CODING HUMANS

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Monday, October 13th, 1890

Journal,

Just before sunset, I saw the strangest lights in the sky. Streams of yellow, red, and orange stretched across the full horizon without beginning or end. Mother said it must have been one of them space rocks the scientists from the university talk about. She says it is an omen—a good one, I hope. I like to think it is a sign that love is on the horizon for me; how I long to meet the one meant for me. I will be thirteen soon. November 13th—less than a month away. Mother says I will be able to be with child soon. My womanhood is approaching. I am a bit scared about becoming a woman. I am eager to feel the touch of a man in wedlock but still afraid to walk away from my mother and father’s comfort. They say I should be readying myself for a man. Father wishes for me to marry one who can live on the farm and help with chores. Or he says: to marry into wealth so that I can elevate our bloodline into a less labor-intensive life. But I love the farm; I couldn’t imagine living any other way.

I spent the afternoon in the meadow of our plot’s west side, reading and enjoying the breeze. A doe and her fawns sauntered past me as I rested in the grass. The mother was so close I could have touched her, but I didn’t want to frighten her away. They looked at such peace while grazing. Then the light shot clear across the sky in the blink of an eye, and they scurried off. The strange thing appeared to land far off into the distance, crashing into something. One could hear the impact from far away. I hope to seek it out tomorrow—if possible. I could not make an accurate measure of how far it is from home. I will inspect tomorrow after chores.

Wednesday, October 15th, 1890

Journal,

The weather grows colder each day, with winter on its way. I need to knit some warmer clothes before I make my way to inspect the object and where it landed. Yesterday the weather did not permit for travels. Mother and I spent the better half of the day working cream into fat for butter molds. Father will be pleased. I don’t think he loves anything on this green earth more than buttered bread with mother’s wild blueberry jam. Father says: the blueberry harvest was the largest he’s seen since he was my age. Said he’d be turning purple by spring with all of Mother’s jam. I hope she jarred some for pie. I prefer pie to jam.

Thursday, October 16th, 1890

Journal,

I tried to make my way to the object but was unable to find anything. It must have landed somewhere far-far out in the distance. I was so hoping to see something from another world. Pastor Dave says it was likely an angel coming to check in on us, making sure we are treating our friends, family, and neighbors better than we treat ourselves. He is a good man, always worrying about everyone in town and how they are doing. I wonder if he would be a good fit for me. Can he even lay with a woman? I am unsure of the rules of the church. I would hate to learn that he must remain celibate to leave this place without passing on his good-natured ways. I should bring him some of mother’s jam. If he likes it as much as father – maybe that would be the sign I am looking for.

Tuesday, October 28th, 1890

Journal,

A strange man has been riding his horse on the outskirts of our land the past week. He only seems to ride as the sun goes down. Father says he must be the new neighbor that bought up land on the other side of the creek. He looks so mysterious out there riding all alone. I’d like to meet him and learn about where he comes from and whether he has a wife or children. His horse looks beautiful. She is dark brown with a long wisp of hair hanging over her head. I think I will take Betsy out next time I see him. Mother says to invite him for supper if he is willing. I believe mother wants me wedded more than I – well, I don’t know if that is entirely true. Marriage is all I think about. She does want grandchildren, t

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[10 | Snowfall] Download or Read PDF

12/09/16 Journal: The semester is over, and I have successfully completed my course's first teachings. I sit here looking out my window, wondering what the future will bring. Now that class is over, I can get back to my research. I was able to access some of the labs on campus during the semester and develop a prototype of my tranoquart mechanism. I am calling it the T.S.D. apparatus—that is, ‘Tranoquartian Space Detection.’ My only problem is inputting the correct equation. For the life of me, I cannot seem to figure out what the right formula is to make it work. I know that my experiment will work; I just need the correct equation. 

The snow begins to fall today. I hear that the city used to be blanketed with snow by thanksgiving, but nowadays, it seems rare to even see snow by New Year’s Eve. Such a sad turn in the weather. I really do love the snow. The two lakes here must be a sight to see when frozen over. I wonder what kind of physics they could be used for. My home is right on the isthmus wedged between them. The thin strip of land separating the lakes could act as an insulator between them when they freeze over. I imagine Nikola Tesla was looking into this when he was visiting Madison. Perhaps, the static electricity generated by the frozen lakes could be used in my experiments.

