Saturday, April 15, 2006

If you think you're under surveillance and have this nagging sense someone is watching over you. You should. Cuz you do.

Top of the morning gents,

You boys have been having some strange dreams.

The reason I know this is cuz I seen all of ye taking
breathers and breaks at the far end of the reserve,
almost out of ear shot from the smoking section of our
cat box.

Some of you needed injuries healed and blood cleaned
off yer hands, fists and feet only to sprint away and
back to the battlefield where you'd been knocking
about.

Doing battle is what you boys do best, awake AND in
slumber. Protecting the innocent from evil don't take
five whilst we sleep off our hangovers or get
repeatedly kicked back from the dead.

My commitment to completing my duties is something to
fear, but the power of prayer is scarier'n shit.

This is confirmed by Commander Craig: he's been doing
double duty praying for his mortal soldiers, sending
well wishes and Godspeed, along with lots of Brasso
Cleaner for yer barnacled and tarnished halos.

As we talk I'd relay most of bun's dreamscape triage
work and my hauntings from my very best pals awaiting
for me to complete the chores I was sent back here to
finish.

I'm losing my place again. I don't know what I'm
writing about, but the Commander does.

Maybe I'm merely assisting you lads with the divine
duties you've been assigned, cuz my deeds clever and
trickery cruel seem forever woven in your lives of
crime.

I feel I'm EXACTLY where I'm supposed to be.

This is the primary context of our relationship AND
friendship. David does the oversight I do the grunt
work. Then he gives me constructive criticisms and
reassures me that I'm blindly stumbling towards my
very own set of jailer keys that's been keeping me out
of Valhalla with miles to go before I sleep.

One conversation of heightened thought, enhanced
emotive expression of pain and death Mr. Craig
interrupted me and said, "Hey guy, you were never
alone, couldn't you see or hear me?."

"I kept in close contact when you dropped out of sight
and off the radar, cuz when the universe is quieted of
your voice, I knew you were in trouble. That was the
moment I started praying for your soul, and the souls
of all your beloved troops upstairs in the squad
room."

"The power of prayer allows me a second sight forcing
me to see what was happening to you."

"On numerous occasions Rachel asked me why I was
writhing in my sleep, weeping and wincing."

I was listening, but was dubious at best. Until he
started listing some details how my sending radius
went from 3 feet to transcontinental.

Dave continued by saying he could hear my injuries and
hunger and saw a bright light scattering all over
Alaska in search of someone equipped to receive my
pleas for help. Matter of fact, he stated that for
weeks and months he could hear a garbled 'help me' if
Rachel was asleep and his house was quiet.

Like a ringing phone unanswered, he directed my calls
to bun upsetting her greatly causing her to cry all
day at work and fret incessantly.

Intent on disproving the Commander, I questioned bun
about this episode. She confirmed this by explaining
she felt she was suffocating and choking on water
awaking to sore feet, sore back and aching face, lips
and teeth. When she was in the shower, she thought she
heard me call her name, so she stepped out and looked
around the house and out the front door finding nobody
but feeling I was sneaking around nearby.

She stated she also yelled out "Damn you Karl leave me
alone." But apparently I didn't. She could feel
something was truly wrong in the universe and all was
not quiet on the Western Front.

She phoned Sara Magnum to see if I'd gotten in contact
with her, which I hadn't. Sara explained that she
hadn't heard from me in months but that she did have a
lot of dreams that I phoned her from Central Dispatch
where she used to drop off my lunch as a little girl a
long, long time ago. She told bun she couldn't make
out what I was saying due to a shitty connection on
post-Soviet twisted pair phone lines and rotary
phones.

See how dreams can be confused with random white noise
emitting from very real yet non-physical signals? The
mind plays tricks on us, but that's half the fun in
life. Peak experiences don't have to be LSD elated or
beach kegger joy, sometimes they occur in suffering.

Death shant be misconstrued to mirror banishment, and
every time we revisit our exclusive smoking section in
this cat box I staked out in your mind, I get to see
you soldiers between episodic warfare against monsters
that continue to do things to innocent women and
children indicative of pure evil.

Our dearly departed loved ones will forever visit my
bun including the kids we failed to recognize and
comfort as we would our very own.

The sea of souls is guarded by sentinels that in life
battled to save the broken children and bleeding
mommies from torturous demons mistaken to be shitty
husbands, funny uncles and time traveling serial
killers. In a few decades we'll see Squish and Waller,
Joe and Patrick joining Nasruk's poppa and Carlos
Salazar and a tall ever-standing Swede on guard
duty-in place and EXACTLY where we’ll be needin’ them.


It may be a while, but we'll also see the rest of the
squadron including Eunice, Mack, Wallace and Ward.
Even they won't be expecting to be greeted by all of
us. Now that's a party.

If you see an extraordinary black gentleman approach
this cat box perimeter in Navy dress, let him in. I'll
do all the introductions then.

His arrival won't be for quite a long time, because
besides yer author on drugs, he has a long list of
hominids equally fucked in the head as me, needing
lessons in becoming a human being. Again.

On your next nightmare and heavenly battle, if you get
your heart ripped out, just book back this way. You'll
see me and bun prepping and bandaging broken wings and
bloody bent halos guarding this triage unit she built
here in this cat box, all by herself and solely for
you graying gunslingers and uniformed felons.

Reviewing all yer most recent horrific dreams and
shell-shocked nightmares, I see that ain't none of us
are all alone.

Now if I could only see in this goddamned darkness.
I've been struggling to find that set of jailer keys.
Which is odd, cuz once I find these keys, I won’t
leave. It will time for my next duty roster: as a
sentinel just like all of ye AND yer poppas.

Until then, I'll feel my way around in the dark, and
yes, failing to find my ass in the dark. Watering eyes
sure fuck up yer vision.

Gentlemen, keep up the good fight. You got a butt load
of mercenaries, troopers and clergy backing yer play.

Interagency assists and constabulary oversight in
life, nightmares and death, is a blessed thing.


Karl.

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