they would describe it. Right? Don't you think that is how they'd describe it? I would at least. Well, it felt like coming out of a spaceship or something, after I collapsed. You know the whole class had moved around, adjusted themselves to see maybe if they could see a little bit more and there I was walking in off the spaceship, waving to the little earth people, and still desperately hungry, my own mind watering, and the whole place looking like a goddamn desert, and there I am running back to it, with a big schmuck smile on my face, you know, eager to get back to this place where I know there is nothing for me to fucking eat. I couldn't even try to find something here. There is no chance that there is anything here. And I am just starting to fall flat, uncontrolled and flat, disappear into a self-loathing shadow of cactii--that would be my great finale. I have already come to recognize my ephemeral state and my limited range. But not my disappearance. I can't stand my willing disappearance.

He's not really in Africa is he?
I don't know if he's really in Africa. That's what he tells me. It sure sounds different than here.
Do you think he'll come back?
I don't think I'd come back. Not from Africa. Not when it is terribly romantic and beautiful in Africa.

never the same

I couldn't believe it was said, really, or that it even needed to be said at all. Sad clowns, balloon in the rain. I tried my best to look both ways, cross the street with arms wide open, sweaty palms pointing to God. He said, No way Jose, and then let the traffic flow over me like so many drops of rain. Balloons, clowns, God, nouns -- I've said them all so many different ways.

She didn't understand. "I want you to love me, always, like you used to, always," and I said love is a river -- you can go back to where you came from, but it is never the same.

The Language, Behavior, Attitude Triangle and its Useful though not always Self-Reflective Purposes

She started asking questions, you know, like real penetrating questions, the kind that made me look again, look at her again, and, not just because she was asking them, not just because of the circumstances (that would be cruel of me, wrong, right?), no, not just that, but because they were really penetrating questions, and they were getting at this problem she was having with, what I could only imagine, you know, some rather frequent occurence, like the problem was happening with some regular occurrence, you know, like often....exactly, because it was all about her neighbor and his lawn, or his fence, and it really had nothing to do with me, not ostensibly, at least, not that it couldn't have had nothing to do with me, no, I thought about that, you know, I look like him, or looked like him, and I got to thinking, one of these past nights, when that main electrical switch froze and they couldn't turn the damn lights off, well, I don't know why it took me so damn long, because I always rememebered her penetrating questions and her frequent occurences, but I never considered, not until this week, you know, I never really considered that she thought I was him, she thought it was my lawn or waste or whatever it was that she thought was wrong....no, she didn't phrase it like that, no of course she didn't phrase it like that, she said something like, inappropriate or careless, like she thought my action was inappropriate and careless and disrespectful and some other word...I haven't come across it yet, something else, but you see, I already am, changing the part of me, you know, I already am incorporating those things into my meal times and my outside time, you know, and taking some of those words, because she was always using those words and I even think she was using them correctly, and using them myself and making it a natural part of my conversation....so, no, I don't know, I think it just finally hit me, you know with the electricity on and all and my brain in that inbetween where it doesn't really want to recognize where it is, well, it doesn't ever want to recognize where it is, but then it didn't really want to be turned on and yet, like it was guiding itself, like it knew if it turned itself on, I'd screw it up. And that's when it hit me, right there, you know, right smack in the middle of the forhead, yeah, I thought, she was thinking I was her neighbor, all that time, she was thinking I was her neighbor, and all this could have been avoided, not that she should have really been approaching me like that, not really, but all this might have concluded in a different way had I just either really been her neighbor, because then I really would have been doing all those things that she wasn't liking or if she hadn't confused me with her neighbor, you know, either one, I think we'd be in different places, at least right now, we might even be in opposite places and she'd be calling me and asking me to come down here and wait in line. You just think, sometimes, that one little misunderstanding, you know, just one tiny little thing, like her thinking I was her neighbor and all that results in this, I mean if she had known that was gonna cause her death, you know the simple misunderstanding was going to lead to her death, I know she wouldn't have confused us, and, but really, the other side of it, is if I had moved in there, like I almost did last year, then I really would have been her neighbor and that too, you know my action too, would have saved her life then, because it would have been ok and all that thing about my lawn or my fence would have been about me and I could have fixed that. I mean that is crazy, you know, that is almost unbelieveable and you know, sometimes you just got to wonder, you know, you really have to think about these things and all these interactions because, just like that, the smallest wonders can change the whole trajectory of your life, the smallest confusions can throw your life into a whole other pond and that whole other pond might look so different and it might even get you to throw it all away just like she did.

