keep these secrets safe
You needed to talk about it. I needed to know I still knew you.
It made sense, despite. It's getting frightening, now. Stop that.
-------
And as an out-of-persona warning: the rest of this is pretty much uncreative rubbish. You can read it, but don't expect wit. I was tired. I still am. And none of this is in my voice.
You've been warned.
-------
[transmission originated 7-18, 19.08]
So, Magic Mountain. Isn't so magic anymore, is it? The only real thrill left is the idea that the chest harness just may not be holding you up throughout the duration of that ride. Either that or the thought of the coaster being stopped, with you on your head, blood pouring into any empty vein it can find. Until it explodes.
But, I didn't pass out on Goliath. That was before the ride. Right after acting drunk. Or stoned. Or both.
I have no idea.
But I do have an idea that we looked like obnoxious fools. That the way home from SF is not south - not for a half hour. That that's what happens when the navigator - the only one in party familiar with both streets and area is either asleep or just pretending to. Either way, at the very least, incapacitated and unable to perform the funtions of a person seated in an exit row.
The idea also occurs that tiredness from a day -- three days -- a weekend like that sets in only once it is all over. But once it does, it's incapacitating. Fully. Hence the possible future absence, posthence. Or to be announced. Or some nonesense like that.
Right. So, if you ever thought you ought to see Wedding Crashers, you should a) get a full mental scan, b) have the absence of intellectual thought treated with heavy medication, c) get a lobotomy for future complications.
Just an idea. Cuz, y'know - it would have been more enjoyable. Even Tom's beaked face would have been more amusing. That makes me sad. Very sad.
And now, that's all this is going to amount to. This is all silliness. Aside from those secrets. They were important to me. They meant something. Unless we don't remember anymore. Don't think about it anymore. Might not want to. I don't. So we'll pretend they don't exist, pretend they are safe, pretend we're okay. And we'll just exist together, you and I, from here on in.
Or. Well, at least -- we can try.
[transmission completed.]
-RK
It made sense, despite. It's getting frightening, now. Stop that.
-------
And as an out-of-persona warning: the rest of this is pretty much uncreative rubbish. You can read it, but don't expect wit. I was tired. I still am. And none of this is in my voice.
You've been warned.
-------
[transmission originated 7-18, 19.08]
So, Magic Mountain. Isn't so magic anymore, is it? The only real thrill left is the idea that the chest harness just may not be holding you up throughout the duration of that ride. Either that or the thought of the coaster being stopped, with you on your head, blood pouring into any empty vein it can find. Until it explodes.
But, I didn't pass out on Goliath. That was before the ride. Right after acting drunk. Or stoned. Or both.
I have no idea.
But I do have an idea that we looked like obnoxious fools. That the way home from SF is not south - not for a half hour. That that's what happens when the navigator - the only one in party familiar with both streets and area is either asleep or just pretending to. Either way, at the very least, incapacitated and unable to perform the funtions of a person seated in an exit row.
The idea also occurs that tiredness from a day -- three days -- a weekend like that sets in only once it is all over. But once it does, it's incapacitating. Fully. Hence the possible future absence, posthence. Or to be announced. Or some nonesense like that.
Right. So, if you ever thought you ought to see Wedding Crashers, you should a) get a full mental scan, b) have the absence of intellectual thought treated with heavy medication, c) get a lobotomy for future complications.
Just an idea. Cuz, y'know - it would have been more enjoyable. Even Tom's beaked face would have been more amusing. That makes me sad. Very sad.
And now, that's all this is going to amount to. This is all silliness. Aside from those secrets. They were important to me. They meant something. Unless we don't remember anymore. Don't think about it anymore. Might not want to. I don't. So we'll pretend they don't exist, pretend they are safe, pretend we're okay. And we'll just exist together, you and I, from here on in.
Or. Well, at least -- we can try.
[transmission completed.]
-RK
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