It has been an exciting ride. I remember back in my early twenties, just trying to scrape by. A high school dropout with a prestigious G.E.D. mixing up drinks at the local Chili's. Now, a world-renowned physicist on the verge of winning a Nobel prize. That part may be a bit exaggerated but nevertheless, a doctorate in physics. In my own discovered field—something to be proud of. Since the semester is now over, I am debating a reward of drink. I have not been drunk since I moved in. I don't know if I should risk it, but I do have a good month until the spring semester. Now is the time, if I am going to binge. On the other hand, I can use this time to work on my device. I could do it while drinking, but how often do I actually get anything done when drunk. I don't know; some of my best work was amid drunken inebriation. When I got home last night, I noticed there is a bottle of scotch in the freezer. Also, my fridge is completely empty. I don't recall ever buying any groceries since I have lived here. In fact, I don't remember much at all. I must have been so busy my brain is having trouble latching on to daily memories. I did accomplish a lot with my device, but I don't remember much else. 

Saturday 10:00 am

Journal 12/10/16 

To Drink or Not to Drink. That is not the question!

Yes, I am weighing the options. Last night I was too exhausted after I finished grading finals to take that scotch out of the freezer. Maybe because I know that the dark stuff is not the best choice for me. It was too late to get some Tanqueray. I have the next month or so free. I can drink if I want. I have nothing else to do except the work I want to do on my own time. I really shouldn't drink; I know what the result will be. The snow on the ground is so inviting to the drink, though.  Overnight, the city has been covered with snow, which has yet to be removed by the plows. What a wonderfully beautiful sight to see. 

Saturday 10:30 am

This coffee is so delicious. If I drink, I won't be having coffee like this for a while. Every time I drink, I cannot have caffeine. It feels like a spike in my brain when I do. The extreme fatigue of hangover mixed with the punch of caffeine makes for a terrible attempt to nap. No, I don't think I will drink that scotch. I should just empty it out in the sink. Yes, but if I do, I may want to sip it. I don't know. What else am I going to do today? I don’t have a snowsuit. I don't really know anyone here either except for some

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[9 | Vestibule- 12:03 am] Download or Read PDF

J.F. found his new place earlier, after getting the keys from Elevyn, and fell right asleep on the premade bed she had done up for him. He was exhausted from his travels and was in desperate need of a good rest. When he lay down, it was daylight, and the blinds were pulled up, but it is dark when he wakes. 

After taking a quick trip to the bathroom, he decides to tour his tiny little condo. He takes eight steps across the layout and says out loud, “And that’s it, folks. I hope you enjoyed the tour. We’ll be here all week!” 

Another step forward, and he makes it to the kitchen area. 

Once in the small workspace, he searches about to see if there is anything in it. He opens all the cabinets and drawers to find they are empty, except when he makes it to the cabinet above the fridge. At first glance, it appears vacant, but when he pushes himself up higher on his toes, he finds a bottle of 18-year-old scotch rolled off to the back. (The previous tenant must have missed this when packing. My lucky day! Or night, I should say. Hooray!)

Scotch had been his preferred drink in the past, but he had switched to Gin for the botanicals' healing properties. Also, any time he ingests dark spirits, his brain tends to go haywire and bad things happen. Normally, he wouldn’t risk a brown liquor, but considering the liquor stores are now closed, he takes the risk. 

When he sees the rocking chair next to the window, he says, “Now only if I had a glass.” and looks to the counter to see a tall tumbler sitting in the sink. “If you ask, you shall receive.” 

He pours a finger's worth, grabs the neck of the bottle, and shifts to the rocking chair. 

Within a few hours, he drank half the bottle of scotch, launching him into a blackout state. The potent alcohol soaks his brain like a sponge and wipes the day clean. Before forgetting who and where he is, his last thoughts are of Ella and the two of them making eye contact for the first time.

