Minifix

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Greg drew sketches of objects his irises picked up ‘outside him’ he says.

Carl on the other side of the studio wrote sketches. He used words like puzzle bits and his pencil like a brush. ‘The mind’ he said, ‘is the canvas’.

There was a particular one that drew my attention, so to speak. It had words which I fail to recall one by one but suffice to say it was about a tree. The ground were it stood describes ‘an April, early spring, just when the sun began to melt away winter’s remaining snowfall.’ ‘The dirt was wet’, I remember it said, ‘soft enough to leave a knee imprint of a careful tending gardner.’ The soil gave the impression of being brown and rich with an occasional patch of a new shoots of green grass and here and there even a weed was mentioned as part of the scene ‘waking to the mild efforts of the sun and its exertion to warm the land and do away with its cold, arctic wind competitor.’

There after the sketch read a bit more different because the task at hand required a great deal of dexterity on the part of the describer. The sketcher must be well versed in the study of forestry in as much as vocabulary goes. One would argue, to paraphrase Gertrud Stein, a tree is a tree is a tree. No doubt the masses would agree but to the artist at hand, every word is like a different shade of color added to the ‘object’ being retold in words. There is no doubt that color is recalled on the mind, in ‘the canvas’, of the reader but it in itself is not solely the only part which is vital.

Linear aspects must also be taken into account. The background provides dimensionality to the description. The word is in the stone age compared to the eye. So as my eyes scanned the sketch for those qualities, my soul looked into my mind for these details, ever so important to the description, in order to see what this poor alphabetical system of ours had to offer. Needless to say, if the sketch manages to redraw its purpose/object in the mind and then recreate the image, see able by the ocular capacity of the mind, then it has succeeded.

But I will digress no more. Please bear in mind that I’m merely paraphrasing here because I can never really describe what I saw in that written sketch but merely tell you what I saw.

The tree had been trimmed and what seemed attempts at hacking its life from the ground with little obvious successes. It stood, the tale tells, ‘between a half corroded fence and some rusty railroads where commuter trains passed by every fifteen minutes’. The tree was dark-brown in color, almost surely filled with soot due to the surrounding industrial complex and the passing of the locomotives. Branches spread out and the bark gave it a respectful and peaceful look. Its branches weren’t that thick, I read, but sturdy enough for a child to cling to it and swing about somewhat. It was more in looks like the hand of a rheumatic in old age except these boughs were sprouting new leaves, receiving nourishment, no doubt, from winter’s past snow.

It was a sign of hope in a wasteland.

There was only that one chance. The crowds were thick enough to create a diversion and grab it. The money bag lay idle in the counter, so it would be enough for a fire alarm to cause a small panic, stretch the arm, grab the dough and make a run for the door. The only obstacle would be the guard at the door, a buffy looking security agent who seemed in love with his job. He had the handcuffs in plain view, as well as a can of pepper spray and a mean looking baton, which he caressed with his left hand like a cat owner would his pet. Just then a scanty clad dame popped in distracting the buffy looking guy who was being a gentleman by pointing her to somewhere as they walked together a bit. Gary saw his chance and walked towards the book section and stopped near the emergency fire alarm, pulled it and started to walk fastly towards the counter so as not to raise suspicions. At the sound of the alarm everyone became disconcerted and moved quickly to get the heck out of there. Gary grabbed the dough just when the clerk was trying to figure out what was happening and made a dash for the door. He ran as fast as he could.

Ernest didn’t feel like opening that can of beer, he had enough, really enough of his drudge monotony. Nearly fed up with the daily drinking. So he picked up his keys, put his jacket on, checked that the radio was off and he left his flat. Down the elevator, he came across a neighbor he was pissed at so he just gave him looks that killed, and then proceeded to say hi to the first passerby he met. 9pm and he smelled the city, it smelled like popcorn does at the movies except that it was drizzling. So he kept walking, destination unknown thinking that maybe it was time to pay a visit to an old girlfriend of his. On the way there he found a wet quarter, picked it up and started to flip it up in the air. Should he walk there and see her or should he take a cab? Should he just drop by or should he announce his visit?

Olga was in the mood for some shopping. She donned a miniskirt, and a shirt that fit like a glove marking her voluptuous body at every curve. The stiletto high heel shoes put the extra touch in a very nice outfit. Looking outside the window she noticed some small rain drops in her pane. She grabbed an umbrella just in case her hairdo came into danger. Looking one last time in the mirror, she checked her deep red lipstick color in her lips.

