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Welcome to Grimoire, my serial novel (updated daily)
Begin at the beginning - year one
Begin at the beginning - year two
Latest daily post follows \/
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
This story ran in this morning’s Daily Afterblatt, Lake Effect edition:
Shadowy duo dead
Subjects of spook series found with crickets
By Jane Carlotto
Senior Crime Reporter
The city is abuzz with rumors in the wake of a shocking discovery of two bodies, a man and his common-law wife, in a well-used room in the new Aspen – Quarters Museum last night.
“Someone may be an art lover but certainly has no respect for human life,” said Det. Joe Blucote.
“Yeah,” his partner, Det. Bill “Joe Bob” Schmidt, “this is the third time we have been here, and we have no more than we did when we started.”
The bodies were identified as those of Goose Grim and his wife, Eve. Their ages were not known, and the detectives said what little they did know was from papers found on the bodies, which were dumped in the so-called Cricket Room.
The bodies of Nancy Chino, a 37-year-old actress, and her tenant, Natasha Riga, whose body was found in the same spot a few weeks later, were found in the same room in the museum.
Those two deaths are being called the Double Homicide. Some wags at City Hall are saying that they don’t want to see any more daily doubles.
Other observers are questioning why the same supposedly secure building has been used yet again for such a despicable purpose.
Grim and his wife were sources, and subjects, of a three-part series last year on a group of retired spooks who gather at a used bookshop in the north section of the city, Caspar’s Books and That.
A young woman who answered the phone at the bookshop refused to comment. A later call, answered by a young man, yielded the same result.
“We are begging the public,” Blucote said, “to share anything that they know.”
“That’s right,” Schmidt said, “begging. Pleading, too.”
When asked for comment, Police Commissioner Nancy Shiva said, simply, “Results. I want them now.”
Subjects of spook series found with crickets
By Jane Carlotto
Senior Crime Reporter
The city is abuzz with rumors in the wake of a shocking discovery of two bodies, a man and his common-law wife, in a well-used room in the new Aspen – Quarters Museum last night.
“Someone may be an art lover but certainly has no respect for human life,” said Det. Joe Blucote.
“Yeah,” his partner, Det. Bill “Joe Bob” Schmidt, “this is the third time we have been here, and we have no more than we did when we started.”
The bodies were identified as those of Goose Grim and his wife, Eve. Their ages were not known, and the detectives said what little they did know was from papers found on the bodies, which were dumped in the so-called Cricket Room.
The bodies of Nancy Chino, a 37-year-old actress, and her tenant, Natasha Riga, whose body was found in the same spot a few weeks later, were found in the same room in the museum.
Those two deaths are being called the Double Homicide. Some wags at City Hall are saying that they don’t want to see any more daily doubles.
Other observers are questioning why the same supposedly secure building has been used yet again for such a despicable purpose.
Grim and his wife were sources, and subjects, of a three-part series last year on a group of retired spooks who gather at a used bookshop in the north section of the city, Caspar’s Books and That.
A young woman who answered the phone at the bookshop refused to comment. A later call, answered by a young man, yielded the same result.
“We are begging the public,” Blucote said, “to share anything that they know.”
“That’s right,” Schmidt said, “begging. Pleading, too.”
When asked for comment, Police Commissioner Nancy Shiva said, simply, “Results. I want them now.”
In Post 101> Living and dead in an uproar.
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
“Nancy is bored, and lonely,” Tommy said, “and I think that she is finding death to be more of a dullness than a blessing.”
“Mr. K-nockers,” Ma said, “you must be of bringing her to myself, me, and we will be of the happiness.”
“Actually,” Tommy said, “I am thinking along those lines, and many others, too. And if you-all will agree, I will brief Jane on all of the strands that I am weaving into the story we are writing, and you can read about yourselves in the newspaper.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said, “and a logical extension of the trust thing.”
“I’m in,” Eve said, “and I look forward to a good obituary, and maybe someday I can announce that the news of my demise was greatly exaggerated.”
