The blue door with a red X

I met with Danny

and his female co-worker today. It was good.

I had an enjoyable conversation, where we covered lots of ground from the Backstreet Boys to the Mandela Effect. I even sang a little ditty component of “Unmistakable” by BSB. The Berenstein Bears were referenced in support of the M.E.

I expressed my hate for the world. How I hate it. There is nothing I like, I said, except for the things I’ll always use — computers and books. And even there, there’s limitations. The first limitation is that computers are geared toward the needs of a subferior population, geeks, losers. The strange-minded. The second limitation is that censors operate around the output tube of the production of books, not the least of which are internal-mind censorship producers.

I hate the sidewalks and the people scurrying along. I hate the monotonic sound the crowd makes. I detest the Salvation Army at Christmas positioned at key points in shopping malls seeking giveaways. I loathe girls going “Yes! Exactly!” or “I know!”

And finally, I hate myself for my weakness in tolerating all this, and doing zip-all to change my environment. My fist will not close almost all the way; this idiosyncrasy spells (spels) my doom.

We sat in the Tim Hortons a few steps down the street.

The midday temperature seemed cool. I wore my Rush hoodie which I’ll love so. (flaring red colors around the world; the standing figure warding off something from within his pentagram)

*inhaled breath actively*

I’m listening to Chris Huelsbeck Vol.1 Shades on YouTube. I’m surprised there haven’t been more ads. They’ve started doubling up ads, one unbreakable following one you can click past. Touche.

We spent about twenty minutes there before their leaving. I had to go to the bathroom anyway — or thought I did. When I arrived here I don’t think I pissed.

My time is fleeting. My awareness is centered on my surroundings.

I wonder . . . I wonder if I’m in error about my strategies in dealing with this scenario of This Place. I don’t really think so, but their have been so many delays from The Jealous One . . . since Oct./Nov., 8 or 9 months ago, I’ve waited for The Event Emboldened Enlightened to happen. The ONE THING. THE ONE THING I’ve waited for. Which would free me to move.

It’s got to happen, and happen soon. I’ve targeted my activities like mutual laser beams on that to ensure it will explode with confetti-like pieces into flying arcing reality. Soon it will happen. Soon it better happen. Soon.

The Russians will be a useful and heartfelt addition into the Family Four. They have been far distant from the campfire for too long — their entry into its warmth and light will reduce the long winters they suffer as they guard the Eastern Stretches.

What is it about them that fascinates X so? Their beautiful Slavic women, akin to X’s deepest genes? Their “urr! urr!” as they straggle across the frozen landscape of deepest wintry combat? Their appreciation for Rachmaninoff?

Their letters of whom a language of the greatest literature was formed? Something I, a writer, a novelist-in-embryo could appreciate?

*nods head down, frozen in thought*

I will think on this.

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