J.F. is no longer present, and he now refers to himself as James—his pristine Scotch drinking name. He even carries himself differently, as if he has a fine suit on and is heading to the country club. His ethanol-soaked brain has taken over. One second he was rocking in the chair, planning to head back to bed, and the next, he is heading to the lobby in search of deliberation. In his highly energetic state of inebriation, he thinks, for some reason, he will find people to talk to in the lobby at 2:00 am in the morning. 

[9.1 | Lobby]

J.F. walks about exploring the place. He paces around the lobby going in and out of the mailroom halls, inspecting the mirrors and the empty clubroom. He goes back into the center of the lobby and looks out the front doors into the vestibule. 

In the vestibule, a man sits on the ground with his legs stretched out like scissors. In between his legs is a mound of city-street grown mushrooms. The man is eating something, taking twisted, deranged bites while trying to keep his hands straight as he holds what looks like a hamburger. He moves his hand upward to his mouth, but it seems limp, like he has no bones in it, and almost drops it when he uses half of his mouth to barely bight off a piece of lettuce. The lettuce then dangles off his lip and cheek. He attempts to pull it back with his tongue, while moving his head, as if the tilt of his neck will help give him better reach.

(I know that limp aimless hand. He is in the midst of a hallucinogenic trip.  Probably why he collected all of them mushrooms. The pile of mushrooms has become a center of worship for him. Good Times.)

J.F. takes a step back and stands still, wondering if what he is witnessing is actually happening. Then, without notice, the man jumps straight up from his plopped p

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[8 | Move-In Day] Download or Read PDF

J.F. stands in the lobby near the vestibule. He is waiting for his turn to speak to the girl sitting in her office. He cannot see her yet, but he can hear her soft and enticing voice. It seems she is having a lively conversation with an older lady, a lady J.F. thinks has the scent of death upon her. He starts feeling paranoid as if the two women can read his mind, and just as he thinks it, the older lady turns and looks at him. 

(Was that a coincidence? I wouldn’t put it past these old-timers to have some sort of clairvoyance. Look at her face; it is as if it is decaying while still living, like a fresh tomato with a single moldy spot stuck in it. What is this pointless jargon they are discussing anyway? I hope it is more than just daily gossip.)

It is unclear to J.F. whether the young girl is irritated or thoroughly enjoying the tête-à-tête. 

The two of them continue to ramble on with little concern for the man in the lobby who may actually have real business to attend to. J.F. starts to make out some of the conversation, but most of it is being spoken purposely low, so he and other tenants passing by cannot hear.

Typically, J.F. is a very patient man except when people are disrespectful to others; this is when he becomes impatient. He begins to pace a little to try and draw awareness when he is reminded of the need to appreciate patience. He quotes himself: (Life is short and getting somewhere quickly takes away the joy of arriving. Dr. James Francis Quasar)

J.F. cups his hands behind his back like a monk and walks over to a chair to take up residence until the gossiping discontinues. He then silently thanks the ladies for giving him a chance to practice patience once more. (Thank you, ladies. My apologies for my disrespect and irritation. For I am only a man, and an insignificant one at best.)

He takes a moment to do some deep breathing meditation and says under his breath, “Whenever you are feeling rushed, slow down – slow down.” Simultaneously, he reduces and controls his breathing and relaxes all muscles. (What seems like a pointless conversation may be a conversation that makes this ladies day, and or is a discussion of much greater importance than my own.)

While waiting, J.F. slips into a deep relaxation. He becomes tranquil and pretends he is a master Buddhist becoming one with the oversized Victorian chair. Once his mind is cleared, he looks around the room and analyzes it using his mathematical brain. (There are two hallways separated by a wall with a large half elliptical table pushed up against it. Above the table is a large rectangular mirror with a gold plate carve design. Down the halls, the mailroom appears to be connected in a U shape with the mailboxes lined up and down the wall between the hallways' exits. There are more mirrors across the room, all having different geometric shapes, circular, elliptical, triangular. An odd assortment of mirrors. I wonder who decorated this place and how long ago that was.)

“Hello there, young man.” J.F. is startled by a man sitting in the chair against the opposite wall. The man is draped in thick black clothing with long hair and beard, sunglasses, and a fedora. Sitting aside him are two little white dogs. (I must have spaced out for a minute while this person snuck in. Odd, I am usually more than aware of others lurking about. Particularly when accompanied by animal.)