Mr. Black, David, and Jeanne nodded in a vacant sort of way. They were of the opinion, if one could judge from their looks, that no changes would be coming their way.
“I, too,” Mister Ed said, “am looking forward to the news of the morrow.”
“Good,” Tommy said. “I promise that none of you will be disappointed, and that all of you will be surprised.”
As an aside: Nobody commented on the date -- 07-08-09 -- which spared us any jokes about why all the numbers are afraid of seven -- seven eight nine.
In Post 100> All the news that fits.
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
“So,” I said, “it seems that we are making this murder thing up as we go along, and it also seems that we have more making up to do.”
“Yes, Dear,” Eve said, “I don’t think that we have enough bodies on the stage.”
“Sounds ominous,” Jeanne said, “or as much as I can stand in my present condition.”
“Keep talking,” Tommy said. “We will create this together, so it will be good.”
“Or better,” Jim said.
“Yeah, OhJim said, “or best, even.”
“I am not liking what I am thinking,” I said, “but I don’t see my leaving Eve out there by herself.”
Eve gave me her best, her very best, Buddha girl smile.
“That’s right,” David said, “there is something incomplete about this plan.”
Tommy just nodded, and nodded, and nodded some more.
“Keep it up, friends,” Tommy said, “and you will arrive at the spot, in time. But now, let us switch the focus some. I want to talk about another victim.”
“We have so many of them,” Mr. Black said, “that we could start a focus group.”
David and Jeanne, clinking their beer glasses, looked at each other and laughed.
“Focus,” David said.
“This is me focusing,” Jeanne said.
In Post 99> The news about Nancy.
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
Tommy paused, and he looked at each of us in turn, pausing to give each one the chance to speak. After a long time, since there were a lot of us present, he turned back to Ed.
“Thank you, large friend,” Tommy said. “Your offer is magnanimous, and you certainly are known to the opposition. Still, there is the question of symmetry. We have two female victims so far, and another would seem to be indicated.”
“Well, Dear,” Eve said, “I have never been dead before, but for the good of the Tribe I would be willing to try it. I certainly am well-defended already.”
“And I, for my part,” Jeanne said, “am young and have my whole life ahead of me, which is not to say that the rest of you don’t, but if it is all the same to you, I will die another day.”
“Well,” Tommy said, “I thank you, one and all, for your candor and generosity of spirit. Eve, we will make you even more safe than you are now, and we will do so without sharing any of those details, which itself will be part of your safety.”
Eve just smiled, like the Buddha girl that we would die for.
“I will get Jane busy on a story,” Tommy said, “and arrange the rest of the details. You will not need to do anything different, Eve, except to decide on a disguise. Don’t make any changes in your usual day.”
“Will you make her an anonymous victim?” I said, “or give her name?”
“Anonymous, I think,” Tommy said, “though with enough details to send a clear message to the opposition. Like Ma here.”
“And there, Mister K,” Ma said.
In Post 98> Tommy fields the tough questions.
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
“Listen to hear,” Tommy said. “My story concerns a group of very bad people who wish you all dead, and I don’t have to tell you what lengths they would go to to accomplish that fond wish.”
“Mystery Men three,” David said. “And the Vault, and this forward listening post from hell in which we sit and drink ourselves silly.”
“Bingo,” Tommy said. “We all know the story of that, and what we are proposing to do is to take that game right back at them and stage a murder of one of the Tribe.”
“What would that accomplish?” I said.
“We believe that it could embarrass them at a minimum and flush them out at a maximum, and perhaps along the way they will make mistakes.”
“Wouldn’t it just be easier to tell us who they are, even if you don’t want to tell us who we are?” Jeanne said.
“Not really,” Tommy said. “We deal in trust, and if you lose trust in me, then I would expect you to take whatever measures you deem best, but until then I ask you to work with me, eyes closed if need be. There are good people watching your backs.”
