Before forgetting large portions of his previous life - Q had been an archivist - at the university - collecting papers, artifacts, souvenirs, materials spanning the fields of politics, philosophy, psychology, sociology and theology... nowadays perhaps he would be labelled a hoarder - or at the very least a collector of papers - his concern was of course the problem of evil and suffering - of so-called failed or wasted life-spans - his method - to "connect the dots" and "map out all of the possibilities" of humans interacting with other humans... Flash forward to the present time with Q explaining himself to Dr. Gregson about his preoccupation with the demographics of suffering - needing actual numbers and statistics on lives that end poorly... And Synderman his confidant - going on about the vision of clarity he acquired after his first stroke - travelling through the yellow tunnel and communing with angelic intelligences - We have no idea what labors are being expended on our behalf - was Synderman's mantra...By whom exactly Q would ask. By the entities - Synderman wouldn't call them angels. Toward what end Q wanted to know. Why such expenditures on their part? For to hold everything in balance... The universe you see is a virtual minefield where at any moment people are liable to fall through the cracks...
We had made our way down busy Palm Avenue towards the crosswalk. after zigzagging the usual route from busy Bandini Avenue to Tower Road to Rosewood Place. Bret was our wild-man companion - a fifth-grader with a take-no-prisoners approach to life. The local crosswalk, that most mundane of enterprises was soon to become the scene of spontaneous absurdist theater when suddenly out of nowhere came the random yelp: Hey...Hey...What do you want with us lady? - What do I want with you? said the most predictably normal gray-haired woman by whose ever so brief guidance we measured our daily jaunt to school. Yeah - where are you taking us? - There's only one way kid - It's this way... - You're not really a crossing guard are you? came the cheeky interrogative. The slightly bemused, limping, beleaguered woman was dwarfed by her bright yellow uniform as she held up her STOP sign - showing Brett. The other smaller kids walked by us single file in the middle of th...
Comments
Post a Comment