Sunday, April 4, 2010


Up until now, the visions he has seen -- the histories and tales of personal psyche to which he has been privy -- have been, well, visual. And, for the most part, narrative. Except, perhaps, for the committee member whose existence is defined by fear. He imagines, however, that there is a narrative pretty close to the skin were he of a mind to seek for it. Unless, of course, that member were utterly psychotic, which would not be entirely out of the question. For any of them. Bunch of loons. I mean, he thinks, what the hell kind of committee is this, anyway? He has yet to find a logical, rational one in the bunch. But maybe that is the point. Maybe The Magnificence has put this group together for reasons other than executive, judicial, or legislative. And he is now in a position to understand The Magnificence in a more ...intimate... manner. Obviously, his sitting in the chair that is one and the same as The Magnificence, and being at least in part consumed by that chair, means that, somewhere down the line, he and The Magnificence are the same. Artificially, or cybernetically joined, but by whatever means, the same nonetheless. But he is still able to think as he has, before. But there are extensions. He is no longer himself, but he is also still himself. He is not himself; he is The Magnificence. He is not The Magnificence; he is himself. The Magnificence is himself and no longer the Magnificence. There are t(o)w(n)o(e). Townoe. Nonsense word. Means more in writing, he realizes, than in the actual being. And yet he envisions the collating of two and one and this will have to do. But do for what? Fodder for further philosophizing, in which he has no doubt he will further indulge, and at the first idle moment he gets to do so. But somewhat more urgent... no, somewhat more interesting... things immediately await. Such as this particularly disgusting smelling group of committee members. There is no sense among this lot -- he can see even from here, without delving into their minds -- no sense but smell. And in this realization, he discovers a manner of shorthand: he can lump all of these malodorous folk -- the half-dozen of them -- into one being, one collective identity. He imagines he can do this with the previous five, as well, and knows that he has learned something he can use in his new rule as chair and executioner. But for now, on to the Smelly One, as he now calls the collective unsavory group.

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