The weather was grey and the city noises was a mishmash of screams, crying and yelling with that of cars passing by and a police car with its siren still on. The ambulances had the siren lights on, resembling a death disco of sorts. To the left of the sidewalk bundles of money and shiny coins were scattered across it, were curious onlookers stared, waiting, like vultures, for a distraction from the only police car to have arrived at the scene of the accident. Some handcuffs lay strewn on the street, and a security guard sat by the sidewalk with a bruised head and what seemed to be blood running from his nose, dripping down to the wet asphalt. Two bodies were being attended by medics and one was already being carried inside the ambulance in what seemed to be an unconscious state. The other body, a female, had some red lipstick smeared in her face and a miniskirt displaying fine long looking legs and some broken high heel shoes. She was being pumped air and an inyection glared all the lights that the city could reflect on its metal needle that moment.

When the trees started to swoosh with the force of the winds my hair began to be caressed by the gusts of the fresh morning breeze. My neck felt the coolness of the early hours light and I kept walking against the gales and ended up loving the chilly air touching my face, I fell in love with my life, that moment anyways, for the very first time in many months.

As I passed my surroundings, keeping straight along the asphalt of the walkway, I noticed, as I went along, the early grass sprouts shooting up as August Strindberg would say, amongst last autumns fallen leaves, looking rather curious as their pointy ends barely made it through the brownish brittle leaves and other tree debris that covered the ground. It had been a hard winter and the landscape offered no consolation for months on end, but now all that was changing. The sun paid us more visits and the weather gave us chances to take off our jackets and wear light clothing. It brought also lighter moods as more laughter could be heard as people walked by each other, people seemed cheerful and willing to meet each other.

I had decided to pay a visit to an old friend of mine that day, who I hadn’t seen in many weeks and as I heard he was about to embark on a long trip, I wanted to give him my best wishes for the duration of his sojourn.

On way there, looking up towards the partially clouded sky, I was amazed at the majesticity of the shapes and colors of the clouds. It was nice and the few patches of clear sky allowed for the rays of the sun to shoot off straight lines of light through the bluepurplelish hues that the soft cottoned looking clouds had. In that scene, there was that God element in it that made one see how insignificant one is at times in the presence of such marvellous nature.

Then that same night he told her he couldn’t lie, they drank beer, lying right there on the spot to each other. He had that flash, that flash that’s like a chain and ball, heard the chin-cling loud and clear and wanted freedom. He felt high as ever, didn’t really want part of her, he wanted to run, he didn’t like her, liked her; he wanted no part, wanted all her parts.

Then it took him 24 hours just to get her out of his system, to stop feeling any good about her and the time they spent together talking about the theater and how she was the way she was, while he just sat there listening, listening to her voice, melodious, almost like Ulysses being strapped to the mast, listening to the sirens, calling him, only he wasn’t strapped, he was there, willing, he wanted her, I was intoxicated. Me and my little voice struggling there, here in this piece of paper, trying to sort this out, and I can’t, I can to a certain extent. Me and my little voice, counseling me, do it; don’t it. Lie, don’t lie; tell her, how much you want her, tell her the truth, maybe she’ll buy it. Stop thinking about her, I can’t stop, I want to say so much, then reality sets in, I can’t, I must abide me, it be wrong to hurt someone else this way, lying …. All’s fair in love and war?

What is it about two people that just want each other? There are two things I loathe, hunger and sex, they distract me from my studies, they do, they really do.

– Wanna drink coffee?
– No thanks, am bored, I don’t know where am going, what I want nor a purpose; I am already high, thank you.
– I least you have politeness, come again sometime?

‘The sun shone, the last I saw her’ He said, ‘the curtains in my flat were drawn, and I had Blue Six on. Some silky song about some naked pair, somewhere in Paris. I didn’t feel for the news so I kept the TV in the dark, or was it the other way around, I just don’t know anymore who is it that keeps who in the dark.’
And then, like a hit soul by Cupid he thought on: he kept fantasying.

– I didn’t really wanted to say I love you, but I did, in my head; I did wanted to tell you, but I didn’t, didn’t I? Then he answered himself
– No, I couldn’t read your mind that day. He thought of speaking to her: there is a secret, a secret that will destroy this, which we have now, this time, this hour, the present.
– Come again?
– I already have, once or twice, and am still feeling ill, the good kind.