“Afternoon.” “Thanks. Are you waiting to speak to Elevyn?” “Yes, I think so. Elevyn is the lady in the office, correct?” “Yes, she is. Are you new here?” “Yes, I am moving in today, just waiting to get my keys.” “Excellent. Let me guess, Unit 6140?” “That’s the one.” “Only unit for sale, right?” “I suppose so.” “I am also on the 6th floor. Say, you a Whiskey man or a Gin man?”

The girl comes out of h

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[7 | Entry: J.F.] Download or Read PDF

Journal 12/13/2020, J.F.

The semester is over, and a drink is in order, for it has been three months and a fortnight since the last. 

I sit at my office—gazing upon a brick wall—wishing for the long-lost love I have never known. Note something about antivibration and subatomic measures…

The students await their final grades, and my research is coming to an end. Dr. Onellion expects a finished essay over quantum entangled particles on a non-subatomic scale by the end of the year, and I haven’t even started the work. There is a young girl in my hypothetical physics course that has had me in knots all semester. Something about her just takes me out of reality and sets me into a bizarre sensation of bliss—even though we haven’t but spoken once. She must be at least ten years young than me as well. She would probably run for the hills if she ever saw me while drinking anyways. I suppose I am doomed to a life of anti-intimacy bounded by the shackles of a genuine passion, a passion no one else on this planet could ever experience or even understand exists. Somewhere along the line, I must have been cursed to hold the knowledge and capability of true love but to never share it with another. Oh, how I dream of her, though. I wonder where she is from; she doesn’t look like she is native to the lands of Wisconsin. Whatever. I shall move on and erase the semester with a fresh drink this day, for it has been 14-weeks plus 2 since I last entered the land of delusional harmony. 

JF

Postscript: I almost forgot that it is my birthday today – It must be kismet!

JF

[7.1 | First Snow]

The first snowflake of the year has made itself present to the city of Madison. It falls from the sky, swirling and flipping until it finds a home somewhere in the center of the isthmus melting instantly upon its arrival. Soon to follow, its billions of brothers and sisters will litter the earth bringing beauty back to the baron city currently speckled with leafless trees and brown, wilted grass. 

Young J.F. has finished his first semester as a TA at the University of Wisconsin—Madison. He has spent the past 14-weeks teaching his original course on Hypothetical Physics. A system and subject he developed and of which his doctoral research was over. He waits in limbo to receive his Ph.D. as the other professors do not have faith in his claims, stating: “Until the work can be proven, we cannot award J.F. his Doctorate.” A challenging task to accomplish considering the mere vastness of simplicity his work is. However, many of the professors found the result quite intriguing and beneficial to up-and-coming research in theoretical physics, so they allowed J.F. to host his own course teaching the subject. At the same time, he pursues another topic of research so to obtain his degree. 

In the basement of Science Hall on N Park St., Bricks line the walls floor to ceiling with creaking wooden blanks above at the end of an abandoned hall. These planks would puff out spores of dust if the right stomp was placed on the floor above. He is a minimalist, only keeping a plain drawerless desk and old straight-back wooden chair in the office. There are no paintings on the wall, cabinets, shelves, or anything other than another old desk chair someone had brought in at some point to sit across from the desk. tap-tap-tap

While scribbling gibberish in his notebook, J.F. is startled by a light knock on his door. He looks up to see the very girl he was daydreaming about and instantly loses his ability to be his natural-eccentrically-suave-self. 

“Dr. Quasar” “No. It’s just J.F. I am not worthy of the title just yet, my dear.” “Oh. I doubt that very much, Dr. Q.” “Please. I am fine with being called J.F. What can I do for you?” “Well. I just wanted to thank you for

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[6 | Class Prep] Download or Read PDF

Journal – 08/05/2016    School is starting soon. I don’t recall (or rather remember) doing much over the summer. I really need to get back to my research, so I am prepared for the class I will be teaching. The semester here in Madison is a little odd. It doesn’t start until after Labor Day in September sometime. I think they only have a 14-week semester vs. the standard sixteen I am used to—kind of nice. I wasn’t aware of this until I looked at the calendar for the correct start date this week, only to discover it didn’t start until September. Perhaps the universe works in my favor, so I may get up to date on my work. Good thing I don’t have any coursework this semester. The university was kind enough to focus on my hypothetical physics course until I got settled in. Then I can start coursework in spring. I’d honestly prefer to just focus on my research. I am about half burnt up doing different physics topics. I feel I have enough knowledge and can pick up what I need when necessary. 

