Testing 1 2 3

BELLY OF THE WHALE


I have made a list of things to do today. It looks remarkably like a list of things I don’t want to do.

I haven’t been able to get to this list yet today because I am swamped with other piddly shit. I’m sitting on the phone right now listening to Beethoven’s 5th Symphony, its 4- note tattoo of the harbinger of fate periodically interrupted by a thirsty-sounding man’s voice reminding me how important my call is. There’s an irony in this somewhere. No – not irony. Fitting.

At stake at this call is only 3 months of work. I guess somebody should have told me the Fire Marshal had never signed off on the plan for this building. Things kinda fell in my lap 90 days ago and was left in charge of this design project with little direction, other than “full speed ahead” and “this is a great opportunity for you” and “don’t fuck with me.” So I did what has been termed a yeoman’s job of keeping the job on time, on budget, and on track for 90 days and just a few minutes ago found that I couldn’t find the fire marshal documentation approval on the plan. I couldn’t find it because it didn’t exist. It must have slipped their mind.

The building is a fireworks warehouse. Fuck me.

Three rules

Little lies we tell to ourselves to prop our significance up.

e.g.
5" becomes 7.5"
small paintings become works of a great master

.. . . .

becomes a larger element in the story when it gets to fantasy world

and is fantasy really just another form of reality if it makes you feel the same as reality?

and if this is the case do we tell lies to ourselves to prop our significance up?

and if this is the case what happens when the fantasy world is pulled out from under you?

Chapter 253.3

Chapters by weight

I am tired of fighting gravity where ever I go.

Work for dad.
Dad dies.

* * *
Go to work for big firm.
Move through ranks quickly because of training
Days of death
In my office 5 minutes
work for old nero
walk thtough the remains of the laid off
on way to
inner sanctum of nero

* * *

nero's henchmen

I play this game where I look at people in the train station, for example, and compare them to my wife. If ever I think I am getting bored of her I always play this game and I find that, on the whole, I would prefer her to others. One girl has a nice bod, but her hair is stupid. My wife wins. Another girl has fantastic eyes, but her nose is weird. my wife wins again. There are very few people, when I watch them, actually beat my wife in that game. But thats before I get to know them. If I play the same game with my wife versus some freinds, the game gets a little harder. Perhaps I would feel the same for that girl with the weird nose if I knew her. But then again, my wife's looks are dependent on her personality, it really is. You wouldnt call her beautiful by classical standards, just by listing her qualities. But with her personality, along with her features, you just say, she's cool.

I have made a list of things i need to do today. It looks just like a list of things i dont want to do. I'm fucked. A head appears over my cubicle.

"You, my office, 5 minutes," his finger pointed at me.

I do not see the Angel of Death, so I am safe. I call the Human