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wk 2.2
Date: 2017/12/05 10:44 By: doomey Status: Admin  
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checking out james alston's bonsai. s'tremely strange. hmm. right now i really want to go back online and watch that new barbara concert. good christ, that woman can sing.

[doomey thumb-nails a swan vesta and lights up a pall mall. he sucks in some sweet smoke]

maybe i can get the Lovesores to open for Barbara. Hm.
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Re:wk 2.2
Date: 2017/12/06 15:11 By: deplancher Status: Admin  
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I travelled the road of twists and mists set out by one VC Robert N. Stevenson, got caught by my own expectations once or twice and came through the other side. One or two semicolons misplaced but who am I? Apparently perfection is a concept practised imperfectly by teasers and geezers, neither do I recognize easily.

Well, what then? Serpents Tongue is left to its whatever awaits fate. It's up to the bare bulb fondling by the Terminali now.

Doomey? You know I don't celebrate the Christmas. Let's celebrate mere existence instead. Let's celebrate (quoi?!!?) 25 years of TQRness. D'accord. It's only...what is it? I no longer remember with accuracy.


DeP
A Bluelight Dancer/Not a Pocketbook Romancer
of The Floor
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Re:wk 2.2
Date: 2017/12/06 20:01 By: doomey Status: Admin  
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[doomey has just now finished stapling (with one last thunderous thonk!) the multi-colored christmas lights around the edge of the cherrywood's desktop. he freezes and looks over at DePlancher, staplegun in one hand, lit pall mall in the other]

um, yeah. DeP.

[he relaxes. he tosses the staplegun over his shoulder and grabs up the tumbler-ful of amber. he sips. he sucks]

i don't really celebrate the christmas holiday, so yes, let's celebrate TQRness. but we have not been around 25 years, cousin. me thinks maybe we've been around for a decade. i'm sure there's records, data. maybe the white-haired, evil-toothed one knows how long we've been around.

[he sets down the tumbler and grabs up the current capital]

so i've been examining James Alston's Bonsai. this cat has some talant, some crafting skills, sister. in examining this capital i was fully freaked out, i was saddened. upside down smile, right? i'm thinking this bastard is in. i'm gonna Terminalize Bonsai.

[doomey dips the corner of a page of the current capital into his tumbler of amber. he shoves the page further, all the way, and it's gone. he grabs up the second page and shoves it into the tumbler, and it's gone. he does the same with the third page. and he shoves the rest of the capital into the tumbler. he seats his ass in the pilot's chair, leans back, the empty tumbler in hand]

that capital soaked up all my amber.

[he looks into the tumbler like a spyglass]

yep. soaked it all up.
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Re:wk 2.2
Date: 2017/12/10 19:38 By: doomey Status: Admin  
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checking out Curious Case of Kevin Klaag by Lyn Perry.

[doomey refills the tumbler with amber. he takes a sip]

we will see, hombre.
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Re:wk 2.2
Date: 2017/12/14 20:16 By: carol Status: Admin  
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[Carol leans in over Doomey's shoulder. She examines the capital. She's good at this, examines at triple the speed of the average bear]

Yeah, man.

[She shoves off the back of the pilot's chair, leans against the wardrobe, checks her fingernails]

You should toss that capital up, cousin. Examines clean, pale king.
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Re:wk 2.2
Date: 2017/12/15 21:06 By: doomey Status: Admin  
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[doomey sets the tumbler down on the desktop gently. he looks over at Carol]

wool, yeah. okay, listen. you're good at this, and i am aware of your speed examining skills, but you must allow the prose to absorb into the skin of your mind, give it time, seconds at least. you need to make a relationship with the capital. shake its hand, savvy? talk with it over a backyard barbecue bird and rib lunch. walk with it down by the lakeside, right? skinny dip with it.

[doomey grabs up the amber and takes a sip. he replaces it gently on the desktop]

oh, fuck it. the damn thing's Terminaled.

[doomey grabs the capital in question and rips it in two, and then he rips what remains in two, and he rips that in two, and he rips that into quarters, and he tears what remains into bits. he gathers up the little bits of capital in his hands, and he tosses it all mirrorballward. the bits of paper swirl and whirl, cyclone upward, rise above the rafters and they're gone, not a single chit left on the glass tiles. doomey grabs up the tumbler and takes a sip]

Lyn Perry's curious case of kevin klaag has been tossed to the heavens. er, not the heavens, but the Terminal, which is nothing like what we think of as heaven. me thinks it might smell of roast beef up hither. and maybe a little of farts.

[doomey taps out a smoke. he thumbnails a swan vesta and brightens the tip of his cigarette. he sucks in some sweet smoke. he exhales, relaxing, easing into the plump of the pilot's chair]

ladies, let me tell you about the slave markets in Africa. s'disgusting, sister.
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