Two bearded oafs built like slabs of frozen meat, handling a Helmschmidt armoire like it's freshly assembled from the local WalMart. I've got a good mind to report them, get them fired. I swear, if there's even a scratch ---
If I'm like a bear with a sore head it's with good reason. Considering the date today, and what happened a year ago. I should have rang Delores, she would've liked to talk --- but it's been four months now since she last stopped by ---
It makes me think about what she gave me after the funeral, and what she said. I still don't understand it --- probably never will ---
I wonder if Ann will visit today. Maybe I'll call her, see if she fancies dinner. Maybe one day she'll say yes. Silly old goat, Orville --- just check over your armoire and hope it doesn't snow.
O, but what a melancholy Winter day the gruesome face of Memory has provided us all with!
It was so cold as to chill one's very Imagination, and the tragic fate of Ms. Lee removed all enthusiasm from my morning's regular task, standing outside of Jack's Place and handing out atheist pamphlets, written by myself and published by my personal press, naturally.
I fear I shant even be capable of composing singular sonnets today, for my Mind is distracted by that dreadful end. I fear that I shall spend the rest of this morose day in my study with my faithful library of 18th and 19th Century poetry.
I've been developng my next novella in my head and today the best idea came to me: what about a novel based on the demise of Courgar Ridge's own Ana Lee? It would be a detective murder mystery with all the bells and whistles.
Of course, beng a Bill Stevens story, its gotta have some great, unexpected twist. I'm thinking maybe of trowing in sme vampires. It seems like vampires are pretty big right now, so I could cash in on that. Maybe I'll ask for some people's thoughts on this idea when I visit Jack's Place later today for my midday coffee.
I'm pretty exicted about this one, I think it may be the big one, the one that finally gets my genius and mastery over the craft of English language recognized. All I need now is the title, something that leaps out and grabs you and forces you to read the work. I'll have to work on that. Maybe orville will have some nice old literary refernce I coul duse, he's usually pretty good with that ort of thing.
American newspapers, I am undecided if they leave me more angry or depressed. These institutionalised journalists, so besotted with political rhetoric and the cult of celebrity that they seem incapable of broaching any other topic. Perhaps they believe the world beyond these shores to exist only in the minds of fantasists such as Doyle and Verne, that social upheaval in Rwanda and the plight of Chechnyans are depraved works of fiction, with implications that do not affect those more interested in the latest faux pas of their locally elected Democrat
( ... )
This is when it all gets busy, the lunch rush. Never really appreciated before I opened this place, back when I was a fed, but now I'm the other side of the counter and normally I couldn't be happier. Except today.
What might have been, what might have been, a potrait of her life. No fool would say we live this way without a will to survive.
Paraphrasing the song, I know, but it's close. You can see it on the eyes of the people as they make their orders. We all know, but don't say it out loud. It's quiet conversation, or withdrawn glances. We all know what we should be saying, what we want to say, but we're... not allowed. Or should I say I know what I want to say but aren't allowed. I could do with a sign, to show that whoever runs things from above hasn't forgotten.
Hope it snows soon, my temples can't take much more of this aching...
Comments 9
Two bearded oafs built like slabs of frozen meat, handling a Helmschmidt armoire like it's freshly assembled from the local WalMart. I've got a good mind to report them, get them fired. I swear, if there's even a scratch ---
If I'm like a bear with a sore head it's with good reason. Considering the date today, and what happened a year ago. I should have rang Delores, she would've liked to talk --- but it's been four months now since she last stopped by ---
It makes me think about what she gave me after the funeral, and what she said. I still don't understand it --- probably never will ---
I wonder if Ann will visit today. Maybe I'll call her, see if she fancies dinner. Maybe one day she'll say yes. Silly old goat, Orville --- just check over your armoire and hope it doesn't snow.
Reply
It was so cold as to chill one's very Imagination, and the tragic fate of Ms. Lee removed all enthusiasm from my morning's regular task, standing outside of Jack's Place and handing out atheist pamphlets, written by myself and published by my personal press, naturally.
I fear I shant even be capable of composing singular sonnets today, for my Mind is distracted by that dreadful end. I fear that I shall spend the rest of this morose day in my study with my faithful library of 18th and 19th Century poetry.
Reply
Of course, beng a Bill Stevens story, its gotta have some great, unexpected twist. I'm thinking maybe of trowing in sme vampires. It seems like vampires are pretty big right now, so I could cash in on that. Maybe I'll ask for some people's thoughts on this idea when I visit Jack's Place later today for my midday coffee.
I'm pretty exicted about this one, I think it may be the big one, the one that finally gets my genius and mastery over the craft of English language recognized. All I need now is the title, something that leaps out and grabs you and forces you to read the work. I'll have to work on that. Maybe orville will have some nice old literary refernce I coul duse, he's usually pretty good with that ort of thing.
Reply
Reply
What might have been, what might have been, a potrait of her life. No fool would say we live this way without a will to survive.
Paraphrasing the song, I know, but it's close. You can see it on the eyes of the people as they make their orders. We all know, but don't say it out loud. It's quiet conversation, or withdrawn glances. We all know what we should be saying, what we want to say, but we're... not allowed. Or should I say I know what I want to say but aren't allowed. I could do with a sign, to show that whoever runs things from above hasn't forgotten.
Hope it snows soon, my temples can't take much more of this aching...
Reply
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