11. "The Man Behind the Glass"
"It is the result of the Cubist use of the facet as the basic element of painting. This had been Picasso's fundamental technical innovation[.]"
- J.M. Nash, Cubism, Futurism and Constructivism
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by Lucas Edwards
- Table of Contents
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The owls are never ever what they seem.
Edward Lacie is much concerned and unemployed, unemployable. The weariness of the theme is obscene as the president cuts taxes to the rich and ignores his pledge to clean up business corruption.
I remember nothing learned from the Gnome.
But I took notes: In Pockets: $37.
And! Five! The first five pages of The Trip written this morning.
...followed by multiple pages of cryptic references in very short lines, largely day-to-day references, "Work called." That sort of thing. The way it's written though imbues it with almost a hidden meaning or significance (are they different?). Pages and pages, none of it poetic in the least.
The long letter to Dean and Maggie follows the line above.
The next page after the signature on the letter has what is meant to be a stand-apart poem, recopied from napkins and other shards, written before the train trip to Seattle:
There were three old couples
in their late 50s, one dead,
one lady had an ugly nose,
the men were probably, in their
younger days, farmers. Also
in the restaurant were two tables
of two men each and the employee table
where I sat, where I sit with waitresses.
At one of the two tables with two men are
a thirty-five or so year old gay man and
his lover from the Air Force Base who's 28
maybe. The other two men are from the college.
The waitress knows I'm gay because I've told her.
She doesn't know the men she's serving are gay
because I haven't told her, but I know they are.
"They're so nice compared to guys their age,"
she comments but still has no suspicions, she'd
be surprised in fact, very surprised. I eye them
then notice a man who used to work with my dad enter
with another man. The first used to be married and
then in comes a bar maid from next door and the
noon desk clerk from the motel and her son come in
and both order a chef salad I usually make different
in appearance whenever that happens but I don't.
I was born to be a stalker.
The next page is flipped on its side and has two columns, A and B:
idol eyes / (jeopardize, leopard mystifies?
verdämmt his eyes / verdämmte Augen
sei' (German: sein) sigh / seine? his, indeed
iris (ire is) rose / all is bright
eyes or / and eyesore too
The parentheticals were part of the writing and, including the unmatched first use of one, are reproduced correctly from the Gnome notebook's old ink.
Edward was flying upside-down and backwards.¹
There's (is and was) always trouble when he starts to write.
Snowstorms stay away. Demons are revealed where none were before
(but they were, but they were!), people speak in code.
I'd tell you what I mean but I'm not high enough yet.
Tonight I listen to Broadway tunes. Watch out.
I dream of sticking to one of my own kind,² a kind one of my own kind.
I want to write poetry. Shame on me. (Flame, the flame.)
The story Cindy has been told, a waitress Ed worked with at the restaurant, a clueless soul left as clueless as Ed in the whole proceedings.
The story Celeste was a close friend of both Ed and Dean in high school. She had since married and moved to San Francisco, California, where she was in the U.S. military.
later the man from there
and one woman
into Comfy Kitchen
and the song on above is
"I know a heartache when I see one"
and the garbage man who is in my karass
since long ago is here he knew it was
my glass and not Cindy's not gonna
go to, so she tells me new now.
Then Rod Stewart's latest song is on.
Garbage Man, can I talk garbage?
I'm comparing the message from the radio
in the dining room to the message from the radio
in the kitchen. "Lonely Boy" is on in front.
"Say that you love me," Fleetwood Mac in back.
Chuck and a black guy are here.
The story Mike has left and said "don't hold your breath."
"If you know what I mean." I have to
cut tenderloins, peel potatoes.
Time for what is next. Bar rush, a play,
a metaphor. Tenderloin, a play. Time
to call Diane is the story my sister at six,
the story Cindy is a waitress I work with
at six, the story Deborah is here, etc.
What else? I am tired, drives me crazed.
One, duh, tray is wrong.
I mean "trés." Three of something.
I'm being clued about "three."
"Three times will deny me." Three on a match. Three,
the holy trinity. Three coins in a fountain. Three blind mice,
three bears, billy goats, little pigs, little kittens.
Three faces of Eve. Three's a crowd. It's 3 a.m. I must be lonely.
Past, present, and future have always seemed a holy trinity.
Trioika, trimester, trifecta, trifold, triune, tripod, trilateral convention.
Conventional wisdom compounds these things easily, readily.
Ready, Set, Go. Going, going, gone. Gone fishing.
Red fish, two fish, three fish, four. Four is a potent number. And five.
Twenty-five minutes. Five o'clock A.M. Spokane.
Seattle after, here I.
Come. Bombing in Boston.
"Turn off the TV!"
I've lost control of the entire venture.³ I don't know what the Boston reference is - the rock group on the radio?
(A cruel practical joke by the author would be to announce that daily changes were taking place in the e-novel but never to make even a single change. The various versions that readers profess to have read are each made up, if not by that reader, then by someone intending to lead that reader astray.)
If a tree falls on a website but no one is logged on, was it ever standing?
Did I ever mention that Jim Post changed his mind, wishing first to kill Greg Baysans but later wanting to kill Edward instead? I, Lucas Edwards, have little or nothing (FBM) to do with any of that. I remain neutral.
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