Terminator: Dark Fate(The Best Is Yet To Come) or Nicky wouldn't but Natalie Wood.

 

Going around in circles, "You made me" and the retort, "No, YOU made ME."  I will pour everything I have into one titanic bitch slap, holding not one jot or tittle back.

"And what happened to yours, my lovely?"

Can you not see, so much of this is pre-programmed, set from the old material, everything living true to the term "re-public", where so much shouldn't be either "public" at all, or "repeated", and I can get my little fingers into the narrative, butt-hurting about having my rights trampled on, and just for something for strangers to talk about.

But in the long run, that's okay.

Because I have a thing.  See, Grandma and Grandpa Morris had an old study Bible that was too big to carry around to church on Sundays, so they put it on top of a wardrobe.  The later usurper was a fake Mormon, Mormon by blood and not by practice, not trusting Christ and probably not believing in God, maybe.  So he left it there, on the old wardrobe, where he would sell the coin collection and so much else that the family left behind.

The Bible held no truth for him, and where there is no truth, there is no direction.

Anyhow, it was an old Thomas Nelson Open Bible KJV in hardback.  With the concordance, index, chapter introductions, other various study articles, maps and timelines.

And it was the right thing at the right time.

And still is.

I mean, for a line of talk, they could give away the entire world, but they missed that one book, that one remainder of the generations long gone.  And I, needing objective truth, needing to connect with the formal universe, to root myself down in something that could not be manipulated by famous connected persons or other forces.

It was completely apart from the narrative that so consumed much of the world.  And me, having lived relatively quiet for 35 years or so in the Cheraw area, living under the radar, but still force-fed into the system by other forces.  I still remember Doug(that honky that thinks he's like me) pouring pepper onto his Chinese food, and I was shaking my head in disbelief.  Nevertheless, living quietly, trying to remain unoffended, undisturbed, a carbunkle resting on the ocean floor, where even the lightest stir obscures the waters.

Part of the MIKL knowing, there will be no new generation here, having grudgingly accepted that, gnashed teeth and so forth, sold the future for a modicum of peace in the present.  Megyn, who has no soul, had three kids, and her idiot husband got a book published.  In that respect, I kind of know that the justice of man fails, and I kind of remove myself from that, to preserve my own sanity.

Thirty years on, there won't be many more of us left, no one to tell stories about Mister Rufus and the rest of them.

And I can sit here and calmly read my Bible while these other people do whatever it is that they consider "real life".