“If I may,” Mister Ed said.
“Please,” Tommy said.
“I rise in support of what my brother says,” Mister Ed said, “and I recommend that we all say, here and now, if any of us has any hesitations at all. Further, I am willing to be the third victim, if a male victim is what you want. Otherwise, I would suggest any of the fine women, save Natasha, here present.”
Mister Ed bowed to Ma, who gave him her best rogue’s smile.
In Post 97> We close our eyes and smile.
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
“Thanks for coming,” Tommy said. “And, for starters, who wants to play dead for a season?”
“Dead?” Jim said.
“Yeah,” OhJim said, “Agent Question Mark said the D-word. A four-letter word from a three-letter guy.”
Tommy just smiled.
“You know how to been showing to a girl the good time, Mr. TommyKnockers,” Ma said, with her special emphasis on the K in Knockers. “Sorry to be of the telling, but I am already of the dead ones, me.”
“Sure you are, Ma,” Tommy said, “and a prettier dead person I never hope to see. Thing is, we have decided to take the game to our worthy opponents, so we need a volunteer.”
“I am of the opinion,” Jeanne said, from her beautiful blur, “that you will not be telling us who we is. And that is not just the beer talking. I know my grammar and usage, thank you.”
My brothers leered but kept silent.
“Bingo,” Tommy said. “Need to know.”
Jeanne tried to smile, but the lemons were just not there.
“Yes, Dear,” Eve said, giving Tommy her best Buddha girl smile, “and you promised to tell us a story about things that we now need to know. When does that start?”
“You mean continue,” Tommy said, “for the drafting of a dead guy or gal is the heart of my story today.”
“We are all ears,” I said, “like a bunch of donkeys on a stake-out.”
Everyone laughed.
“Tell me, Goose Man,” Mr. Black said, “why would donkeys go on a stake-out?”
“To see the girls and their assets? So their tongues would hang lower than their ass ears?” Jim said.
“Yeah,” OhJIm said, “and maybe they just needed to get out more.”
“Or, David said, “they have grown thirsty for all the free beer. They can take my place.”
“Poor baby,” Jeanne said, from her haze. “What you need is some attention to your long ears, and I am just the donkey gal to do it.”
David was not too wasted to go all pink.
In Post 96> Tommy talks of the opposition.
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
I am willing for you to hear Tommy’s story.
I am even willing for you to believe it, because it is a story that might be true.
And what we needed to know, which is not the same as what you need to know.
Get my drift here?
We have enough trouble tracking simple things, in this world, let alone things that are complex. Add to this the needs of the service, so to speak, and you begin to remember that what I tell you, just as what I actually tell, and post, daily to the Tribe’s VPN-based blog, for their eyes only, may or may not be the same thing.
Let me assure you, the things that I tell the Tribe always pass through the filter of what they need to know, and I know that what Tommy tells me, or them, or us, all at once, passes through that same filter.
Have you ever seen a filter that didn’t retain something while letting the rest go on through?
The Bard sez that truth is a cur that must be whipped. We say that truth is a crock that must be filtered. We also say that trust trumps truth every time. The question is, then, do you trust me, and should you?
My answer?
Why not?
What do you have to lose?
Lest you bristle at the ambiguities, let me remind you of precedents. Such as the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, with the Christian grafting to that root. The Bible often speaks of how God speaks in silence, or in a still, small voice barely to be heard. (Remember … I should know, since I was a pimp in the pews for a long time in Spookistan.)
Or take the example of language itself. My words point beyond themselves to concepts that my words can only suggest, and you respond by interpreting what I give you. The margin for error is significant.
Or the example of persons long-married, who listen to one another without hearing and who finish one another’s sentences without thought.
I at least am sharing with you-- in virtual print -- words, and stories, that could be true. There is no whispering here, but bold sinning.
Pax.
In Post 95>Tell me a story, tell me a story ...
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
“Mister Tommy of the Knockers,” Ma said, “I am having thoughts of the speaking.”
