Post by Jack Q. Pembry on Feb 10, 2017 0:11:52 GMT -5
My brother died when I was still very young.
The concept of death was somewhat new to me. I knew death on a theoretical level, but personal experience revealed the true nature of experiencing loss. It is almost inescapable, except to those who themselves pass while very young. Whatever secrets these children learn, they keep with them. As do all who die. Whisper to them, hold them, plead with them... and there is this: an echo.
I never told my parents what I had seen in The Trees. My brother was a husk even then, and it was as if I had coincidentally run into his displaced soul as I lay bleeding and dirty on a hillside three miles from home. Why was he there? Why hadn't he helped me? Why did the shell lying in his bed at home seem unaware of this experience?
Hello. Hello.
337-37464-9283
Quentin, or whoever he is to you now, was active long before he met me. A rock, a creek, and an eight year old neighbor boy when he was fifteen. I did not know this story for a long time, but upon hearing it, I immediately knew it was true. He had followed his risky impulses throughout the midwest. Arrested several times before we'd even met. Burglaries, assault, fraud... all of these incidental, serving only to keep his engine running for his true passions.
He showed me the loopholes in identity. Or knots, I suppose they could be called. The way things were operated then, there was no shortage of methods you could use to short circuit bureaucracy. His methods are primitive, obsolete now. I hope he'd be able to admire the things I've since discovered.
He was gluttonous and incapable of operating a long con. Screaming fits, head bashing, the most inept lies imaginable if we were lucky.
And then he took a toll (or two, or three) away from the Highwayman, and that was his end.
337-28495-9374
Martin. A pervert. A creep. A coward with a lot of showmanship and an endless streak of luck. This hypocrite has readily lied about me at every opportunity, and while these lies have benefited me on the whole, I am still unhappy about the path our friendship took. He likes to play the lapdog when he's not busy mentoring the weak and unworthy. He keeps an eye out, and he has good reason to. He's a good shot. Have always admired that. But they're closing in on him now. It's only a matter of time.
Did my theses inspire him? How about those videos he claims not to have seen? You will know them soon. Perhaps they will inspire you.
But obfuscation. All obfuscation. Misdirection is another talent of his, as is preying on those who like to think they're prepared. So maybe he has the upper hand after all.
We'll see.
337-93752-8573
Joseph Bright. Has enough been said about this disappointment now? The "Terror of Carnival", the artist, the PR man, the actor, the storyteller. So many titles.
He's gone now.
337-18475-4757
Senor Bambos. Home again.
And for this small place in time, all is right.
The concept of death was somewhat new to me. I knew death on a theoretical level, but personal experience revealed the true nature of experiencing loss. It is almost inescapable, except to those who themselves pass while very young. Whatever secrets these children learn, they keep with them. As do all who die. Whisper to them, hold them, plead with them... and there is this: an echo.
I never told my parents what I had seen in The Trees. My brother was a husk even then, and it was as if I had coincidentally run into his displaced soul as I lay bleeding and dirty on a hillside three miles from home. Why was he there? Why hadn't he helped me? Why did the shell lying in his bed at home seem unaware of this experience?
Hello. Hello.
337-37464-9283
Quentin, or whoever he is to you now, was active long before he met me. A rock, a creek, and an eight year old neighbor boy when he was fifteen. I did not know this story for a long time, but upon hearing it, I immediately knew it was true. He had followed his risky impulses throughout the midwest. Arrested several times before we'd even met. Burglaries, assault, fraud... all of these incidental, serving only to keep his engine running for his true passions.
He showed me the loopholes in identity. Or knots, I suppose they could be called. The way things were operated then, there was no shortage of methods you could use to short circuit bureaucracy. His methods are primitive, obsolete now. I hope he'd be able to admire the things I've since discovered.
He was gluttonous and incapable of operating a long con. Screaming fits, head bashing, the most inept lies imaginable if we were lucky.
And then he took a toll (or two, or three) away from the Highwayman, and that was his end.
337-28495-9374
Martin. A pervert. A creep. A coward with a lot of showmanship and an endless streak of luck. This hypocrite has readily lied about me at every opportunity, and while these lies have benefited me on the whole, I am still unhappy about the path our friendship took. He likes to play the lapdog when he's not busy mentoring the weak and unworthy. He keeps an eye out, and he has good reason to. He's a good shot. Have always admired that. But they're closing in on him now. It's only a matter of time.
Did my theses inspire him? How about those videos he claims not to have seen? You will know them soon. Perhaps they will inspire you.
But obfuscation. All obfuscation. Misdirection is another talent of his, as is preying on those who like to think they're prepared. So maybe he has the upper hand after all.
We'll see.
337-93752-8573
Joseph Bright. Has enough been said about this disappointment now? The "Terror of Carnival", the artist, the PR man, the actor, the storyteller. So many titles.
He's gone now.
337-18475-4757
Senor Bambos. Home again.
And for this small place in time, all is right.