Baby, can you dig your man, He’s a righteous man.

JOURNAL ARCHIVE: From: Kerry Burgess

Sent: Tuesday, February 28, 2006 10:55 AM

To: Kerry Burgess

Subject: Violence journal 2/28/06

As normal, as usual, without hesitancy, without regret, in perpetuity, I didn't kill or maim or harm in any way any person today. As normal, usual, etc., I didn't think about killing, maiming, harming anybody today. As normal, usual, etc., I didn't even consider thinking about planning to kill, maim, or generally harming anybody. I did see a beautiful young woman when I went outside that I wanted to give flowers to, but I couldn't, so that is a crime. She is probably sitting at home somewhere, wondering why no one sent her any flowers today. Somewhere else a group of flowers sit huddled together for the rest of their lives, maybe not even leaving their shelf, or maybe they went to another home, breathing in the smile of someone they weren't destined to care about as much.


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 28 February 2006 excerpt ends]










http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/80261/King_-_The_Stand.html


Stephen King

The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition


Chapter 17

Starkey was standing in front of monitor 2, keeping a close eye on Tech 2nd Class Frank D. Bruce. When we last saw Bruce, he was facedown in a bowl of Chunky Sirloin Soup. No change except for the positive ID. Situation normal, all fucked up.

Thoughtfully, hands locked behind his back like a general reviewing troops, like General Black Jack Pershing, his boyhood idol, Starkey moved down to monitor 4, where the situation had changed for the better. Dr. Emmanual Ezwick still lay dead on the floor, but the centrifuge had stopped. At 1940 hours last night, the centrifuge had begun to emit fine tendrils of smoke. At 1995 hours the sound pickups in Ezwick’s lab had transmitted a whunga-whunga-whunga sort of sound that deepened into a fuller, richer, and more satisfying ronk! ronk! ronk! At 2107 hours the centrifuge had ronked its last ronk and had slowly come to rest. Was it Newton who had said that somewhere, beyond the farthest star, there may be a body perfectly at rest? Newton had been right about everything but the distance, Starkey thought. You didn’t have to go far at all. Project Blue was perfectly at rest. Starkey was very glad. The centrifuge had been the last illusion of life, and the problem he’d had Steffens run through the main computer bank (Steffens had looked at him as though he were crazy, and yes, Starkey thought he might be) was: How long could that centrifuge be expected to run? The answer, which had come back in 6.6 seconds, was: ± 3 YEARS PROBABLE MALFUNCTION NEXT TWO WEEKS .009% AREAS OF PROBABLE MALFUNCTION BEARINGS 38% MAIN MOTOR 16% ALL OTHER 54%. That was a smart computer. Starkey had gotten Steffens to query it again after the actual burnout of Ezwick’s centrifuge. The computer communed with the Engineering Systems data bank and confirmed that the centrifuge had indeed burned out its bearings.

Remember that, Starkey thought as his caller began to beep urgently behind him. The sound of burning bearings in the final stages of collapse is ronk-ronk-ronk.

He went to the caller and pushed the button that snapped off the beeper. “Yes, Len.”

“Billy, I’ve got an urgent from one of our teams in a town called Sipe Springs, Texas. Almost four hundred miles from Arnette. They say they have to talk to you; it’s a command decision.”

“What is it, Len?” he asked calmly. He had taken over sixteen “downers” in the last ten hours, and was, generally speaking, feeling fine. Not a sign of a ronk.

“Press.”

“Oh Jesus,” Starkey said mildly. “Patch them through.”

There was a muffled roar of static with a voice talking unintelligibly behind it.

“Wait a minute,” Len said.

The static slowly cleared.

“—Lion, Team Lion, do you read, Blue Base? Can you read? One… two… three… four… this is Team Lion—”

“I’ve got you, Team Lion,” Starkey said. “This is Blue Base One.”

“Problem is coded Flowerpot in the Contingency Book,” the tinny voice said. “Repeat, Flowerpot.”

“I know what the fuck Flowerpot is,” Starkey said.










JOURNAL ARCHIVE: From: Kerry Burgess

Sent: Thursday, March 23, 2006 5:36 PM

To: Kerry Burgess

Subject: Crime journal 3/23/06

Crime journal 3/23/06

I haven't committed any crimes today (unless you count not being able to send flowers to my pretty imaginary girlfriend). I won't be committing any crimes tomorrow as is normal (except probably for the flower stuff).


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 23 March 2006 excerpt ends]










JOURNAL ARCHIVE: Date: Wed, 5 Apr 2006 10:27:23 -0700 (PDT)

From: "Kerry Burgess"

Subject: Re: Sleep journal 4/5/06

To: "Kerry Burgess"


Kerry Burgess wrote:


My so-called imaginary girlfriend is in a good career field, but of course I don't want to assume too much. What I want now more than anything is to just be able to get away from people for awhile, to feel like I can go to the bathroom without it being international news.


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 05 April 2006 excerpt ends]





JOURNAL ARCHIVE: From: Kerry Burgess

Sent: Tuesday, March 28, 2006 8:56 PM

To: Kerry Burgess

Subject: Re: Sleep journal 3/28/06


Kerry Burgess wrote:


Very interesting dream that featured prominently my imaginary girlfriend, whom made me smile today. She told me in the dream "when I'm ready." That's what I was hoping to hear, but then, just like sitting in front of the tv, none of it is really real.


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 28 March 2006 excerpt ends]










http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/80261/King_-_The_Stand.html


Stephen King

The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition


Chapter 17


“Are you there, Blue Base One?” the voice was asking. “We do not copy you. Repeat, do not copy.”

“I’m here, Lion,” Starkey said. He had flipped to the last page of the book and now ran his finger down a column labeled EXTREME COVERT COUNTERMEASURES.

“Lion, do you read?”

“We read five-by, Blue Base One.”

“Troy,” Starkey said deliberately. “I repeat, Lion: Troy. Repeat back, please. Over to you.”

Silence. A faraway mumble of static. Starkey was fleetingly reminded of the walkie-talkies they made as kids, two tin Del Monte cans and twenty yards of waxed string.

“I say again—”

“Oh Jesus!” a very young voice in Sipe Springs gulped.

“Repeat back, son,” Starkey said.

“T-Troy,” the voice said. Then, more strongly: “Troy.”

“Very good,” Starkey said calmly. “God bless you, son. Over and out.”

“And you, sir. Over and out.”



- posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 7:43 PM Pacific Time somewhere near Seattle Washington USA Sunday 01 December 2013