“Please,” Tommy said, “speak and continue.”
“Being thankful,” Ma said. “Why all of this fuss of the drawing? Is auntie you want, and it is of auntie that no one knows, expect yours of the truly, me.”
“Bingo,” Tommy said. “I think you have it.”
“Be very careful, Tommy, my friend,” I said. “The next word you utter will be the beginning of a statement.”
“Uh, Bingo,” Tommy said. “I almost forgot.”
“Mister Temporariness,” David said, “I am impaired, I will readily admit, but still, I do not understand how a woman who resembles our dear Ma, here, I am assuming, will be a solution to a problem that I do not understand, either. Won’t this likeness lead the wolves to the fold rather than lure them away?”
“Bingo,” Tommy said. “And I can see that you are not, all of you, in possession of all that you need to know, so it is a story that I will be of the telling you.”
In Post 94> Before Tommy tells us a story ... .
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
“If I may,” Mister Ed said, “Mister Temporariness, I would like to talk to one aspect of this discussion that flew by so quickly that no one seemed to see or hear it.”
“Say on, large person,” Tommy said.
“Thank you, sir,” Mister Ed said, “my thought is this. Why do you say that we must not use someone who is extant? Why, sir, it seems to be an opportunity, indeed, to pick, and carefully, sure, someone living for the model.”
“OK,” Tommy said, “spin that out some.”
“Yes,” Mister Ed said, “to take up the distaff, as it were, here goes … . To begin the spinning, let us make a mental list of persons of a certain age and frame, known to us, who just might fill the bill.”
“Sorry, old and dear friend,” Eve said, “but I am getting no signals here, I guess because I don’t understand why, one, it is important to draw someone real, and, two, why we need or would want to pick someone we would know. And, three, I guess, I don’t come up with anyone who fits our parameters.”
“Good,” Tommy said, “this is all good. We can bracket this question for the time being and work on the next question, which is the question of whether we should introduce another victim, or be satisfied with the carnage we have already caused.”
“Something like carne,” Jim said.
“Yeah,”OhJim said, “with beans.”
In Post 93> Ma makes some process comments.
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
While we slowly circled around the room, in search of an artist and model, to further our covert goals concerning the two murder mysteries that we were cooking for a hungry public, I found that my eyes returned again and again to our three little piggies.
Three little piggies?
Yeah, see how they run -- their eyes, their noses, their mouths.
Mr. Black still looked like a sepia photo of himself, which might not strike you as odd, if you fail to catch the inference -- the rest of us were present in a rainbow of colors and hues and tones.
Jeanne sat in a lovely heap, like a silk gown that had fallen so far from her shoulder that it was standing in for a rug at her feet.
David had a go-to-hell look on his lean face that I had never seen before. Bleep you, Daddy, his look said. I never wanted to be a lawyer anyway and wear these uptight clothes.
Get a grip, I told myself. They are in play, underground, on the move, and assuming roles.
Sure, I told myself, and when I did that, I was careful not to look at myself in mirrors or plate-glass windows, dimly. It was just too startling to see my friends face to face in such dissipation. Maybe I’m getting old, soft, and squishy about the demands of our life. I had not thought of that before, but the life does not grow old and soft, and prone to tears. The life, relentless, goes on and on.
I knew that, and still I wanted to gather these three little piggies in my arms and take them home. It is a good thing that I was chased from the shadows. I am no longer fit for some of the work, though I do know what needs to be done.
Jeanne had changed the least, but for her I was the more concerned, like a father who cannot let go of his little girl. That’s what love is, I guess. I am learning as I go down into the dust, in the twilight. I could identify my feelings, and I could identify that it was indeed feelings that I was dealing with, but I could not deal with the thoughts that I was having, and the longings that I could hear inside, and feel, even, in my pulse and breathing. It is much easier to run spooks if you don’t care if they get left out in the rain. I no longer could do that. Possessions and persons will do that to you, if you let them. And I had, and I was glad, at some level, and I was frightened for them, too.
