A Waste of Ink is a Mistake, Priscilla!

      Can anybody give me some advice please! Would it be a big mistake or would it be the best thing I’ve ever done? `Would it be a mistake to             reveal these things about my past? Now and then I make a mistake and waste a lot of ink.
      A massive mistake and waste of time!

      People are looking at each other like human beings. Like human beings not numbers. Would it be a big mistake if I go there and talk? A lot of people are looking at each other trying to figure out what to do; people are looking at each other waiting for an answer; people are looking at each other and muttering. People are looking at each other suspiciously.

      Would it be a mistake if I said "The people are looking at each other"? But would it be a big mistake? A big mistake and waste. A massive mistake and waste of time.

      Well, I am sure you noticed. I am sure you noticed a little acceleration. I'm sure you noticed that Danny's chest was rising and falling; You know who I am. I make a mistake and waste a lot -- southerners drop more litter than northerners. Single people drop more litter than married people, so...?

      I am sure you noticed that Southerners drop more than just an unaccented vowel. What we see here is the disease in its advanced stages. People are looking at each other waiting for an answer. I'm not sure you noticed, but everyone within earshot is shocked. People are looking at each other!
      By the way, I'm sure you noticed the missing space in the first row. But that's where I was coming from; that's where I was. That's where I was for a while – so I could just get up and read my note ... ride the wave of one great noise of clapping.
      This thing I am reading, that I am making, is more connected to the initial sentence than to you.

      Repetition of a single, simple sentence pattern draws attention to itself. How do you use juxtapose in a sentence? Juxtapose means to place two things side by side to compare and contrast them. This is what I am doing. I'm sure you noticed the missing space in the first sentence? In any case, I'm pretty sure you noticed me because you sort of glanced at me and I saw you smile. Fortunately your glance came when I noticed the same thing. I'm pretty sure you did, and I'm also sure you noticed that nothing is in the missing space in the first row. Look! Look! I am sure you noticed me. Because I noticed you.

      Again a call for noise from the crowd! Please, when we call for noise barrage, when we call for noise levels in bedrooms, even in theory call for noise, this is a call for noise from the crowd! Do they? Did they? What about if we can only squeak out a pitiful little noise?
      There are times in our lives that call for noise. But if the occasion calls for noise, these craft ideas will definitely do the trick: Macrame, crochet, doubleknit stitch, doctor, endocrinologist, sous chef, witch!
      I am nervous about what might happen if I have to call for noise again. The last call for noise attracted neophyte music composers from as far away as Romania. They protested the federal call for noise walls, saying they are ugly and would create a tunnel.
      All the boys ran through the door in the side of the tunnel.

      There are times in our lives that call for noise. There are times in our lives when everything clicks. And, there are times in our lives when a symbol chooses us. Suppose further that we choose a symbol. Then we choose a symbol and define it to be the unique element that is larger than all ... larger than all seven continents... larger than all others... larger than the heavens, larger than all the worlds together! a hell-like place for the unrighteous.

      “When the call came for a noise from the crowd, everybody grabbed what they could and ran through the door," said a man. “And all the boys ran through the door in the side of the tunnel!”
      In the side of the head? in the side of the neck? the side of the sun that we can't see?

      Now I'm filling the cracks that ran through the door. Then there was the night I ran through the door. Well that night started when Security ran through the door and grabbed both of the photographers. “Shall we toss ‘em, Priscilla? Shall we toss them both into a fire? Shall we toss them all out? Shall we toss them to the wolves?”

      Many protesters left their vehicles to walk into town on foot. They made what may have proved to be one of the wisest decisions in their lives -- they stopped, left their vehicles, and walked out. They left their vehicles and walked into the ice cream shop to sin against the LORD; they left their vehicles and walked into the ranks of milling and mingling warriors, Security, students and workers, protesters, journalists, employees, longshoremen, residents, photographers, a slightly overweight man in a business suit and thick dark mustache – they all left their vehicles and I'm sure you noticed the same thing. There were plenty of them. People are looking at each other like human beings. Four men left their families and walked to Vernon, where they found an empty two-room house they considered suitable. Lakes, streams, and deep ponds are not considered suitable. This is particularly true in deep ponds and large size deep ponds.
      At last, Federal authorities left their vehicles and walked deep into the brush to search for bodies. And then Ministers left their vehicles and walked up to the funeral site!
      All the journalists were talking into microphones. Bits of their broadcasts floated on the deep ponds and through the tunnels. The journalists said things such as:
        --“Particles will cling to the soft bristles and thistles and be hiding or nestled deep into the brush.”
        --“Later, they did some digging deep into the brush. There was a little pile of bones there”.
        --“Something must have took him deep into the brush where nobody could ... where nobody could.”
        --“Oh! Tell me, how deep into the brush does he stagger before he was led deep into the brush and felt strangely compelled to, to.” and
        --“Nevertheless, being thus strangely compelled, the man must have discended and focused on something he saw deep into the brush”.

      The officers left their vehicles and walked toward their fellow officer. Not knowing what might happen. However, knowing what might happen can often help you, you know? For example, Shakespeare knew what would happen as humans were treated differently than their insides supposed. Their insides -- raw in memory -- because their insides might fall out. But, we experience their insides.

