Camera Battles

But is it Art?

So About That Identity Theft

I decided that I should follow up to see if they had nailed the perp and if there was any chance of me finding out where they got my info, perhaps walking into a jail cell while the officers turned their backs as I pummeled the poor shmo until they TOLD ME THE TRUTH!  After trying to get through for a couple of days, running down a different phone number given to me each time, I finally got the assumed scoop:  it seems that someone erred, gave the wrong SSN (mine), bought a fridge, and then paid for it a few days later.  They might have told the clerk that it was not their name on the receipt and were told that it would all get ironed out later, for the clerk was too busy imagining the tasty commission that was coming their way from the sale to bother with the details.

So there you go, it's that easy to get a credit card and immediately charge for something and walk away.  If it had not included a delivery and this person was actually a crook it would apparently have been the perfect crime.  There is no repercussion to the sales clerk for allowing this to get by them, no reason to crack down on this type of thing.  Just another day at Sears.

So I clamped a padlock on my credit, filed an affidavit, and talked to the local cops per my instructions all for naught.

I guess I'll just take of my Sherlock Holmes cap and call this case.......closed.

The Silent Meow (rough draft)

Chapter 1

     "What the hell are you looking at?"

     He had a procedure for these types of things which consisted of trying to pretend like he had not heard them at all.  Whether it was a horn honking or someone yelling, "Hey!", whenever he had looked in the past it was always the case that it was never intended for him.  He was tired of being a fool about it.  No more looking meant no more looking like a fool, so he struggled against instinct to stick with it.

     Besides, he was wearing his sunglasses and no one would be able to tell what he was actually looking at, that was the point.  That way he could keep his head pointed straight ahead and get away with looking at whatever he felt like with impunity.  You may imagine.  So he was doubly sure that whomever was yelling could not be yelling at him.

     He surreptitiously turned his eyes to where he thought the outburst had come from, up the street and on the opposite side where there was a parked car with a man standing in the crook of the open passenger door.  This man was also wearing sunglasses and it was equally impossible to know just where he might be looking.

     He continued up the street pretending that he had never even noticed, very cool, yet readying himself, just in case.  He was on his way home from work, the same route in reverse that he had taken both to work that morning, back to work from lunch, and exactly the one he had taken home for lunch earlier that day.  It was a very level, straight line from one to the other.  In fact, he could see his destination from the far end of the start of either.

     And this led as usual to his pondering the monotony and tediousness of the walk itself.  If only he could simply get there without the time between, he would gladly still exert the effort, but something definitely seemed wrong to him about it all.  It's not like he remembered what he had been thinking about once he arrived, and since time spent thinking was lost in the end what else was there but the same striding over and over to finally get there and back?  What was the point? It seems like it would be just as well if he went from point to point immediately, leaving off all of the pointless time and thoughts that went by on the journey.  Cut to the chase, as it were.

     As he stepped off a curb he was run over by a car.

     He was pretty sure that he heard a voice, most likely the driver, say, "Motherfucker."

Shoots

Fleurs

The Silent Meow (rough draft)

Prologue

     There was something and there was nothing, mostly so as to give definition to one another, since if everything were something it would be nothing of note and if everything were nothing that would certainly be something.

     The problem was that something "became" aware of itself while nothing remained unaware of not having a self.  This awareness was "followed" by curiosity, "then" loneliness, and "finally" boredom.

     (It must be noted at this point that because time had yet to become a phenomenon all words that seem to reference a progression of said are here in quotes in hopes of confusing things as much as they truly were confused.)

     Since this state of affairs was seemingly permanent, having always been and therefore was always to be, and since something could not rid itself of its cursed awareness, it "began" to strive for nothingness, which takes one back to the first statement above indicating its impossibility.  Yet the efforts "continued" as something found itself able to, through a focus of awareness, cause part of itself to dissipate to near nothingness with the amount of seeming nothingness determined by the quantity of effort used to fling the something bits further and further apart, leading to a better simulation of the intended result.  The added bonus was that it seemed that some of the awareness went as well.

     "Eventually" the skills had been honed and the inevitable occurred as something did its best to become nothing by scattering as much of itself as far as it could, hoping to not only be nothing but also to forget that it had ever been otherwise.

                                          boom

One From The Hill