Into the fray...

It’s just a little crackerbox of a two story duplex, and it should have been my first clue as to what kind of shape it was in when it was part of the deal to begin with.  You know, one of those ‘Here, I’ll sell you this comfortable old house sitting on this big corner lot if you’ll agree to take this damn duplex off my hands…’ kind of deals   Yea. 

The whole affair does not have a happy history for me, but history or no history it has to be finished out one way or another.  After letting the whole sad affair steep for a-while, and sampling the extract for toxins (came back reasonably clean, I’ve dealt with worse)  I’ve decided the best way to put the whole affair to peace is to honor my word that was given to perfect strangers.  Story goes like this, and it’s true.

Perpetual...

Opening of a conversation

I doubt I'll ever even get close to finishing this story, not unless I find myself locked in a castle in Scotland or some other strange circumstance of acute isolation.  Telling a story in pictures just takes an awfully long time when you're no faster at painting than I am.  Still though from time to time when my world of real life turns towards burdensome issues that are beyond addressing it is pleasant to drop in on Sha and Keyanna, First and Second and their conversations concerning the nature of the floating nodes who call themselves Human.

News of my world?  At the moment I'm treading the edges of half a dozen life traps, some set by my world, others no doubt of my own devising.  I'm stepping very carefully these days, watching where I put my feet in both the inner and the outer realities.  The traps of the outer reality are not nearly as dangerous as the traps of the inner don't you know.  Most of those you can, as the song says, defeat with lawyers, guns and money.  It's the inner traps that carry the greater risk.  Oh, well.  That's life, comes in the mail.  Who's gonna carry the mail? Right. Catch ya'll later, life is banging on the back door.  Again.

It’s always the last thing you’d expect…

Mission made, Brutus roars again.  Damndest thing I’ve ever seen, if I hadn’t seen it I’d be inclined to say “well, maybe in some other universe…”  But I did see it, and reality trumps all opinion.  I’ll tell the tale here, and toss the Gods of Google a couple of bottles of Gatorade (contrary to the rumors the volcano gods of technology don’t really give a hoot about anyone’s sexual history, what they’re interested in is potassium based electrolytes, they actually like the sports drink better than a virgin daughter… no annoying calcium to dispose of) to pass the story on to those who might need and/or deserve to know. 

The culprit?  Sand.  Silicate heavy blow sand to be specific.  Where?  That’s the odd and interesting part. If you’re here trying to fix your truck skip to the bottom of this post for the answer.