city gardens

Fuck it, you know, I was all coming up here, earlier, you know a lot earlier, and I was thinking about all the little changes that have been going on, you know, like the fence next to this guy's house, you know this new fence, that just came out of nowhere, just a fence built right there to protect the plants or something, some sort of garden, I think, you know, but that was earlier, and there was the man squatting across the street in some new fenced in community garden, here he was just squatting and digging in the dirt, you know this grown man digging in the dirt, like he had nothing to concern him but the mud and the mud had nothing to concern him with, not at all and, then it was just hitting me like that, you know especially earlier, when I was walking around, back and forth, this whole block, even more than the block, you know past the block, and into some of those parts over, you know, even in Far Rock, where my friend lives, he seeing the same thing, just these little fences starting to come up and protect these plants and a bunch of grown men, grown men, sitting in the area and getting all dirty, getting down into the mud and with the roots and spending all day, like all day on a saturday, out there in their garden, in their new little garden, brought in by a bunch of those people, set up by a bunch of those people, yeah, I know they are from the city, but they aren't from the city, not around here, they don't end up in parts of the city where you look at a face and you know he's seen the city and you know he's from the city, they aren't from this part of the city, not the one we've been coming up in all this time, and so, you know, earlier, maybe even much earlier, I was concerned, I suppose, and I think, maybe, I was even conflicted, right, like I had this feeling that there was something not right about this grown man all fenced in and talking to all these people that have no business walking around back here, and then, you know, you know why I was conflicted, because, you know, the city blocks with the fences and all those things growing up back there are really ok, you know, and earlier, I was thinking it was really ok, it was probably even really worth something, you know, like green is a good color, and it felt good, but man, that is like the poison that we are getting fed, you know right now, right this second, just like that, just in a second, just like that old man squatting in the mud, not thinking there something wrong with that, just in that second, I was, you know converted to thinking like they wanted me to start thinking, thinking its ok if I am squatting in my owh mud, in my own street, like that's ok, but I know that's not ok, I mean that isn't even a little bit ok, that is just wrong, you know the kind of thing that you know is just wrong, that's how it is, and so, you know, really, even after all that color, really--fuck the plants, man, fuck the plants, because I am squatting in my own street, looking like I can't even protect nobody from coming at me, and you know, as I was saying, you know, this was earlier, this was earlier, now, really, fuck it, I mean it, I mean fuck it, there is no way I am gonna run around here, just here, and let my brother or my uncle, you know, let them start squatting and thinking that everything is ok because look at this, I mean, look at this, its a far way from being ok, its pretty fucking far from being all right. Yeah, so fuck it, I said fuck it, and honestly, fuck it because its far from ok, its really pretty far from ok, and like I'll ever really have the chance, really, you know, of trying to understand how messed up it must be, I mean, of really knowing how messed up it must be, of really letting everybody know how messed up things have really gotten, how disconnected I must be, how disconnected all of us here in this city must be, when I am convinced, and I am really convinced, you know, that I have to take out an old man because he's fucking gardening in my neighborhood.

the famous night we first made love

in the morning everything was clearer. Last night -- where were we? I remember there were stars, that the moon "was watery and pale." Robert said this, but he was remembering something altogether different. The moon, even the stars, were stand-ins for the other thing, the thing he didn't mention. That was the whole point.

"How do we substitute the flesh and bones of man for the flesh and bones of his brother?" We were silent at the long table. I don't know what the others were thinking. My morning was clear until I drank too much coffee, and suddenly there were fireworks of thought in my skull.

"That kind of substitution is essentially meaningless," I said. "How could we measure it's success? By which I mean: if man x1 is there and then we see man x2, unless we watch the transition occur we DON'T KNOW IT HAPPENED." Juan nods, and deliberately pauses before looking to Robert, asleep, his glasses a little crooked, his head just a bit above his chest.

"I think that is a very good idea but it needs to be put into proper terms."