Then he kept quiet. Only to mull once more.
Three days and four moral scolds have gone since I saw her, and through two days I sent her a million sms’eses in my head while battling my emotions, compulsions. I didn’t fuck her, and I feel fucked all the way, my brains juiced out of power; I been way too long alone with someone else, I needed a woman, and that woman just had me for hors d’oeuvre.

What is it about women and their fragrance? Just leave me alone! They drive me nuts, I don’t want any of it, let me smell it! I say, quietly, to myself, and I run back as fast as I can to her presence in my head. I want her intoxicating voice, just let me have a vowel or two, let me have you again, and again over some beer at some pub, music sounds better with you. I want to pretend that which I am not, you give me life, woman, I love you and desperately need you out of my life, you disturb everything I have. My fantasies of you are just plain weekends, so I can return back to my double life. But I want to send you so bad, an SMS, only one; please get yourself back together. Compose yourself, so I did.
By midnight I composed a letter, far from being an SMS and short from turning into an e-mail, it was about recalling that fateful day of her appearance, her powerful stamina, and my weak sentimental constitution as I waited hoping for her not to come, to come to me. I was no match for her; she was a sturdy femme fatale….

Act one: Drama out of proportions

Anton: It will go fast, the remorse and qualms ails us, I promise it will go quickly.

Cleops: We can not stand idle and do nothing. In history we will go down as the most cowards of all generations. Having power, we did not use it. Instead, we remain, frightened. So the the military will just have to put us out of our misery. This wretched dogging must die.

Anton: By the time we are back in our dancing studios, our favorite drinking holes, our luscious desires for money quenched and aspirations of a better life, You won one million dollars! dreams are put to place again, we will have forgotten.

Cleops: Suffering children will not accost us anymore, the thought of bombing people because the fear of our western brothers made us compelled to protest in silence shall be no more. We will go down, the showdown is about to begin! CNN awaits your active participation. Take out the popcorn, cokes and all. Stocks soar. Soon those brown faces will disappear from our consciousness our moralizing about how others are to be shall continue after the pause, Gad, how I miss the crusades ….

Dear Lisia:

Every now and then I get this sort of melancholy and I come to think of you. I often feel I betrayed you, that in the course of that drink we had, that intoxicating love we shared to the last drop, somewhere, lies were swallowed. Fantasies were lived and I was stabbed by my cowardness in the back. I still think very much of you as you can see by these letters.

Its been five years now, nearly that anyway since I left. I couldn’t leave my children. I have a fractured past you see, I am a fatherless child, my mother an alcoholic that through the years, I’ve come to understand her decision not to be around us. It spared us a lot of pain and probably thought it best that my grandmother was a better home for us. And that is why it was so painful to contemplate the idea. I backed off. Back in Stockholm its only the forest that knows how much pain I came to deal with when we parted, they are the keepers of my unyielding belief in love, I screamed them to deafness.

You might question then that what I expressed at the height of our deep love affair was just the effects of the moment. You penetrated me more than that. I know.

Will I ever go to Gent? Most likely, when? I don’t know, and I won’t just go there to see Jaque Louis David’s Marat Assasiné. I dream of walking the streets you might walk in, the air you breathe, those kinds of things, maybe have a beer, sit down and enjoy the Belgium sun.

I still miss you and often wonder how you are, if you are married and wonder if you have children, those sort of things….

Chris

The soft velvet fabric of the sofa invited relaxation. The bar atmosphere was soothing and not too many people smoked. Chris and Licia sat by one of the sofas, ordered some red wine and began talking. They spoke of mundane things like the horoscope, what they liked, music and so on. A few giggles and laughter were heard. The hours on the clock in the wall tick-toed its way, only witness to the migrating lightness, and the coming dusk. By the third glass of wine, Chris and Licia had became attached to one another so that Chris’s arm streched itself out and began caressing Licia’s ear lobe with the tip of his fingers. Then everything stopped, body language could be seen. Their eyes met. He let his fingers slide, feeling intensely how Licia’s gentle skin gave an inmense pleasure as they moved slowly through the lines of her cheek bones. I could see how carefully the tip of the fingers from his hand made their way through her neck and how Licia moved her head sideways so as to make more room for Chri’s caressing touch. Stopping at the cleavege of her blouse, he aproached his head to hers so as to place his lips by her cheeks, gently gliding, barely touching the surface of her skin. Surely pheronomes were about this time dispelling scents that only they could detect provoking untold desires in them. They stopped for a moment, looked at each other, seriously, in approval, with penetrating looks. They seemed infatuated, unaware of the world outside their enchanted affair.

