FUNHOUSE

 

“And what about King Neptune,” he says, “the long-distance swimmer?”

FUNHOUSE

SCOTT SITS ALONE that night and watches himself on television.  It is less an act of narcissism and more a symptom of vertigo.

ON WEDNESDAY THE funerals begin.  Sarah Kipling is first, her remains buried at Mount Zion Cemetery in Queens, a graveyard in the shadow of looming pre-war smokestacks, as if there is a factory next door manufacturing bodies. Police hold the news trucks to a cordoned area on the south side of the wall. It’s a cloudy day, the air stilted, tropical.  Thunderstorms are forecast for the afternoon and already you can feel the unsettled electricity in the atmosphere.  The line of black cars stretches all the way to the BQE, family, friends, political figures.  There will be eight more before this is through—assuming all the bodies are recovered.
The wind kicks up.  Scott tries not to think about the other bodies still buried with the plane—Captain Melody, Ben Kipling, Maggie Bateman and her daughter, Rachel.  He pictures them there, like a lost letter in the lightless deep, swaying silently to unheard music as the crabs consume their noses and toes.

(Before the Fall, Noah Hawley, pages 174-182)


[crab tattoo]
This Starbucks customer (Barclays Center, July 19, 2017) is now a plaintiff in a legal case against Berkshire Hathaway, Verizon and other corporations including and most especially the Mormon Church of Satan.  cc all Mormon barristers

July 20, 2017, 6:45pm.  About Me.  I’m at Starbucks, Atlantic Terminal.  When the song about going to the Harlem River to drown was playing, Muhammad. the manager, existed Starbucks; it was some sort of “emergency preparedness” drill.  I didn’t notice if any police officers were here before or after.  (I continue to warn Mormon scriptwriters about the fact that, whatever they execute starring me, it’s sure to backfire, but they don’t believe me; they’ve the “confidence to proceed” with all their orchestrations.  cc all Mormon barristers)

When I left Starbucks’ subsidiary, Gregory’s Coffee on 33rd Street at Park Avenue South, I walked to 30th Street at Sixth Avenue, and could not find the sign company (to make another sign for me to advertise my website at Times Square because I realized that pedestrians can’t really quickly read what the sign I now have says: my website URL) that I saw on my mobile phone last night when I was searching for companies that make signs.  I have my sign with me but I did not go to Times Square, I’m not certain that anybody can actually read what it says.  I was feeling too depressed, I’m still feeling depressed, feeling that nobody is interested in hearing from me.

I walked to Herald Square, boarded the R train, sat and read the book I am currently reading. I did not make any an important message from me announcement. The above excerpt, the first paragraph I read last night.  The rest I read on the subway, after I posted the rest of the information posted today, including the information about smokestacks, funerals, and Mermaid Day Parade circuses.

Actually, I did make an announcement.  As I unboarded the subway car I announced, “CAROLINE KENNEDY, PRESIDENT, 2020.  ROBERT KENNEDY JR., U.S. ATTORNEY GENERAL.” I feel that I’m making a fool of myself my making such an announcement, and yet I cannot stop.

I’m not certain that I’ll be moving upstate.  I’m thinking I should stay in Brooklyn so I can continue to make an important message from me announcements on the subway, and advertise my website at Times Square.  I think it is impractical for me to  try to go to Times Square every day, after working on my computer all day.  I must set aside one day per week to spend all day at Times Square.  I must make a hotel reservation in Newburgh, for the Convention. I am praying fervently to Jehovah God, pleading with Him to please direct my steps.  (Proverbs 3:5-6)