So I said x ---> system ---> f(x) so that f(x1) = f(x2) where x1 is man and x2 is his brother, then Robert hollered, and the papers flew around and mixed with the coffee and I watched him tip the table and it headed for the floor. I felt a curious pressure behind my eyes that built until all the differences between me and my colleagues (and the table, falling, the waves of light in the air, the moon) disappeared into a colorful noise, like static but soft, an ocean I suppose, fine, okay, let's just call it that.

the deletion in error, is by chance, only a circle

As a child, I suppose, there is a longing for the perfected face, an image that is not so torn between culture, history, and idealism. That is the face, yes, once sought. But now, I am only here, unable to work, really uninspired to dissect, detail, re-write the already written, merely at the request of the reductionist (who, I am convinced nonetheless, has found certain noble and divine foundations in his work). So, without true joy, I walked here, without valid ambition and not quite alone. No, it would have been years earlier, perhaps even at the very beginning, had I been without help. They did keep me locked in step with the world, a chosen submission, of sorts, but after several attempts, taken in honest effort, the outcomes would not separate themselves from each other, each, even in its completion, a hollow resemblance to the nature of the vacuum, the bright fierce ball, the speed which has no ignition--this is the only act to resemble.

He is, himself, in pieces--literal pieces. He did not dress himself well today and, later, upon inspection, removed the unfortunate pieces of clothing and decoration. I will collect them, he muttered, eventually. I will collect them and re-place them in their proper homes, owned and catalogued.

Is he mad? Of sorts, of course. The resemblance to any hierachy, she mentions, casually (I believe she is sarcastic but almost witless, you know, indifferent to the lunacy that clearly runs all through my family), itself requires a, what would you people call it, a leap of faith? So, technically, his logic is rather faulty to suppose that any resemblance, any actual reflection, no matter how authentic he believes it to be, is merely a subjective relationship--one that holds no absolute divine power (unless, of course, by serious mistake, a critical accident). Given this overall analysis, one that I take no pleasure in delivering, we have no choice but to execute him.

She is mad for analyzing my proposition, he intones, unwilling to accept or even acknowledge his pending death. The only witness in the circle is never in the circle at all. That, I have pretended to understand, means that this long reflection, even at dawn, is simply something I could not possibly comprehend, not unless I remembered not to be involved, which of course, I am destined not to do.

His Accidental Remarks, Nevertheless (Gasp!) were Far From Disappointing

He is undressed and un-moved. It is not like it is anything at all. She dismissed it, earlier, as a fated inconsequential sequence. I have far too many invitations to address, she considered. The ill timing, sure, the gargantuan-ness-ment--ah, dear lone Beast. She spelled Beast out with her fingers and then quickly, rather neatly, though it is never quite neat, suicided. There is only that question and then that answer, if intended to be negative and rather intrusive, surely intrusive, results in a myriad of actions with only one harmful and absolute (general) outcome. We are made of outcomes, he declared, posturing at the base of the staircase, submissive to finer culture and perhaps even ignorant of humanity, no, far from removed, placed in it ever firmly. She has chosen but one outcome that was, I dare say, quite inevitable. Gasp! She is not dead! No, she is dead. An outcome, I must admit, would not venture to suppose it was anything but itself. He had, in truth and in our confidence, been rather irked of late, due to his own inevitable (I dare say again) decline into pedestrian composition, one which he perhaps rightly blamed on maturity. Hmph, he pondered, my own growth in spiritual disposition--though far am I from humane in practice or in philosophical opinion--has now precluded me from witnessing (at least from a subjective stance) the angst, or even the hatred, that so defined my creations. Without it, ever without it now, I am not holding onto anything, not witnessing any hands turn white, and therefore, amongst the sordid lot of pub fare, I am no longer in so much self-disgust nor plagued by heightened self-awareness. I have, yes, of course, in large part due to my spiritual conquest, come to know the regular flow of this great human river, and in it, well, it is only ever cliche, and it is only ever simple, clean, and relaxing. There are, you see, only words for the outside vision of this reality, never the internal vision. But that has made me rather content, nevertheless. Though odd words at such a time (a funeral no less, and a funeral inappropriately attended by the late woman's audacious lover), there was, nonetheless, an air of closure--by what most commoner's supposed--to what was supposed to be a journey and a journey of peace without explanation and without rule. Of course, though his intention was purely ego in drive and in purpose, he nevertheless, succeeded, in such an elegant and direct way, to derive her own life plan--no easy task. We are only, she had once said, in opposition to each other but never in plan or in design. I should not have held onto that rock for so long, he mused later, but of course, most certainly, that was far before he learned that he was on a ball in a vacuum that was merely doing cart-wheels around a stove. Quite metaphoric. Gasp!