The metereologist had predicted sunny weather with partial clouds during and only in the afternoon. The city’s only meteorologist had a reputation to keep and almost all of his weather instruments, financed by the city’s coffers, were up-to-date, state-of-the-art technologies. He had a Perception II stand-alone weather station plus hand-held wind speed indicators and a handy weather forecasting quick reference card and not to mention a brand new Vantage Pro weather station for monitoring barometric pressure, temperature, humidity, rainfall, and wind speed and direction. So whenever the prediction failed, the mayor would get an ear-full of calls from angry residents demanding were had their tax money gone to and wondered out loud whether he hadn’t favored his crony friends at the time of the bidding for the equipment. Everyday the mayor would follow the day with the prediction in hand and reports from other local agencies as the day went by, gladly enough, today the prediction fulfilled its job and the mayor busied himself with other businesses that demanded his attention.

At the other end of town, a happy sunbather had just finished basking in the sun, content that the sun had come out and that finally he could show off his male bikini to the neighbors across the street who were only too willing to see what he was up to these days. Rumor had it that he had won the lottery somewhere else in the county and his lifestyle certainly fed to that gossip. Nobody knew exactly where this fellow had come from, only that one early week in May a moving van had pulled up in front of an abandoned house known to the locals as the Old Murray residence. About three weeks thereafter a classic Mercedes-Benz SSK (1928), designed by Ferdinand Porsche, drove in to the garage much to the bewilderment of the tight community. What did he want in that middle class neighborhood with a car like that and a servant at his disposal was the hot query in the mouths of much of the populace there.

Hej!

Today, as I was walking to the computer room from my dorm, (sounds kind of childish considering my age) I couldn’t help noticing how Spring had set its foot on the landscape. Although the trees are still bare and snow remains yet unmelted, the ground is wet and the air fresh rather than cold. Then as I was walking through one of the pathways, the university let itself be seen, and all its wondrous Ralph Erskine arquitecture came into view. However, I was distracted from my thoughts by little rocks coming into my shoes as I walked. This type of gravel is strewn in the midst of winter so that people don’t slipp and fall down. By this time of the year there is so much that at times it is hard to notice the square cement blocks that make the walkway. Then it struck me! I had a great idea, I thought of a big vaccum cleaner, one that could easily be adapted to a medium size truck, say a small Toyota or whatever is in fashion and of medium size nowadays. This sort of truck would then vacuum the gravel. Of course, being the premises of the university big, this would indeed be a wise investment, according to me, since its my idea after all. When the premises would be free of the winter gravel then perhaps it could be rented out, so as to get the return of the investment back, whaddaya think? Its a great idea or what?!

Anyways, am doing fine, life here is at times nothing but body problems. I on the other hand couldn’t sleep last night due to a late dinner and woke up several times during the night with a sort of stomach pain, felt like something was stuck. Of course the thoughts that my mother died of stomach cancer didn’t make themselves wait and started to pester me so that now am considering a medical check up of sorts.

Now to Gertrude, which are things of a delicate nature and serious matters, and it should only be, as the french say, entre nous.

Of recently Gertrude has had several setbacks in her family. Her grandmother fell and broke a hip and since she is to be 90 this year those things aren’t taken lightly and they performed an operation on her. She made it quite well, so that we hope that she’ll be back in her old spirits again after a couple of months. That lady seems quite strong, and everybody now and then make comments about how amazing she is for being the age she is. She does a lot, like the booking for the shop Carl has and so on. I say it’s ’cause of all the preservetives that she takes in, she’s fond of cookies and pastries of all sorts I’ll have you know. Another big setback for that family, for I’ll let you know, I certainly don’t consider them my family, the father has been thrown in jail. He got busted buying cheap CD copies from a crooked salesman from one of the big competitors. The thing is that he is to spend two years in the can, although by any standards, jails here are a vacation compared to the harsh ones that exist back home. He will have a sort of leave permisson from jail after doing two months, and so every week we’ll find him home again. You know, it was one of his own who ratted on him, Gertrude’s sister husband. Its all been a terrible emotional ride for my poor Gertrude who now is suddenly been thrusted into the family business and so on.

Lots of hugs and kisses, take care and don’t forget that we miss you too over here.

PS:

Regarding Nick, he has still a lot to learn of family bondage. And am sure there is a lot of him we need to learn too, although am afraid that only time will tell us all.