I just noticed a snowflake falling outside while I sit in my rocking chair writing. It looks beautiful. I only recall it snowing once or twice in Dallas, and it was short-lived once the sun came out. It will be nice to experience winter again. What happened to the summer anyway? I have only been here now for a few a day as well. Anyways, research now.

Research: 

Tranoquarticles

Transient Quantum Nano Particles

Notes: 

Lecture 1- Superpositioned Au Quarks

Lecture 2- Stabilized Elec

“Rat-a-tat-tat”

(‘What was that?’ ‘Sounded like that little door knocker thing.’ ‘Who the hell would use that tiny little thing. I couldn’t even get my finger through it.’)

“Tap-Tap” 

“Yep, sure is.” J.F. says under his breath, “Hold on a sec – I’m uh come-in.”, sets his notebook on the windowsill, pushes himself up off the rocking chair, and heads over to the door. He stops to look through the peephole first and doesn’t see anyone. He then opens the door and pops his head into the hall, looking both ways to find no one is in there. (‘Had to have been the neighbor’s door?’ ‘You think?’ ‘Guess so, it’s right next to ours.’ In fact, our condo is the only one that has a door this close to it. All the other doors are evenly spaced, but this door is literally almost connected to ours.’ ‘Weird.’)

J.F. shuts the door and heads back to the rocking chair. “Alright. Now, where were we.” 

Research: 

Tranoquarticles

Transient Quantum Nano Particles

Notes: 

Lecture 1- Superpositioned Au Quarks

Lecture 2- Stabilized Elec (cont.) trons and anti positrons

lec

“Rat-a-tat-tat”

“Seriously. There better be someone at the freaking door this time.”

J.F. gets up and walks back over to the door at a fast pace. This time he doesn’t look through the peephole; he just grabs the door and swings it open fast to try and catch the knock-and-dasher. His hand grips the doorknob pulling the door so hard that it slips out of his hand and hits the door stopper screwed to the wall. He expected to see nothing but standing in front of the door is one of the artificial twins from down the hall. 

“Oh. Geez. Sorry about that. I thought you were someone messing with me. Say, did you just knock on my door a minute ago?” “No. Wasn’t me.” “Weird.” “What’s up?” “Hey. Well, I am Eve, and yea- it is like Eve from the bible. My mom wanted it because Eve means something that happens before, like Christmas Eve, you know, so like she thinks woman came before man, which is why Eve is the name in the bible. My sister’s name is Eden, so you probably get the theme here. Just wanted to get that out of the way. Anywho, we met yesterday at the elevators.” J.F. responds with a confident and flirtatious tone, “How could I forget the angels of the s

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[5 | Pray for Death] Download or Read PDF

{“Nothing goes better together than death and physics.” “What world are you living in? Are you here with us, or have you created your own reality?” “The end is near, my dear, but not close enough to hear.” “Wait, and you shall see that nothing is more than you and me.”}

August 24th, 2016

(Gun – the gun. I need the gun. I need it. I need to buy a gun. I’ll put the gun next to my head, pull the trigger, and then I’ll be dead. ‘What?’ The gun, I said. I must buy the gun—not for fun, but to have the gun, my son. I’ll put the gun against my head, pull the trigger, and I’ll be dead. For fun is not the gun—it just must be done; the gun is to make me done—done. I’ll put the gun against my head, pull the trigger, and soon I’ll be dead. ‘He puts the gun against his head, pulls the trigger, and then he’s dead.’)

J.F. goes on in a tireless sleep. His brain repeats itself like a broken record, (The gun – The gun, I need the gun. If I put it next to my head, pull the trigger, I’ll be dead, he said.)

