Many a One

There have been many a one what would have done it a different way from this, but we have come to do it thisaway, and we are going to keep on doing it thisaway, no matter what the many might say or would have us do different. That is just the way it is. With us. With others, another way. With us, this way. People can adjust or just back off altogether and remove themself from the pain. Pain maybe is too strong a word. From the frogging of seeing someone else do it the way you would not do it. People do not want to be frogged all the time, we understand, and we say let them just move out of harm's way then, perfectly all right by us. This is why God made mobile homes. We don't know why he done some of the other actions he has done, but on mobile homes we have a clear view. It's a terrible larceny to have to stay put when you don't want to have to stay put. People say fire was the big advance, or the wheel, but we think when they took the cave and put it on wheels that that was the big thing, evolutionwise. That right there began to divide the ams from the am nots. Until you had that division you had a high tension in the room that was not good for anybody. But you let the am nots leave and the ams was okay, and the am nots was feeling fine in the breeze of looking for a new spot.

I am not feeling altogether well. The toast has went down bad. And now the inkjets or something is all fouled up. It will take a lot of my energy to see if it's the jets, or the ink, or the impulse software, or the code, or the phone line, or the service provider, or the debutante across the street who listens to the police scanner which I think does not meet FCC specs, I need to just lie down a bit and think, or, really, not think about it. She's a sweet-looking girl but I am beginning to sense a dark edge down in her carpet: is she getting naughty underwear in those what look like Victoria Secret packages from the mailbox on her front door every afternoon at three-thirty, and is she listening to the scanner for serial-killer news? I don't mean underwear packages every afternoon, merely the mail in general at three every afternoon, and I don't mean serial-killer news per se, but I don't think a young girl listens to a police scanner for happy crime or accident. That is an opinion I have without knowing why. Everything wears me out—everything. Life did not used to be this way. I blame the computer chip, mostly, and unselective population growth that has fattened and weakened us. We are in a period, I mean, of artificial intelligence and artificial survival. These are not strong positions. I must lie down now.

I don't have anyone I can play with.

Tell that girl to save herself for me. Yes, she won't regret doing so, not for about six months or a year, when the bearings will first begin to wear. Then we'll cruise on over the soundless wobble, and then of course the wheels will fall off, but this happens and I do not know that it does not happen, except in the two cases of Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence Welk and Mr. and Mrs. Roy Rogers. She's blonde? Yes I know that is supposed to be a good thing, but I am ever afraid of seeing Edgar Winter down there. So if it determines that she is not a blonde, do not forestall the asking of her that she save herself for me. I'm a good man with the grease gun and can pack bearings with the best of them. It's just that, of course, all us mechanics are finally in overalls and finally nasty.

Sky...