In Post 92> Mister Ed takes a lap around the issue.
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
“You lost me, Mister Temporariness,” Jim said.
“Yeah,” OhJim said, “out of bounds.”
“Where were you when you decided to get lost, Dears?” Eve said.
“It was dark … that’s right … and stormy,” Jim said.
“Yeah,” OhJim said, “and then these enormous udders filled the sky and everything went all white.”
“Bingo twice,” Tommy said. “Can we move on?”
“Moving on, here,” I said, “and summarizing -- we need a drawing to throw to the news wolves, and we need a model who is not Ma but something like her -- to wit, female, older, and, well, buxom.”
“Bingo,” Tommy said. “So who to use?”
“I am a tad confused,” Mr. Black said, “and not just because of all the beer. I have a question. Why not just have someone just sit down and draw a face? Like this.”
Mr. Black held up a bar napkin with a likeness of a buxom older woman on it. It looked like something he had copied from a bathroom stall wall in a dive like the Roll In.
“Is not of me, that is of the sureness,” Ma said. “Is more like my old auntie back in the Oldness Country.”
“I guess that I did leave a few details out,” Tommy said. “We feel that this is an opportunity to lead the wolves away from the fold, with the judicious application of some group-wise thinking on the matter. No sense in wasting any opportunities to play it nasty.”
“Bingo,” Mr. Black said, and blew his nose on the bar napkin.
"Crude, auntie?" Jim said.
"Auntie, though?" OhJim said. "Auntie indeed."
In Post 91> Our three little piggies.
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
“So where is the TommyMan?” Jim said.
“Yeah,” OhJim said, “where is that BingoBoy?”
“I’ve been here all along,” Tommy said from a chair in the far, dim corner of the backroom.
“Well,” I said, “it’s your meeting.”
“Thank you, GooseGuy,” Tommy said. “With your permission, and by your leave, Mister Chair, Sir, I will call this meeting to task.”
“Not to odor? Task, task, task,” Jim said.
“Yeah,” OhJim said, “and tisk, tisk, tisk, too.”
“The first whiff of business,” Tommy said, “is the matter of the drawing of the victim that the media have been promised.”
“You mean the Ma-equivalent, Dear?” Eve said.
“Bingo,” Tommy said, “and clearly we cannot use the original for the drawing, and we cannot used anyone extant for the model, so I am open to suggestions.”
“Female rather than male,” David said.
“Bingo,” Tommy said.
“Older rather than younger,” Jeanne said.
“Bingo,” Tommy said.
“Bigger those rather than smaller some,” Ma said, giving us her roguish smile.
“Bingo those,” Tommy said.
In Post 90> Tommy and the big ones.
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
Back home, at Caspar’s Books and That, the backroom was like home, only better, because of the smell of old books, the sight of so many of them, and the presence of persons whom you knew that you would die for, and they for you.
Here at the Roll In, with the same people in place, you wanted to run to the can and see if there was a fire alarm to pull so someone would come with high-pressure hoses and clean out these dung-stuffed stables. You wanted to save your friends from a fate worse than the DTs, but you knew it was not to be so, because there was work to do. So you sat, and hoped for the best, and you watched with heightened awareness for signs of trouble.
Back home, the chairs make a circle that in a funny way reminds you of that old chestnut May the Circle Be Unbroken. The art on the walls means something, to you and to others. Someone put thought into what went on the walls, back at the bookshop.
Here at the Roll In, the art on the walls means nothing to anyone, in any way that can cause a positive response. The art in the bar’s backroom offers only a variation on the sign that might as well be posted over the doorway -- Abandon hope, all you who enter here.
In Post 89> We get down to the business.
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
Barstool philosophers are thoroughly capable of debating this question -- is the going up worth the coming down (or, is the rolling in worth the crawling out)? It could be that if those who hold down barstools would debate this question, maybe some of those stools would be cold and lonely all night long.