spring cleaning

The time had come at last. "No more crying!" Susan pleaded, her eyes shining in the light of the stars. My eyes were just adjusting. "I wasn't crying," I said. "I am tired of all the fighting. I am ready for..."

"For what?"

For things to be different. First you had to find a beginning, and then a middle. The end would find you. Me, all I had was middles. "The woods were lovely dark and deep" but I had no promise. Robert and I played tennis, without a net, and personally I fucking loved it.

"ah it's just laziness, that's what it is" he griped. Somewhere I'm sure above us were stars. Would he rather they burn, or rhyme?

And then there was the moon:

(

"Yourself?" my therapist suggests. "Is that what you're looking for?"

"But I'm right here. How can I be looking for myself when I AM IN FACT MYSELF?"

But it was just rhetorical. No amount of words could console Susan; when she was a baby she swallowed a black hole and we all know how that goes. And me, here, standing with this shovel, not crying, just a little dirt in my eye.

Next Day

Right after he came down, you know, after he collapsed, like, on the floor, right there in the middle of the holiday, he started muttering, real quick, at first, and then he just kind of looked up, right here, you know, right over my shoulder, and he said, he said, something like: just find something to be afraid of and run as fast as you can, and don't ever stop running, you know, just keep running like you can't ever stop. And that was it, he let it go, and a few minutes later, or maybe a few horus later, we were all huddled together, sitting on the front porch, in the cold, in that winter cold, watching him get dragged out under a blanket. And then into the ambulance and gone down the street, like that, just like that, and this time, he wasn't prepared to come back, not from that. He couldn't come back, she said, but I don't think she was really talking to me, not that I would have confused the situation, I mean, I could guess the consequences, sort of, at least more than my little brothers and sisters could have guessed the weight of the situation, they were probably too young then and they were just wide eyed, you know, like big eyed, sitting and watching the ambulance drive on down the street. I huddled with them then, like she kind of told me to do, like she told me to do when she motioned and then walked inside and slammed the door, and we just huddled out there and I all the time thinking about what I was gonna find to get me to start running, you know, like I was a goddamn train, like getting something good to be afraid of was gonna give me an energy supply, some sort of fuel to get me on down the path and onto the street and so on. What I foolish proposition. But I just sat there anyway, thinking about that, all huddled up with my brothers and sisters and thinking this time, maybe, even after this happening right in the middle of the holiday, we'd be able to vacation as a family, you know, maybe go to the waffle house, just as a family, and sit at one of those round tables, where we could all look at each other, look at each other in the face, and I could order a large stack of pancakes and help my brother cut his sausage or something, you know, like a family, on a holiday, and perhaps, she, you know, wouldn't be so goddamn upset all the time, maybe she'd even unzip her coat and stop smoking for a spell and look at us, look at us like her kids and maybe even smile and order something like scrambled eggs and bacon. I don't know, I guess I was in that daze for a little bit until my brother asked me where they were taking him and I said, I don't know I guess they are taking him where they take all dead people and my sister then, well, she started crying because she didn't really understand and then they all started crying because I don't think they really had any idea what had just happened and soon all of them were sitting on the front porch asking me what I had meant and what death meant and when was he gonna come home and I was supposed to ba answering all these questions and looking at them and telling them, I don't know, that everything was gonna be fine, and they were gonna be fine and then it hit me, you know right then, I figured it out, I figured out what I was gonna run from. That son of a bitch had given me something to be every bit afraid of for the rest of my life and so I started running and began to really pray that I never found myself huddled up outside watching another goddamn asshole get carted away in an ambulance and me all out there exposed expecting to answer a bunch of goddamn questions.

