Our Internet access cut out late last night, which caused me immediately to convulse in Tortured Panic. I spoke at length with an automated lady from Cyber-ia, her accent clangy, tinged with false warmth, and had me darting about for corners of the domecile, scurrying for routers and connections and synapse-controls and such.
This proved to be of no use so I sat in the floor on the living room, having first Incanted a circle about me with ivory and plastic plant parts and old remote controls from VCRs that died before the birth of our young pup Chelsea, who sat beside me, huddled within herself and slap slap slapping her tail into the floor with Woe.
I placed the tin foil helmet gently on my head (antennae facing East, to the dawn) to block out those who may be trying to See.
There I waited until morning until Amy awoke and shook me and told me to get-a-hold-of-myself-man. So here I sit in the public library, Outside of the Pasadena Fortress and amongst the folk of this village jewel in the southern california swarm.
And I wait with patience for the Repair Man to come. Then the Reckoning Times begin.
Notes from the Perimeter
- Never walk into a public library hungry or angry.
- Never assume that the pets can't read your thoughts.
- Always Act Casual when approached by Others (example: when asked for the time, touch your wrist gently and say as evenly as you can, "I'm afraid I don't have the time, sorry," then walk swiftly yet Calmly away just as readily as you are able.
- Always Pretend you don't know what the Grand Agenda is all about. That's the way to Do It.
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