I'm back.
Three months and five states later. I got news, kiddies, so sit down and hear me out.
Okay, first off, about what I was saying earlier. Before that woman contacted me and I suddenly got popular, I mean. About my house. You know, that was my house. Maybe that's just how we Americans operate, but once I put a payment on anything, that sucker's mine. So after two days, I done came up with a few conclusions, the first of which was: I didn't really see what I thought I saw. It was a monoxide leak. Or I got sloshed and had some episode. Two days in a motel was plenty for me to work up the old courage and go back.
Somebody was living in the house. In my house.
Two somebodys, turned out. Twin brothers. My stuff was there, at least the furniture I could see through the windows, but they were livin it up like nothing was wrong. The window I thought I busted thru was replaced and everything looked almost normal but damn if you just don't know what to do when you come home and find two strangers living in your house. I wasn't even bothered that they could be out to kill me or something. You know what worried me? That they were going thru my stuff, puttin they're grubby paws all over my music CDs, my underwear, sleeping under my covers. Dammit.
I would of stayed outside, just watching them move around like shadows behind the drapes, but then this nest of blackbirds made a racket flying outta that little elm tree in the front yard, and I see those twins at the window staring at me. Then the front door opened like someone was there inviting me inside. But no one was there. And something in the Loreen brain said "No monoxide leak, no drunken nightmare, move your ass." So I listened, and I bailed. Left my CDs and my clothes and my fucken house behind.
A few months later, one of them brothers found me in Utah, and I had to kill him dead.
Now I got some of that outta the way I need to tell you important information. Enough with the history. I'm your secret agent, out in the field, getting you the files you need to stay alive.
Theory: Somebody had to start building these things, right? I started snooping around. Here's what I found out. Get your pencils out.
Near as I can tell, the original designer of the floorplans was a man named Jared Lewis. He tore down his own house in Topeka and built a new one on top of the foundation. Family left him at some point in the process.
Okay but there's more. Lewis was an old student or disciple of some nut named Jack Parsons. Man oh man is there a ton of background on Parsons. Too much to go into here. But this Lewis guy went after this home building project like he was some land-based Noah.
So I'm still collecting information on this Jared Lewis and his little group of followers. I should also have some goodies like an actual floorplan and maybe some photos of the house, assuming I get up the courage to visit the one in the city where I'm squatting now.
Damn gotta go talk more later
Okay, first off, about what I was saying earlier. Before that woman contacted me and I suddenly got popular, I mean. About my house. You know, that was my house. Maybe that's just how we Americans operate, but once I put a payment on anything, that sucker's mine. So after two days, I done came up with a few conclusions, the first of which was: I didn't really see what I thought I saw. It was a monoxide leak. Or I got sloshed and had some episode. Two days in a motel was plenty for me to work up the old courage and go back.
Somebody was living in the house. In my house.
Two somebodys, turned out. Twin brothers. My stuff was there, at least the furniture I could see through the windows, but they were livin it up like nothing was wrong. The window I thought I busted thru was replaced and everything looked almost normal but damn if you just don't know what to do when you come home and find two strangers living in your house. I wasn't even bothered that they could be out to kill me or something. You know what worried me? That they were going thru my stuff, puttin they're grubby paws all over my music CDs, my underwear, sleeping under my covers. Dammit.
I would of stayed outside, just watching them move around like shadows behind the drapes, but then this nest of blackbirds made a racket flying outta that little elm tree in the front yard, and I see those twins at the window staring at me. Then the front door opened like someone was there inviting me inside. But no one was there. And something in the Loreen brain said "No monoxide leak, no drunken nightmare, move your ass." So I listened, and I bailed. Left my CDs and my clothes and my fucken house behind.
A few months later, one of them brothers found me in Utah, and I had to kill him dead.
Now I got some of that outta the way I need to tell you important information. Enough with the history. I'm your secret agent, out in the field, getting you the files you need to stay alive.
Theory: Somebody had to start building these things, right? I started snooping around. Here's what I found out. Get your pencils out.
Near as I can tell, the original designer of the floorplans was a man named Jared Lewis. He tore down his own house in Topeka and built a new one on top of the foundation. Family left him at some point in the process.
Okay but there's more. Lewis was an old student or disciple of some nut named Jack Parsons. Man oh man is there a ton of background on Parsons. Too much to go into here. But this Lewis guy went after this home building project like he was some land-based Noah.
So I'm still collecting information on this Jared Lewis and his little group of followers. I should also have some goodies like an actual floorplan and maybe some photos of the house, assuming I get up the courage to visit the one in the city where I'm squatting now.
Damn gotta go talk more later