2. The “Honest Modern” : An Interpretive Dance

“I don’t abide by rules imposed by the society writ large,” he muttered, “I listen carefully to the orders instructively placed on my desk. So, if you’d please – get back from the door, take your bus back to your Journal News cabana expo outlet and ask someone else to consider some illegally nonsensical conformational hearing after sticking their neck out for you. No, nice try, maybe next time!” I get that’s how James made Tom Littlewood leave on a covertly-covered-up-wallpaper-low-note. “The post-modern advancement of what the God engine had scripted in the amphitheater of the doom,” I suppose a second burden of power to the mess made by the leakers of classified notes on the grounds that the game theory was at stake. “NOT THE GAME THEORY.”

That dream was intricate.

That was not what I thought was his exit through my “forever” back to camp with a bit of luck from mapmakers, mathematicians & necromancers (don’t ask). I have been locked in on that front for two weeks and already it was a new cast of shadowy sirens. “I get you LEE!”

“Nash didn’t get me, either. I thought it was true back when we came up with the Min/Max Theory, but that day wasn’t mine to face, either.” Okay, is this a filler for the same reasons we have good dramatic outbursts? Like the thing you see on a Harvard campus during spring formal, you know, walk past Mayflower and take the second left to exit Townsend and suddenly it’s the syndrome of necromancer writ honest modern. I saw their moves and stances to that extent that someone can hear the déjà vu in your voice and be genuinely confused for a prisoner of a supposedly fun post mistress of the 50’s.

“I know life wasn’t the same for you today, time wasting your mind away, wondering when it’s going to be the right time start our study for those harder exams.” Chloe Beth Littlewood said that in the ninth grade & someone spit. It was close, but here’s why she said that that way: “you don’t care about exams unless you’re in that circle, and no we were not even on the same playing field.”

“Who’s Chloe?” asked Tonia.

“Nobody, maybe that meant I was becoming more & more hemmed into it by my imagination,” the drowsiness set into a Lithium overload of the kind that this new drug was offsetting, “I’m on a new medication today.” So forgiven was the incurious who had never even imagined it. I was on some new management cycle of my lacking brain bandwidth made costly, effectively nulla & devoid of it – making statements that sounded like my personality was all but uprooted, but it wasn’t my fault, nor was it Dee’s, not even going bother accusing Tonia, and who dare even look in the eyes of Deek Nesbitt? I know, I know, Dee and Deek. It’s not so silly if you know the difference.

“WAKE UP DEEK!”

No he sleeping in the laundry room. Deek is batshit psycho but that’s the fun part. He told me a story after he entered with grade A PCX molecule that he was tormented by a vivid real like account of potentially being in the vampire dimension. Not the lost souls who inject you to save you from joining the cannibals of yore, not the serpents who graced him by a touch without death, the kind that never was meant to be anything other than tortured batshit. I mean the literal stuff of seeing the bats come through their screecher ways into a room where your being was stationed and asking if that meant you had seen too much, after all, not that unconsciously walking into every room could be helped by an inconsolable Deek. He was going psychomotor unresponsively possessed by the devil in the next simulation.