The poor man lays in bed, unaware of whether he is asleep or has been tossing and turning for hours. He is twisted up in the sheets, surrounded by darkness, wondering where he is. His body excretes droplets of sweat from head to toe, soaking the mattress beneath his naked body. His brain rants in uncontrollable loops, (The gun I said – the gun, wouldn’t it be fun to have the gun for if I had the gun soon, I’d be done. I’ll put the gun against my head, pull the trigger, and I’ll be dead. The end is near, my dear. I am so eager to hear, but first - we need - to get - the gun.)

Between mental ravings about suicide, a single lyric by Ray Conniff and The Singers - Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round The Old Oak Tree plays in his head. The lyrics drive him mad. The terrifying sound of the singer's voices makes him feel like he is in some sort of an interdimensional hell where the only available punishment is listening to sweater-wearing racists from the 70s belt out gay music. 

“Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree

Round the Ole Oak Tree

the Ole Oak Tree

the Ole Oak Tree

the Ole Oak Tree

Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree

Round the Ole Oak Tree

the Ole Oak Tree

the Ole Oak Tree

the Ole Oak Tree

Oak Tree

Oak Tree-Oak Tree-Oak Tree-Oak Tree-Oak Tree”

The song will only stop when he switches back to obsessing about suicidal fantasies.

The repeating lyric doesn’t seem to have a beginning or end for him; it just goes on in endless successions. His inability to recall the start and the end of the song drives him mad, so he switches back to his gun obsession. Focusing on the gun allows him to put a stop to the repeating lyric. 

J.F. rolls over, feeling air brush against his sweat-soaked back; it cools him for a moment. He then uses all his strength to slide himself over to the dry half of the bed. Once positioned, he pulls the blankets back, lifting them off the wet areas hoping that the area will dry by the time his body soaks the other side of the mattress. 

The delusional state continues as he lays on a queen-size foam mattress tucked in the corner of the small bedroom in his unfurnished apartment. The repeating song lyric feels like someone stuck an icepick in his brain, and he cannot get it out. The only thing that stops it is the obsession about getting a handgun and blowing his brains out. 

He sleeps naked with a single white sheet covering his genitals. He cannot stay still and flips side-to-side, feeling bits of sweat build up, on his back. He fantasizes that he is not alone and grabs a pillow squeezing it tightly, pretending it is a woman that loves him unconditionally. For a brief moment, he has feelings of bliss as he fabricates the perfect female. This lasts only a fraction of a second

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[4 | The Lobby] Download or Read PDF

August 4th, 2016

“Hi. Can I help you?” “Yes, I am moving in today, just bought unit 6140.” “Oh, yes. You must be James, or should I call you, Jim?” “Sure am. Feel free to call me J.F. or James or James Francis or Dr. Q or Jim or whatever you like. I’m not sure how I got so many names, but it happened.” “Which do you prefer?” “Oh, I suppose J.F. is fine. Easy to recollect for most.” “Well – alright then, J.F., let’s get you settled in.” “I am Lena. I manage tower two, which is this building—the Mifflin St. building.” “Nice to make your acquaintance. I think you have the keys for me, correct?” “Sure do, and some paperwork for you to fill out. Follow me to my office.” 

J.F. follows the young lady to her office located within the lobby. On the short trip from the vestibule across the room, he inspects the surroundings, wondering who could have been responsible for the décor. He contemplates to himself, (For what is supposed to be a modern building, this lobby sure looks like it is from the ’30s. Why would anyone choose these Victorian-style chairs and matching console tables? And, the paint–the paint looks like someone purposely matched the color of the vomit from the exorcist movie. I don’t know. It is sort of nostalgic—I guess. Kind of reminds me of a place I cannot remember.) “Please have a seat, If you will, Mr. J.F.”

J.F. sits down on the opposite side of the desk from the young girl. He thinks she looks to be about 26—a good age match for him. He watches her body as she maneuvers about the desk. She shifts papers around and organizes while maintaining feminine attributes. Her mannerisms entice his physical attraction, even though, at first look, she is not all that attractive to him.

