Let's say a cheerful 'hello' to the NSA, since they're collecting everything. Bee-tee-dubs, you should review the visitor and vendor badges for the FBI HQ in NYC, especially in the two/three months after 9/11... Y'all might find some interesting things. Like my name. At least twice. (Those 4 hour 'pink' badges last a while longer than that.) Do you need the dates? You sorry, over-burdened surveillance-minded bastards. I should post a link to something tasty, then? I'm sure you've all read Orwell's '1984,' right? Find it yourselves.
Just doing your jobs, right? Do you know that we executed captured Japanese, Nazis, Koreans and Viet Cong for that? Keep it in mind.
I still know the layout of that room, and the few penetrations it avails. Some of us know 'buildings' really well. How much has that telcom room changed? The blocks on the cabling shafts? Not much, I'd say.
Good luck on all your ventures... Some of us have taken oaths to protect America. Are you doing that? Are we cross?
"...I could fill your cup,
You know my rhythm won't evaporate
This world we still appreciate.
You could be my luck,
Even in a hurricane of frowns
I know that we'd be safe and sound..."
Capital Cities, "Safe and Sound." Freakin' rocks.
Late afternoon breezes pull their stunts in down-draughts and warm whispers, bringing the smell of the sea from a few miles away... The grass withers to its unwatered tawniness. My eternal nemesis, morning glory, spreads its pretty white bell-shaped flowers hither and thither. (Why do they even sell those seeds?) Multi-color carrots, yellow crooked-neck squash and purply eggplant spring into delicious being out in the garden, and two baby crow-friends molt and beg at the roof's edge. (Multi-grain crisps for them... such cute little guys. Or gals, I can't tell the diff' 'til they're adults.) Sol edges toward its 'Golden Hour' of deep yellows and orange. The dogs are randomly barking at 'who-dos' in the alley. We all know there's no one there. Ups are for shutting.
Greetings, fair readers. Passed a big 'viewing' milestone on this blog recently. 'Tis all in the numbers, babies. In spite of my hiatus - been busy and gone a lot, getting tan by default - there are still huge hits every now and then. SO, thanks for reading, even if you're robots in the Czech Republic.
I apologize that there hasn't been a lot here for a while. Sometimes, actual life takes precedence.
Durd'n and I were seeming to dance. I could hear the muted lobstery click-clack of his exoskeleton brushing against itself, but he didn't care. He was shuckin' and groovin'. We were dancing to music we couldn't hear, as far as I knew. We had the same vibe, and we danced to it. The Wibros came along into the lime-green room, from where I don't fathom, and joined us. They vacillated wildly, but in sync. They slew myriad colors, and it was entrancing. It looked like a Detroit jazz club in the 30's, before all the shit that followed. You can't stifle fun, even though you try.
The Wibros were not party-poopers. The AMHRF Greys looked at us like we were stoned or something, as did my security detail. Blank, steely black eyes followed us on stiff little necks.
"You guys need to lighten up," I pressed, "They're fixing the ship, and we need to enjoy life at times."
"Blinx, Klargen."
I was a soldier once, long ago, and I think it still influences my daily walk and talk. My general world-view. I sit with my back to a wall in public, whenever possible, to assess my situation without surprises. I memorize license plates, I watch the skies, I scan for threats of all kinds in all places. I do my 'detective work.' Mus'n't be caught unawares. I walk to/from places like I KNOW where I'm walking to/from, with a purpose in mind. (Meandering and/or Birkenstock-ing is for foolhardy victims.) I configure low and high escapes from everywhere I end up. (Don't want to be 'center-mass' if you don't have to be. Mix it up, people.) I still back into parking spots to facilitate quick exits. I can still hit shit if I shoot shit. Blowguns, rifles, pistols, very small rocks. Really doesn't matter. If I aim at it, it's as good as gone. Or, touched molecularly. (It that the politically-correct way to say 'destroyed with malice aforethought?' Maybe.)
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