Exed

It was just the goddamn bickering, you know, the nagging, just to see if I was gonna blow up on her, just to see, you know, she was just testing me the whole time, just trying to see if I was really gonna take her down, put her in her spot and tell her, then, you know, right there, that I wasn't gonna take it like that, that I wasn't gonna sit there and let her run around me like that, make me look like some kind of fool out on the street, so I let her go, after that, you know, I just walked out, she was waiting for me to blow up, she was waiting for me to lose it and start wailing on her, oh, she could have sworn I'd do it, but I got to thinking, then, I don't know, it just wasn't what I wanted to do, not then, though I've thought, recently, that maybe I should have just let her have it, you know, just so that she'd know, all this time, that I really wouldn't let her keep the goddamn charade going on, but I didn't, I didn't do any of that, I didn't touch her, I didn't touch her at all that night, I just walked out of it, I got the hell out of there, I got out of there and I just started driving, just driving, first around and then I just got into the woods, you know its so dark out there, and I just kept driving so I ended up in the north, you know where they found me, they found me up north and said, and I can see why they'd say this because even I'd think it'd look like that, if you were gonna look at it like that, like they are going to look at it, but if you haven't done it, you know if you haven't done anything you don't think like you are guilty of anything so you act just like you act and that's what I was doing, you know, but, yeah, I was angry, you know, and I think I just started going and I got so far because I was so angry and thinking about, you know, that last instant, when I was looking at her and she was just smiling, I mean she wasn't smiling, but she was smiling, you know, she looked like she was smiling, like she was really smiling, like under all that, she was really smiling, she was really happy, and I can't, I still can't get that out of my mind, that goddamn smiling, because that is the trick and if she hadn't been smiling, or sort of smiling, I wouldn't have been so angry and I would have stopped and they wouldn't have found me way up north and came up with this story that I was guilty and that I was responsible for all this mess that happened to her, when really I was just driving and she was just smiling, that entire time, she was just smiling, and now, you know, I can't tell how to act not guilty if I am guilty and I know I acted guilty but was really not guilty, I mean do they even have guys that can look at that and understand it because I certainly can't, I mean if you look guilty and there are all these other things that make you look guilty and its what all these experts start saying is guilty, I mean I should have done it, I should have just done it, if I had known that I was going to end up in this mess looking guilty, I should have just done it and then this wouldn't be all screwed up, you know, even my lawyer is starting to close the book on this and its all because you can't know how to act when you aren't guilty, you don't know how to act as if you were guilty because if I had done it why in the heck would I drive all that way, if I was thinking, you know, I would have just gone to my uncle's and slept there and said we got in a fight and left it at that.

And I still would have looked guilty. And they still would have said you went to your uncle's and that makes you look guilty and she would still be smiling and I'd be thinking there has to be some way to go, some way to walk, where you can almost assure that you aren't guilty, at every point, you aren't guilty, no matter the circumstances. I just can't find it. And so she's smiling and I'm trying to get through this mess.

Ex

I don't really know what happened, she was in mid-sentence and then, all of sudden, she stopped, stared at me, waited, you know, sort of crying, looking real mad, and I was thinking, I sure don't get mad like that, I mean I get mad, don't get me wrong, I get mad like the next guy, sure, but not like that, you know, she had her arms crossed and all, and she was raising her eye brows and I just kept thinking, ah fuck, here it comes, you know, here comes the god damn blow that is gonna knock me clear into next week, here comes the god damn bullshit that I'll be thinking about well into even next month. You see, I knew it was coming, then, I just hadn't had a clue before then, it just didn't seem like a big deal and then all of a sudden, I mean really, all of a sudden, it was this huge deal, there was no deal bigger, you know, and she was the fricking messenger, right there in front of me, and I was just gonna sit there wide eyed and take it, just like that. Worst of all, she knew it, she knew I was all those things she was yelling about all that uncaring bullshit, she knew it, she knew I was just as distant as ever, but what she didn't know is that right then, I was prepared to take it all back, I was really prepared to take all the things that I had done that were probably unfair and uncalled for, yeah, well, I was gonna say I take them all back, I didn't mean them and you won't see anymore of that, not ever again, you aren't gonna see any of that from here on out, its just gonna be you and me and I'm gonna be the one that is paying attention, you know, to all the little details, you know, the little things that are going on like looking at your shoes and stuff and saying, I think you have a really nice pair of shoes, well that is going to be me, right there at the front of the line, hell with my hand raised. Yeah, I was ready cause I could see forward then, you know. All she was really doing is crying and yelling and not really taking in the seriousness of all this and I was thinking forward, I was thinking about what was going to happen if this really blew up, I mean really blew up, it was already sort of blown up, but what was gonna happen if this, you know, went through the roof, where would I be, then? You see, I could see where I'd be and I could even see where she'd be, you know, this wasn't all about me or all about me losing her, well, it was sort of about me losing her, or just realizing that I was going to maybe lose her, you know, like a thousand days of development smacked down in a few minutes, that could happen, you know like my brain all of sudden went into its future, like on a spaceship or something and said, whoa, this is gonna be a big deal, and right then I knew it was gonna be a big deal but I couldn't even tell her, not with her standing there and yelling and all, I couldn't even let her know that, heck, it wasn't only a few minutes, not really, it was gonna be a whole lot of hours and days and weeks and the whole thing, the whole pie, she was gonna get the whole pie.