Why do we call them stools? Because they make us feel like crap by the time we crawl off them?
Somehow, I doubt it.
And, once more, I get ahead of myself and betray a bedrock moral sense that no one wants to see or hear.
If you enter that door that says Abandon hope, all you who enter here, you probably will do so again, and again, long past the time that you know that what you are looking for is not there, and may be nowhere that you have ever been.
It is this twilight zone that the Roll In offers to those who walk through those doors, and Mr. Black, Jeanne, and David were in the backroom waiting for us, and just maybe they were watching, at some level, to see what condition we would leave in, after the arriving and being there. And just maybe they would want to go with us -- Take us wid you, man -- or they would choose to stay in the twilight.
Mr. Black looked like a man who once, a very long time ago, had been very handsome. Jeanne looked like a beautiful train wreck, in black, and David had the look of a law student who had forgotten that his daddy was paying a lot for him to have a lost semester.
The backroom itself?
Ah, that is another story.
In Post 88> Two backrooms, poles apart.
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
Phase two of the Roll In experience -- being there. Your mileage will vary here, too, depending on what you drink and how much of your favored drink you put away. Or not. Some folks come for the atmosphere and drink bitters and soda; some folks come for the oblivion and drink Night Train.
If you are a happy camper, you probably would be spending the evening beside a campfire on one of the Great Lakes nearby. You have two to choose from, Erie or Ontario, and the camping possibilities are wide and gratifying.
If you are a sometimes happy camper, perhaps you find yourself camped out in a bar like the Roll In, occasionally, and have that experience of unlimited possibility closely followed by that experience of sharply limited possibility, ending with a graceful, or ungraceful, exit and a vow to never return. Bars as like that. Why do you think we call them bars? To suggest the prison, perhaps, that you will spend a one-day sentence in, complete with pounding headache and abused values? But I am getting ahead of myself and betraying my bias toward and away from such places as the Roll In, because for every Roll In there is a Crawl Out.
In Post 87> Saving some for getting out again.
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
The experience of the Roll In & Crawl Out neatly divides into three parts -- entering, being, leaving. No one does any of these things the same way, just as four PIN numbers can yield an amazing number of variations.
For me, entering the Roll In begins with the assault on the nostrils, which not only detect aromas of smoke and beer and sweat but also register the sharp sensations of these three. If you like, or love, old and crazy bars, you probably have found a way to make peace with how they smell. In a funny way, these aromas can anchor your memories as much as images can. And, like PINs, we differ here, too.
After getting through the invisible barrier/gateway of how the dive smells, you move on to what the dive looks like. Yellow walls of a trusty, dirty plaster, with old calendars and cheap copies of paintings, block your forward motion. Turning to the left, you find a choice of barstools, and tables -- stools at the window and tables to the back wall.
If you have the stomach for it, there is a backroom, and since we did have the stomach for it, having been there and done that, many times, we made for the doorway, down at the end of the gauntlet of barstools and little round tables, and stepped across.
Ma, moving slowly, nodded occasionally, is if she were verifying the landscape of many dreams, some of which had been not disgusting or not terrifying, but not nice, either.
In Post 86> The middle ground.
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
Ask me to define circle of thieves, and I probably would talk about spheres of malign influence. Ask my brothers to define circle of thieves, and they would probably say something about sieves, with a pun for a finish -- such as, Circular sieves are the best kind because they fit most pots and pans. Ask Tommy, and he would probably say something about all the Jamochas who sit around and do next to nothing in the backroom at Caspar’s Books and That. He might even say something about those Jamochas being shaken with milk and coffee, and stirred. Might.
I decided to go with the last assumption, and rounded up all the usual suspects. We went in two cars, with Eve and I in one with Ma and my brothers and Mister Ed in the other. Mr. Black, Jeanne, and David were there already, with a week’s lead on us, in the beer department, anyway, and probably even more of a lead in the investigative department.