J.F. asks while she sifts through files, “How long have you been working here for?” “Oh – I started back in 2016 just after I finished college. Not exactly what I wanted to do, but it’s easy-going and pays the bills. I love all the people here too. Where are you coming from?” “Dallas.” “Are you from Texas?” “Actually, I grew up in Wisconsin – Janesville—that is.” “What brings you back?” “Got me a postdoc job over there at the university.” “Great place to live. You don’t even need a car with everything so close.” “I suppose so.” “Alright, so here is the addendum for renting and Airbnb. Pretty much the only thing anyone on the board cares about. I am sure you were told before you bought that there is no renting or Airbnb’s.” “No, not really. But I don’t think that will be an issue. It’s just me, and I’ll likely be here for a decade or so while doing my research. The only thing that would shift me is if I somehow get roped into marriage—doubt that’ll happen anytime soon.” “Alright, then. Well, just keep in mind that you can rent, but only for a year, and you have to show proof that you are moving back in afterward. Also, the tenants are approved by the board, so you cannot handle any applications. We will handle them for you.” “Fair enough then.” “That’s really the only concern. You can read through all the other condo rules and everything when you like. They don’t require signatures.” “Sounds good.” “Okay. Here are your keys, one is for the mailbox, one is for your storage unit, and the other is for your unit. It has 6140 engraved on it, and the unengraved key is for storage—small ones for mail. You need me to show you around?” “Nah. That’s fine. I like to explore things on my own. I’ll figure it out.”

J.F. gathers his paperwork and keys and heads off. Before he is out of view of Lena, he takes a last glance at her breasts, which are tucked tightly into a brassiere designed to accentuate the cleavage. He then makes his way through the lobby to the elevators.

While J.F. stands staring aimlessly at the elevator doors, he

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[3 | Road Trip] Download or Read PDF

James decides to take a long route from Texas to Wisconsin so he can weave through small towns. Along the way, he plans to visit restaurants in search of rare cuisine. He also wants to experience the mysterious ambiance of small-town cultures. To him, the unfamiliar people are reminiscent of tribes in a rainforest; no one has ever seen. The first stop is near Depew, Oklahoma—population 479, where James finds a local restaurant that doesn’t serve customers.

Living Kitchen

Farm & Dairy

“Now, some people think that-der fine food is only found in them bigger cities. But, I reckon they ain’t got the integrity and devotion, us small folks gots.” “No, sir. I would agree with that. Some of the finest foods I’ve had the pleasure of eating myself were from small towns—places where people hold up tradition and keep life simple. You see, that’s why I am detouring on my way back to the dairy state. Trying to taste the land, as I go.” “Wisc-ahhhhh-sen, ey.” “Yes, sir.” “Well, they may be called the Dairy state, but I don’t know if that means they have the best dairy.” “Probably not. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone from Wisconsin eat anything other than a big old chunk of cheddar.” “Ha! Well, what can I do for ya, son? We don’t serve up food on-demand here. You gots to have reservations, and they is sold out, son. Besides, dinner won’t be ready until later on. There are some fine diners throughout the state. Shoot, I do have some scraps leftover from some wheel cheese and some wild legumes we foraged. Why don’t you take yourself a seat on over there in that rocking chair by the window. I’ll fix ya up a little sampler platter.” “Yeah? That’d be great. Thank you so much.” “Why don’t ya have yer-self a seat out der on the porch, and I’ll get ya when it’s ready.” “Sure, and thanks again.”

James contemplates life in a small town to life in the city while he waits. The view outside is pleasant and relaxing while he is rocking back and forth to the soothing country sounds of trees swaying in the wind. (‘Are you sure you wanna go back to the hell hole you came from? This here country live-in seems a lot nicer to me.’ ‘Yah. Maybe.’)

“Here you are, son. Fresh from the fields and fresh from the teat. You gots here a couple wild peanut legumes and some greens my daughter Pansie picked just this morning. Finished off topped with mozzarella the Mrs. also made this morning. It isn’t much but ought be a nice Oklahoma treat. You should consider staying the night. We have a guest bed, and I always have an extra spot or two at the reservation table for friends and family. I’d love for you to meet my daughter Pansie. I think the two of ya would get along just dandy.” “That’s very nice of you to offer, sir.” “Call me, Pat.” “Alright, Pat.” “I didn’t get your name, son.” “Most people call me James.” “Pleasure to meet you there, James” “I’ll tell the Mrs. to keep a seat cleared for ya.” 