I don't know. At least I saw something in what I wanted us to be, I guess, then. No, she just shut the door and got in her car and drove off, I think to her parents house or something, so they can now all talk about what a bad person I am and how bad I treated her and they can all gang up on me and say oh he never really cared about you, oh you are better off without him, oh he was just plain bad for you. But, you know, I know that isn't really true, I know that isn't really the case. I mean, right then, with all that, I was ready when she walked out and that is gonna be a kick on her concious when she finds out, when she knows that I was ready and she wasn't willing to let me be ready.

Y on X

Persistent and non-violent offenders, as suggested by frequency and onset, are categorized as incessant evaders, occupied by neither responsibility nor overt aggression yet inappropriately progressive in impetuous reaction, an insight neither welcome nor hypothesized by empirical scholars. An insight, nonetheless, that presumes to locate the future likelihood of criminality, in this case non-violent engagement, by identifying within individual characteristics, propensities, and attitude or personality trends. Neither the aforementioned category nor the inhabitants of the subsequent categories are rightly detailed in advanced theoretical constraints within offender research. The absence of such data, has, unfortunately, misrepresented the actual fact of Y upon X in cases where frequency is less than .014 (whereupon, X, an event of antisocial non-aggressive intent or completion, and Y, a situated choice of human agency, will, and even chance due to encounters and later decision processes). The evidence, therefore, likely persuades that ratios between .015 and .15 will result in heightened misguided analysis. Chance, it appears, while only partially invested in the will of human folly dictates a greater percentage of calculated offender events.

Due to the circumstances, once enlightened, Matthew hesitated before removing his pistol. The ratios do not comply, he considered, but he was well against the odds and likened himself to an actor responding to survival, or the oft labeled radical. No, no, Dr. Denaub scoffed, bank robbery is violent crime. His ratios would involve an entirely separate matrix.

X

Select items may be purchased for a small fee. Noted items may not be purchased in conjunction with other noted items (unless noted items are highlighted in light color, in which case, three noted items may be purchased at one time).

(In example) Following strict surveillance research, evidence and hereby suggestions indicate users maintain usual and customary spending patterns as these are unlikely to disrupt security matrices. Purchase only those ordinary household items and grocery items that have been purchased on a daily--and if in dire circumstance, weekly--basis. Items that appear in receipts less than fifteen (15) times per calendar year, as determined by prior four (4) years of purchasing averaged, will be reviewed and possibly seized (with, of course, the possible subsequent incapacitation of purchaser). Likewise, follow all usual routine activity. Deviance from these routine activities, as witnessed in customary activity averaged over the past year, will be considered seditious.

These changes are due to the raised concern about X. Of course, pending inevitable reassignment of national health and safety advisors, all lists are subject to change. And, as the noted reflex and symptoms of X are most certainly related to 1.5y - 0.25 the board, to date, is unconvinced of its ability to completely isolate the threat. Therefore, adhere strictly to past performance in order to ensure minimal misinterpretation.