“Now, Ma,” I said, “we are taking you on a fieldtrip to a very funky bar, and we will be having a powwow about tribal stuff.”
“Goosey,” Ma said, “I am not knowing from tribal or funks. Is new hair care product?”
“Not exactly, Dear,” Eve said, ‘though our forerunners did take scalps in battle, if accounts from the time are correct. They certainly do on the big screen and on television.”
“I am not of the ability of having you in that picture, Sweetness,” Ma said. “My boys, maybe, but no, me, I’m not seeing this picture in its bigness.”
“Whether we are in the picture or not,” I said, “it certainly is not politically correct to be talking about scalps. Suffice it to say that no one does that sort of thing anymore, except metaphorically.”
Ma looked at me in some confusion.
“Goosey,” she said, “is there any blood? And what of that funk? Is bad word?”
Our conversation took a bend, at that point in the road, and we arrived at the Roll In & Crawl Out with more mirth than wisdom, which probably is the greater good.
“This,” Ma said, as she walked slowly through the ratty glass door, with the bugs on the glass and the reflection of the neon sign of a blue martini glass with Roll In ... Crawl Out in red tubular lettering, “I am of the understanding. The going up, it is worth, as said, the coming down.”
In Part 85> Some more about the bar.
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
New thread The elephant in the room
(branching from: Comment Re: Mister Ed muses)
And another thing, friends,
I am in awe of the round-the-room comments on Mister Ed’s post concerning the mixed morals of what we do, but I think that in your attempts to maintain blogish manners that you have missed one of the important points hidden in Ed’s post.
Each of you who posted, and I think that all of you, including the bleeping cat (no offense, Bill) did post on this … I say, each of you acknowledged Ed’s feelings about subverting persons and an estate, the fifth, that he is very fond of (allow me to add this aside, to avoid ending a sentence with a preposition). What you did not grapple with is the question, probably related, of how he and you feel about corrupting public officials, who I admit were already corrupted.
So many questions revolve around this issue, and I am curious not only about why you ignored it but also about what you think about it, too. And feel, I guess, though feelings are vastly overrated and in my humble opinion far less precious than is generally thought to be the case.
Mind you, I would do it all over again, just like we did, or something like we did, but at the same time I think it is good for the common weal to discuss these things in relative calm, before the next storm, which is always gathering just below the horizon.
Do reply, but not if it means missing my soiree at the Roll In.
(branching from: Comment Re: Mister Ed muses)
And another thing, friends,
I am in awe of the round-the-room comments on Mister Ed’s post concerning the mixed morals of what we do, but I think that in your attempts to maintain blogish manners that you have missed one of the important points hidden in Ed’s post.
Each of you who posted, and I think that all of you, including the bleeping cat (no offense, Bill) did post on this … I say, each of you acknowledged Ed’s feelings about subverting persons and an estate, the fifth, that he is very fond of (allow me to add this aside, to avoid ending a sentence with a preposition). What you did not grapple with is the question, probably related, of how he and you feel about corrupting public officials, who I admit were already corrupted.
So many questions revolve around this issue, and I am curious not only about why you ignored it but also about what you think about it, too. And feel, I guess, though feelings are vastly overrated and in my humble opinion far less precious than is generally thought to be the case.
Mind you, I would do it all over again, just like we did, or something like we did, but at the same time I think it is good for the common weal to discuss these things in relative calm, before the next storm, which is always gathering just below the horizon.
Do reply, but not if it means missing my soiree at the Roll In.
-- posted by Tommy
In Post 84> What was so important -- and it was.
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
Comment Re: Mister Ed muses
Friends,
Bingo? Yeah, Bingo, at a minimum.
It has been said, more or less, that a man in possession of a message must be in need of a medium.
Or is it that a man in possession of a fortune must be in need of a wife? I would not know. Said with apologies to the other Jane, the one who could have lived in Texas. (Give up? Austen, Jane. My little joke.)