James tried to reiterate that he would not be staying, but the man had all but vanished before he could respond.

[3.1 | Pansie]

“That sure is a fancy car you got out there. My name is Pansella. My father tells me you are from the big city.” “Oh, hi there, Pansella. I wouldn’t say that I am from a big city, just passed through Dallas – for eight years – for some strange reasoning, I don’t understand. Tell your dad I said thanks for the dish here; it was delicious.” “Did you like the greens? I picked them myself.” 

Before James realizes what is happening, the young girl pushes a chair up so close to his that the rocker's base locked underneath, cornering him where he sits.

She thrusts a plate into his lap in succession with removing the first plate. A tactic clearly meant to keep him put. She sets the finished dish aside and says, “Here, I brought you a piece of elderb

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[2 | Dallas] Download or Read PDF

(I am seriously fucked. I need to get out of Dallas. How did I even end up here? I don’t really remember much of the past eight years or so. I cannot believe I actually finished college. How did that happen? Well, undergrad, I guess – I am flunking out of grad school—God forbid I get a C in yet another class unrelated to my field. I swear, if 90% of the classwork I did, was actually related to my major, I’d have a Nobel Prize by now. If I ever want to make a real contribution to the science world, I will have to quit drinking. ‘Is that really what you want?’ ‘I don’t know, really. I mean, yea, I want to, but I kinda just wanna get rich and drink myself to death too.’ ‘What do you think will be easier: obtaining a fortune or finding an original discovery in physics, a discovery profound enough to gain you a fortune?’ ‘Odds are pretty high for both.’ ‘We could revisit the stock market.’ ‘You know how addictive that is, and emotions always take play even if you try not to.’ ‘True, but this time we have a decade of advanced mathematics behind us. If we devise a formula and stick to it, it will work.’ ‘I don’t disagree, but one of your greatest powers is also your greatest weakness.’ ‘I know. I am too sensitive.’ ‘Yes. No matter how much you try to prevent yourself from feeling, you will feel and feel more than most can comprehend.’ ‘What else are we going to do? Get a job?’ ‘No. We can’t do that. Might as well just load the gun myself.’ ‘Well, we have to figure out how to get the bills covered. Financial aid is gone for fall, and we barely have enough for the summer. No other prospects panned out, so it’s either a job or play the market.’ ‘We could try a casino—no, the odds are not even remotely worth the gamble.’ ‘Alright, then. I suppose the stock market. I mean, what is the worst that could happen? We lose, and we are just back where we are now.’)

[2.1 | At the Pool]

James sits at his desk in his rickety folding chair. The kind one finds at a bingo hall. It is accompanied by the same foldout table they cover with cheap plastic cloth. He wasn’t one to waste funds on material possessions; instead, he saved it all for drinking. 

While sitting at his cheap desk, he became frustrated from reading an email sent by the financial aid office. (End of an era, I guess.) He closes out the email and deletes the history and cache, and slaps the laptop shut. He then pulls out his phone and deletes all apps related to his university and his synced email address. His actions are emotional and not thought through – but done – none the less. (Well, that’s that then.)

James takes a few minutes to look out the window in front of where he positioned his desk. He sees a clear blue sky, and the surroundings are filled with green grass and foliage. While he gazes into the beautiful weather, he thinks about the mistakes he has made in life. 

(Why is my life so fucked. I am not an idiot, so why can’t I make money. People always say ‘I spend too much’ and that ‘I should work and save – work and save – save-save-save.’ I don’t think that is the issue. I guess I just don’t make enough is all. I could spend countless days slaving away just to make money I’ll never spend, or I could use that energy to make large sums of money and be free from the shackles of wage. Kind of funny how people are brainwashed into devoting their lives to making money, money that they’ll never spend, and then shun others for not doing the same.)

James flips the computer back open and goes to his investment account on E*TRADE. He had opened it earlier that week in case he got the denial form from the financial aid office. While he waited, he devised a formula for the market. He only put a few hundred dollars in it to play out his formula but now is planning to transfer the last few thousand do