      Catching things and eating their insides. That's what I hope. What did you think I was going to say, “That’s what I hope happens to me?” No! I think about all the spiders catching things and eating their insides. They are not saving them for later, they are in the process of dissolving their insides.
      What they do turns their insides into a liquid. Then they slurp it up .... turn their insides into liquid, which the spider sucks up.

      Can you explain to me how a solid can change into a liquid and then back to a solid again? Shakespeare knew what would happen if a spider was catching things and eating their insides. Did he not?

      People who were too far back to see what was going on had left their vehicles and walked close. Residents, hearing the commotion, clustered on the verge, looking while all the commotion was going on and even after.
      “What's causing all the commotion?” said one of the boys who had gone through the door in the side of the tunnel. “Where is noise control?”

      Many men left their families and walked miles from state to state in search of work. They just plum abandoned their families and walked out on their responsibilities. The rest abandoned their deeply held views. abandoned their nests, abandoned their pasturelands. They said goodbye to their families and walked in the cold dawn. “I lowered her to the floor,” he said, “and I ran through the door and gate. and out the front door of my office.” He ran through the door, his hands holding his hair down so that it did not fly away, leaving her on the floor.
      But the way Emily told it, Emily ran through the door herself. I don’t know.
      I prayed a prayer for them and for their families and walked back to my vehicle. By the way, I'm sure you noticed.

      Now and then I make a mistake and waste a lot of ink.

And Then She Wrote

    I finished typing. It’s actually really short. We were chatting more and then she wrote...
    And then she wrote in a bold hand and turned the tiny light on it. And then she wrote 'What is it for?' And then she wrote to Ellen: "There were in his proposal," she said, "some things which might have proved a strong temptation. And then she wrote, "Michael, I love you.”
    It was her hand that held the pen. I married her and then she wrote the story .... kind of. She wrote: Two types.
    And then she wrote on a piece of paper a sentence that established a second character. Another HER. And then she wrote a prayer.
    She asked him to hum things, and then she wrote them down and they just sparkled and then she wrote a short fiction around the water theme and I think I controlled her hands for a few bars at a time, and then she wrote down the notes, and then she wrote to me: 'My heart still aches. She wrote kind and beautiful words that had deep meaning for me.
    I said yeah and then she wrote some other stuff down on the clipboard. A question or two.
    She looked at the question for a while, and then she wrote, “not supposed to”.
    He wrote, “Do you know why?”
    She wrote, “people die”. And then, she wrote, "It happens."

    And then she wrote: “I want to write how I am and who I am so they will know me”

    And then he wrote a book, made a movie and pretty much babbled on. She babbled on. I babbled on. And they babbled on and on. Not so interesting is the "and-then-he-wrote, and-then-he-wrote."
    He wrote nothing and then he wrote again and there was some waiting and then he wrote tender letters again and again. He wrote, “Do you know why?”
    She wrote, “people die”.

    And then he wrote in the sand from Galveston. You wrote in the sand and now, you write on a stone, why?"
    He wrote in the sand with his finger and then took a picture. And then he wrote the second line, and the second line had to be answered, and then he wrote the third line. She thought it looked fine there, and then she wrote her own name, in red, right under it.

    And then he wrote a letter to his old home. It came back undelivered. The next day he paid a visit to his old home, to his old home at Surprise Hill. (Leaves the prison gates, he makes his way to his old home, but his old home is not there.) “A pleasant surprise?" Hill said, I wanted it to be a surprise,” Hill said. “I knew it would be a joyous moment. You could see how it lifted them.” Masterful editing has lifted them out of the ordinary.
    And then he wrote this, which touched my heart ... this story touched my heart:
    He could build a log house himself, and then he wrote poetry.
    I always wanted to build a log house ... everyone could build a log house with their own hands if they have a dream to build a log house. So it's Time to Open the Prison Gates!!!!

    Then he wrote to me ordinary things that touched the heart and moved the soul, such as “the pellet lodged in or touched the heart when Whittington was shot.”
Long, long time ago there lived a poor boy called Dick Whittington. He had no mother and no father, and often nothing to eat. One day he heard of the great city of London, where, said everyone, even the streets were paved with gold. How was it done? What is it?
  How Is It done to get the maximum out of the grooves? the age-old dirt out of the grooves? ink out of the grooves? Double helix out of the grooves. Get the last of the fluid out of the grooves. Out of the grooves -- using a paint scraper, toothbrush bristles, or even toothpicks or large sewing needles. He did this, and then he wrote to me and asked me how it was done.

    How is it done? ... How is it done?

    And then he wrote to me that he was going to speak ... going to speak about these matters today,'' he said. "I was just a little confused ... now I am going to speak for myself.” When he heard how ill poor mamma was, then he wrote to me—twice. You may see his letters if you like. Poor mamma was tired with holding so big a girl for so long,
    Mom suddenly screamed:" you are already so big a girl!” Just the thought of so big a girl! Poor mamma was always very particular about that! It all seemed very complicated. She wrote to me: 'My heart still aches.’ She wrote to me for money, and I sent it again and again. I was a fool, a big one, and I send the money,
    And then... he wrote to me, in a very strange way, one more time. “That's all she wrote”, he wrote.
    Now, in case you didn’t know, That's all she wrote is used to indicate the end of something...
    So! That was all she wrote.

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