At any rate, I do have news, and since you are gathered around the virtual fire, I will use that channel, too.
With the proviso that I will be telling you what you need to know, here goes.
Mr. Black and friends have uncovered some facts and suppositions of interest to our common aims, and I propose that the circle of thieves and I will meet with them at the Roll In this evening.
As an Old School guy, I distrust this medium, but as a modern guy of wide experience I realize that I really just want to tease you a bit. This medium is fine, and secure. In fact, we have a similar system here at the TLA that you do not need to know about (there is that preposition problem again!).
See you there. Don’t be square.
Friends,
Bingo? Yeah, Bingo, at a minimum.
It has been said, more or less, that a man in possession of a message must be in need of a medium.
Or is it that a man in possession of a fortune must be in need of a wife? I would not know. Said with apologies to the other Jane, the one who could have lived in Texas. (Give up? Austen, Jane. My little joke.)
At any rate, I do have news, and since you are gathered around the virtual fire, I will use that channel, too.
With the proviso that I will be telling you what you need to know, here goes.
Mr. Black and friends have uncovered some facts and suppositions of interest to our common aims, and I propose that the circle of thieves and I will meet with them at the Roll In this evening.
As an Old School guy, I distrust this medium, but as a modern guy of wide experience I realize that I really just want to tease you a bit. This medium is fine, and secure. In fact, we have a similar system here at the TLA that you do not need to know about (there is that preposition problem again!).
See you there. Don’t be square.
-- posted by Tommy
In Post 83> And another thing ... .
By Jon Rieley-Goddard
copyright 2008 - 2009
Comment Re: Mister Ed muses
Friends, all,
If Tommy posts, I bet it will be a one liner, of one word -- bingo.
What more can I say?
And Eve, saying crap without adding, Pardon my patois!
Priceless.
And my brothers, true to their flawed but spot-on understanding of Pop’s first dictum -- laugh at those and those things that would destroy you if you don’t.
And David, awash with suds in a sea of sorrows.
Jeanne, hiding utility in a calf cast of beauty.
And Ma, true to all of her.
Jane, who risks much to gain even more. Thank you.
Mr. Black, a man of few, but a few more words, than Tommy. Bleep you all, indeed. A benediction as only he can utter.
Mr. Red, if he could be bothered, would probably say Bleeps to youse all, and Wild Billy, I know, is saying, Meow (which means wwwvdotsomebodyfeedmedotcom).
Ben, hello, and good news about your training. Tnx for this, my young friend. And love to those whom you love and esteem.
And Ed, my long and large friend, thank you for the gift of your reservations, which is very different from going off the Rez, I can assure you. I see and hear the left-unsaid self-awareness of your contradictory thoughts and feelings. Bless you.
Friends, all,
If Tommy posts, I bet it will be a one liner, of one word -- bingo.
What more can I say?
And Eve, saying crap without adding, Pardon my patois!
Priceless.
And my brothers, true to their flawed but spot-on understanding of Pop’s first dictum -- laugh at those and those things that would destroy you if you don’t.
And David, awash with suds in a sea of sorrows.
Jeanne, hiding utility in a calf cast of beauty.
And Ma, true to all of her.
Jane, who risks much to gain even more. Thank you.
Mr. Black, a man of few, but a few more words, than Tommy. Bleep you all, indeed. A benediction as only he can utter.
Mr. Red, if he could be bothered, would probably say Bleeps to youse all, and Wild Billy, I know, is saying, Meow (which means wwwvdotsomebodyfeedmedotcom).
Ben, hello, and good news about your training. Tnx for this, my young friend. And love to those whom you love and esteem.
And Ed, my long and large friend, thank you for the gift of your reservations, which is very different from going off the Rez, I can assure you. I see and hear the left-unsaid self-awareness of your contradictory thoughts and feelings. Bless you.
-- posted by Goose
In Post 82> Tommy does post, and more than just Bingo.
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