Research suggests removal of negative and suspicious elements will reduce the threat of X on Y. Increased awareness of spending patterns and routine activities will, in all likelihood, be recommended.

Oh, yes, I was dismissed.

The meaninglessness adrift, and left against the pier, bang, bang. She was an enormous woman. The final analysis, perhaps determined to be the ultimate and inevitable outcome of incessant failure, listed the only options of lucrative trajectories into three categories--none of which (given the overall saddened state of his popularity) cited unknown yet aesthetically and surely spiritually relevent roles. Not even as a reference or an inspiration. The market leaders were unamusing sorts. She was the largest of them and she was a pig. They are sponges, she says. At least, I think, I am quite sure it is she who says it. Or she is quoted.

But as an aside, let us note: the authentic writer is not amused by the ill state of affairs, the unconvincing realities pursued, and the dismal betrayal of the animal, the fluid animal, or the unfettered man. There is only sincerity and dismissal and in perpetual oscillation, they do cowher, as such in dreams and in attics (though given hold of such castles in the fabrications of one tangible, one realized, one won and lost world) or fail to expose themselves to outward outlaws even formal investigations. It is an unamusing mass of exiles, amidst the only ever conforming, the only possible and passable conformists, unequipped to fathom the thought or the complexity of inadequate interaction, feeble sight, a glimpse (of ever knowing) that theirs, alas, is only the monster.

In lesson only it is their dismissal. Care kindly for the self and for the family, such holidays as those bring such joy to the desconstructionist, but only on those days is he in charity, is she in charity, for on other days, the days that do go and do not split, they are building walls that are so tall I wonder, unless she is a monster, what they might possibly want to keep inside.

It must be a monster. She is so tall and she lives in a place that is so guarded. She must be a monster. He, too, must be a monster. We should not let them out. Ha! The world in charity, again. And we would not write from dismissal.

my agentic beginnings, and soon thereafter, endings

Angry, really, at first, then a general discontent and later, when I was assured of the futile nature of the entire project, of course, apathy. The unintentional rebellion, you know, the early dismissal of co-operation ended up being rather intentional, I suppose, if you assume, perhaps crudely, that there was a logical connection, if in fact there is a logical connection, I guess I sort of assumed, along that line, that eventually any outcome posted after unintentional action becomes intended retrospectivley, it would need to be intended retrospetively, the human agency, as such, would define it as such, as a point in time dictated by a course of action, a thought perhaps, of the potential, and then, in analysis, pondered adequately into fruition, a sensed and predicted fruition--you see, dear, it was a response to an earlier set of outcomes and premises instilled in your dialogue with social context, your interactions, thereby where simply placed as only you could ever place them--quite intentional, you see, it would manifest itself as quite intentional, irrevocable and unchallengeable, indeed, in my nature, I suppose, that is the claim, so it is not surprising, against my greater defense, though I fret at such dire consequences I am in no state to challenge an official decree that I am unsound, as dramatic as that appears, unsound? why I have detailed my journey quite admirably and exhaustively, to suppose that then, in one statement of guilt and another of negligence--Could I really be two things, both in guilt (a state, I presume, which demands an ownership, an intent, it must be an intent, regardless of the textual implications otherwise) and in negligence, far from intent and without clue, without a hand in any direction, no will to direct my feebleness, do you doubt that, no, do you suggest to agree with such an analysis, even I in this state here, in this paradoxical transition, am likely to witness their intended rejection, a dismissal of inadequacy, as I dared to dress-down during the evening charade, a glimpse at my history, I ask you, and you see nothing of this mockery, this labeling, this branding, yes, I fear it was as far, to place a man of such emotional depth in a place that is not existent but in contradiction, I forever, offically claimed to be, in limbo, here, without will and yet with intent and yet without knowledge of intent, how could I recall the conversion and, yes, such an event, without intent and inclusion, and then, oh, no, for then I would be without intricacy and complexity, I would be but one of them, down there, yes, far be them to be without decency, or to contemplate my now unliveable existence, indeed, it is as such, I could not, nor in any imaginably defined state, live. I have been, by the very protector of human agency, unwritten and informed of my witless action--an actor no more. Nothing here, no more, but a thing that moves that should not move and does what it could not possibly do, not by definition, not by attitude, not by behavior. But yes, it still moves. What terror! I cannot think to be such terror. Alas!