Yours truly, Richard Dreyfus.

PS: I shall soon be taking a trip to New York, shall we have tea there?

John had receently been forced to pull a prank on officer Stacey Maloy. He was told that in order to get in the fraternity he was to pull from Officer Maloy’s locker his baton, without him noticing, and then put back. A witness would be provided, who would keep its distance at all times, to ensure the veracity of the events. Having done that, he went to his girlfriend’s house, Maria, to finish off the feat.

– You promised.
– Indeed I did, but I also said maybe.
– What are you gonna do then?
– Well, I just need to put it back, you know, so that no one notices it.
– Isn’t that, like wrong?
– Listen honey, there isn’t much time left, are you in or out?
– I don’t know, lemme think.
– Forget it, if you’re gonna think about it might as well get in trouble.
– I dunno, the last time you said the same thing and we nearly got caught.
– Duh, that’s because you were wearing reflexes and the cops light saw it.
– You know what? I’m not going, this time you’re gonna have to sort it out by yourself.
– God! I knew, I knew it was stupid to come here and ask you for help, damn it! How stupid can I be! You and I are done.
– Oh man, don’t say that. Alright, I’ll go, but this is the last time.
– Thank you baby, thank you. I promise I’ll make it up to you soon.

– The Macmillan Dictionary has an entry for duh.
– Duh! Like I wanna know that.
– Ok, so what, do you want to know?

George sat exasperated; this student was fidgety, looked distressed and nothing of substance came out of him.

– Dunno.

Silence. The room of his office couldn’t look emptier, yet he felt the need this student had.

– Why were you sent here? Do you know that?
– I suppose ‘cause my grades are low.
– Is there a reason why they are low?
– Maybe.
– Humm.

George felt resistance, clearly the boy had something going on in his life, what was it?

– Do you like to go out?
– Can’t, my parents got me grounded.
– Would you like to tell me about that?
– It’s complicated.
– That’s what am here for, to help out when complications arise.

The breakthrough was finally visible, why did the student open up?

– I Got caught smoking weed.
-I see, do you like drugs?
– Sometimes, they make me feel good, I suppose there isn’t any harm in it.
– Humm, your parents don’t think so.
– What do they know … All they do is bitch around all day how am not what they expected me to be.
– I see. So they go around telling you how to be.
– Gets on my nervs you know? Pisses me off man.
– Yeah, I can understand that, I mean, who wants to be bitched at.
– Yeah man, so I try to get back at them, I mean they already think am a loser you see. So I piss them off too.
– Humm, by smoking weed?
– Naaah, that’s just for fun,
– I see. So you do like drugs.
– Not really, it’s just that the crowd I hang out with does it, so I do it too.
– Humm, you’re records show that you been an exemplary student all along until last year, care to talk about that?
– Maybe some other time, gotta split, gotta class to go to. C-ya!
– I’ll put you in for next week, is that ok?
– Suppose so.
– Take care.

The satisfaction of helping made George feel good, it was clearly a step forward, maybe he could put Anthony back in track, despite of the rest of society thinking otherwise.

– The Macmillan Dictionary has an entry for duh.
– Duh! Like I wanna know that.
– Ok, so what, do you want to know?

George sat exasperated; this student was fidgety, looked distressed and nothing of substance came out of him.

– Dunno.

Silence. The room of his office couldn’t look emptier, yet he felt the need this student had.

– Why were you sent here? Do you know that?
– I suppose ‘cause my grades are low.
– Is there a reason why they are low?
– Maybe.
– Humm.

George felt resistance, clearly the boy had something going on in his life, what was it?

– Do you like to go out?
– Can’t, my parents got me grounded.
– Would you like to tell me about that?
– It’s complicated.
– That’s what am here for, to help out when complications arise.

The breakthrough was finally visible, why did the student open up?

– I Got caught smoking weed.
-I see, do you like drugs?
– Sometimes, they make me feel good, I suppose there isn’t any harm in it.
– Humm, your parents don’t think so.
– What do they know … All they do is bitch around all day how am not what they expected me to be.
– I see. So they go around telling you how to be.
– Gets on my nervs you know? Pisses me off man.
– Yeah, I can understand that, I mean, who wants to be bitched at.
– Yeah man, so I try to get back at them, I mean they already think am a loser you see. So I piss them off too.
– Humm, by smoking weed?
– Naaah, that’s just for fun,
– I see. So you do like drugs.
– Not really, it’s just that the crowd I hang out with does it, so I do it too.
– Humm, you’re records show that you been an exemplary student all along until last year, care to talk about that?
– Maybe some other time, gotta split, gotta class to go to. C-ya!
– I’ll put you in for next week, is that ok?
– Suppose so.
– Take care.