the significant disorder (or possibility thereof)

At least he could pretend as if he was interested in my well being, had an investment, you know, in the ethics of the job--could come away, I mean, even after looking at me and seeing maybe what he thought I had done, I had been a part of, and maybe even after that, he could come away and say, well, this doesn't really have that much to do with me, I mean, it doesn't have anything to do with me, not really and then, that would be it, it would be resolved and settled, or whatever, but at least I'd have that confirmation, that he was at least, there, even after seeing what he did, or what he thinks he sees--because that is really the other issue, its what he thinks he sees and its all caught up in what he is seeing and then filtering back through what is actually there, which is clearly not what he thinks he ever wants to see, I know that, I see that with the blood and, when you have blood and broken milk containers and, have you seen that? No? Well, I can understand, all I am trying to say is that I can understand why he was probably not accostomed or not pleased with what he was seeing, because, well I don't want to go into too much detail, but with the blood and the milk and then the odd way that he was lying, against the stove, its hard to see that it wasn't pretty terrible, it is pretty terrible is what I mean, and yet all so common, you know, it makes it feel so common and futile, the image that he has, that he is probably trying to get rid of, and I feel bad for that, is that it is all so futile and here I come charging in on a massive attack, the good old monster that I am, and I make everything common, futile, ordinary, un-spetacular, you know, that is what it is, just common, milk and the refrigerator and a twisted arm or something, with mixing blood on the ground, yeah, its an unfortunate image to carry around, I admit that, but its quite common, and for him, at least, I don't want to excuse it, I am not trying to excuse it, no, that wouldn't be in my interest at all, but what I am trying to say, is that his process, his apparent inability to process the visual information and sort it out logically, objectively, interfered with his handling of the situation, a situation that dramatically altered the course of the investigation, an investigation, that I felt, should have been thorough, of course, exhaustive, and, well, ethical, is there a reason to fault ethics? I would say no, I would say that he could not distance himself from sensory attacks and he allowed those sensory attacks to dictate his subsequent action, which, to tell you the truth, is a little bit tragic, I mean, you know when you are a kid and you go to the musuem, huh? Yes, exactly, you see those books, at least at that point you are aware of the possibility of confusion, or at least complexity in the process of information gathering and, more importantly, in the weakness of pure sensory reliability. After all, and this is not an attempt to excuse the actions that were considered against the law, I accept that, I have accepted that, I did cross certain lines that were probably inappropriate and I did engage in behaviors that I find to be violating the ability for another to thrive, yes? Yes, I did. I admit that. I would and will happily admit that except it does not, nor cannot, preculde ethical response and I find that troubling, deeply troubling, especially for the guardians of the ethic. I'm sorry, what? Oh yeah, he was trying to eat the leftover potroast that I was saving for dinner so I stabbed him in the heart.

The Handlers

The goddamn production model has finally unhinged my spirit and left me undressed, rudely positioned against the arch of my former diocese--the indoctrination of the formal code of extravagance, no, morality. Yes, the final assumption that the other man has graceful insight into the explosions of the most future, the only ever future, trajectory of my lambasted skinless heart. Ah, I don't suppose it is indolence, it is most certainly not indolence. The cave has arrived in darkness and it is the give and take, the back and forth, of the madness inscribed in my ulna, I believe, perhaps, still she shaves her legs prior to entangling me in flannel sheets. That would be sex? Sure, and far from production, from this = that. On the exchange of values, plusses, substractions, goddamn arthimetic. Our hope, our grievance, in this explosive, again, of course, environment of disease, but only mediocrity, seldom casual, is the greatest lock into prenatal distraction: we are not the beings we came to be when we were becoming our being. We became unnoticed, useless, disobeyed, we became the distraction when it was, in useless chaos, meant and managed to be our absolver, our deity into the only futile and yet useful hope: pure spirit, existence, and run. I want to, at day's end, collapse, in the fever I have embraced but it is only the sickness unto the lasting failure of postponment, of this, ever delaying the magnet of sincerity, spirit, and our hollow and yet unforgivable dismissal of our womb demands that we are frivilous and generous observers and handlers of the guided land of the human desert.