The satisfaction of helping made George feel good, it was clearly a step forward, maybe he could put Anthony back in track, despite of the rest of society thinking otherwise.

– You really haven’t noticed?
– Nope.
– Not once giving it a thoguht?
– Are you talking to yourself again?
– Just hear me out.
– Oh God! Not again. Alright, Spill it out then.

Gardner sat silently and brought out his Stanwell Pipe, a Sixtus Smooth model. He invariably never failed to tell a story about how he got it and his consequent trip to Denmark. Yet this time he didn’t. He lit it up, took some puffs and sat relaxed. He began speaking as Anastacia accomodated herself near the edge of the sofa.

– One often hears of the trinity, body, mind and soul.
– You’re really gonna talk about that!? Oh, Lord …
– Shh Anastacia! Well, as I was saying. A lot of thought is given to the body, in fact, one could nearly argue that it is the domain of the femme. They spend much time in touch with it, they know their constitution like I know my pipes. Then there is the soul, countless of words and dialogues are poured out on this subject so that a lack of knowledge in that area is hardly missing.
– Is this going somewhere Gardner?
– Allow me to expand. The mind is mysteriously absent here, you see what I mean? Why don’t we know more of the mind than what we already know? Something is amiss.
– I can answer that mystery for you Gardner, the mind, my freund, is the place of convergence for soul and body, got it?
– Dear Anastacia, how little you know on this subject, not to say that I know anymore. You see? This is exactly what I mean. Here’s what I’ve come to think thus far. I’ve come to notice how at times am busy writing, a mind activity, and it baffles me how sometimes words just come out of me of which I lack explanation as to their origins, whence come they?
– Your pulling water way over your head Gardner, go read some more. Anastacia raised herself from the sofa and got ready to leave.
– Alright, I gave your fifteen minutes Warhol, gotta go, I’ll see later Gardner, you take it easy ok?
Gardner, kept puffing his pipe, it seemed as if he had giving it a lot of thought for all I could hear was a low, quiet farewell, he said “Yeah, thanks for the listening, you be good now”, and as he raised up from the chair, he walked to the kitchen, to get his coat. I dashed away.

– You really haven’t noticed?
– Nope.
– Not once giving it a thoguht?
– Are you talking to yourself again?
– Just hear me out.
– Oh God! Not again. Alright, Spill it out then.

Gardner sat silently and brought out his Stanwell Pipe, a Sixtus Smooth model. He invariably never failed to tell a story about how he got it and his consequent trip to Denmark. Yet this time he didn’t. He lit it up, took some puffs and sat relaxed. He began speaking as Anastacia accomodated herself near the edge of the sofa.

– One often hears of the trinity, body, mind and soul.
– You’re really gonna talk about that!? Oh, Lord …
– Shh Anastacia! Well, as I was saying. A lot of thought is given to the body, in fact, one could nearly argue that it is the domain of the femme. They spend much time in touch with it, they know their constitution like I know my pipes. Then there is the soul, countless of words and dialogues are poured out on this subject so that a lack of knowledge in that area is hardly missing.
– Is this going somewhere Gardner?
– Allow me to expand. The mind is mysteriously absent here, you see what I mean? Why don’t we know more of the mind than what we already know? Something is amiss.
– I can answer that mystery for you Gardner, the mind, my freund, is the place of convergence for soul and body, got it?
– Dear Anastacia, how little you know on this subject, not to say that I know anymore. You see? This is exactly what I mean. Here’s what I’ve come to think thus far. I’ve come to notice how at times am busy writing, a mind activity, and it baffles me how sometimes words just come out of me of which I lack explanation as to their origins, whence come they?
– Your pulling water way over your head Gardner, go read some more. Anastacia raised herself from the sofa and got ready to leave.
– Alright, I gave your fifteen minutes Warhol, gotta go, I’ll see later Gardner, you take it easy ok?
Gardner, kept puffing his pipe, it seemed as if he had giving it a lot of thought for all I could hear was a low, quiet farewell, he said “Yeah, thanks for the listening, you be good now”, and as he raised up from the chair, he walked to the kitchen, to get his coat. I dashed away.

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