Tell me something I don't know, Foghorn.

JOURNAL ARCHIVE: Posted by H.V.O.M at 9:22 PM Wednesday, March 28, 2012


See, the counter-paradox affects my thoughts because I write about stuff that really happened.

So I have to have the thought first before it can create something relevant for me to watch.

But so much stuff happens in my thoughts that I don't write about. So much stuff goes on around me that I don't write about.


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 28 March 2012 excerpt ends]





JOURNAL ARCHIVE: Posted by H.V.O.M at 2:30 AM Sunday, August 07, 2011


The time traveler effect would seem to be distinct from what I call the couter-paradox effect but I have been think these past hour or two about how I have sometimes made references that suggest the two notions are the same. Or I think I have made them synonymous in my writings.

The reality of that notion in my mind is that what I call the 'time traveler effect' is what happens around me because there are people who are possession of information I give to them as a result of me being a time traveler. I give them information from the future when I time travel back to the past.

The counter-paradox effect, as I call it, is what happens to me to ensure that I generate information that is consistent with the information I deliver to the past when I time travel to the past. What that means is that I must make certain observations because if I do not make those observations then how can that information exist as information that was transferred by me the time traveler to the past?


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 07 August 2011 excerpt ends]










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


Stephen King

The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition


Chapter 9


“You got a name, Babalugah?”

Nick put a finger to his swelled and lacerated lips and shook his head. He put a hand over his mouth, then cut the air with it in a soft diagonal hashmark and shook his head again.

“What? Cain’t talk? What’s this happy horseshit?” The words were amiable enough, but Nick couldn’t follow tones or inflections. He plucked an invisible pen from the air and wrote with it.

“You want a pencil?”

Nick nodded.

“If you’re mute, how come you don’t have none of those cards?”

Nick shrugged. He turned out his empty pockets. He balled his fists and shadowboxed the air, which sent another bolt of pain through his head and another wave of nausea through his stomach. He finished by tapping his own temples lightly with his fists, rolling his eyes up, and sagging on the bars. Then he pointed to his empty pockets.

“You were robbed.”

Nick nodded.

The man in khaki turned away and went back into his office. A moment later he returned with a dull pencil and a notepad. He thrust them through the bars. Written across the top of each notesheet was MEMO and From The Desk Of Sheriff John Baker.

Nick turned the pad around and tapped the pencil eraser at the name. He raised questioning eyebrows.

“Yeah, that’s me. Who are you?”

“Nick Andros,” he wrote. He put his hand through the bars.

Baker shook his head. “I ain’t gonna shake with you. You deaf, too?”

Nick nodded.

“What happened to you tonight? Doc Soames and his wife almost ran you down like a woodchuck, boy.”

“Beat up & robbed. A mile or so from a rdhouse on Main St. Zack’s Place.”





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


Stephen King

The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition


Chapter 9


“That hangout’s no place for a kid like you, Babalugah. You surely aren’t old enough to drink.”

Nick shook his head indignantly. “I’m twenty-two,” he wrote. “I can have a couple of beers without getting beaten up & robbed for them, can’t I?”

Baker read this with a sourly amused look on his face. “It don’t appear you can in Shoyo. What you doing here, kid?”

Nick tore the first sheet off the memo pad, crumpled it in a ball, dropped it on the floor. Before he could begin to write his reply, an arm shot through the bars and a steel hand clutched his shoulder. Nick’s head jerked up.

“My wife neatens these cells,” Baker said, “and I don’t see any need for you to litter yours up. Go throw that in the john.”

Nick bent over, wincing at the pain in his back, and fished the ball of paper off the floor. He took it over to the toilet, tossed it in, and then looked up at Baker with his eyebrows raised. Baker nodded.

Nick came back. This time he wrote longer, pencil flying over the paper. Baker reflected that teaching a deaf-mute kid to read and write was probably quite a trick, and this Nick Andros must have some pretty good equipment upstairs to have caught the hang of it. There were fellows here in Shoyo, Arkansas, who had never properly caught the hang of it, and more than a few of them hung out in Zack’s. But he supposed you couldn’t expect a kid who just blew into town to know that.

Nick handed the pad through the bars.

“I’ve been traveling around but I’m not a vag. Spent today working for a man named Rich Ellerton about 6 miles west of here. I cleaned his barn & put up a load of hay in his loft., Last week I was in Watts, Okla., running fence. The men who beat me up got my week’s pay.”

“You sure it was Rich Ellerton you was working for? I can check that, you know.” Baker had torn off Nick’s explanation, folded it to wallet-photo size, and tucked it into his shirt pocket.

Nick nodded.

“You see his dog?”

Nick nodded.

“What kind was it?”

Nick gestured for the pad. “Big Doberman,” he wrote. “But nice. Not mean.”

Baker nodded, turned away, and went back into his office. Nick stood at the bars, watching anxiously. A moment later, Baker returned with a big keyring, unlocked the holding cell, and pushed it back on its track.

“Come on in the office,” Baker said. “You want some breakfast?”

Nick shook his head, then made pouring and drinking motions.

“Coffee? Got that. You take cream and sugar?”

Nick shook his head.

“Take it like a man, huh?” Baker laughed. “Come on.”

Baker started up the hallway, and although he was speaking, Nick was unable to hear what he was saying with his back turned and his lips hidden. “I don’t mind the company. I got insomnia. It’s got so I can’t sleep more’n three or four hours most nights. M’wife wants me to go see some big-shot doctor up in Pine Bluff. If it keeps on, I just might do it. I mean, looka this—here I am, five in the morning, not even light out, and there I sit eatin aigs and greazy home fries from the truck stop up the road.”

He turned on the last phrase and Nick caught “… truck stop up the road.” He raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders to indicate his puzzlement.

“Don’t matter,” Baker said. “Not to a young kid like you, anyway.”

In the outer office, Baker poured him a cup of black coffee out of a huge thermos. The sheriff’s half-finished breakfast plate stood on his desk blotter, and he pulled it back to himself. Nick sipped the coffee. It hurt his mouth, but it was good.

He tapped Baker on the shoulder, and when he looked up, Nick pointed to the coffee, rubbed his stomach, and winked soberly.

Baker smiled. “You better say it’s good. My wife Jane puts it up.” He tucked half a hard-fried egg into his mouth, chewed, and then pointed at Nick with his fork. “You’re pretty good. Just like one of those pantomimers. Bet you don’t have much trouble makin yourself understood, huh?”

Nick made a seesawing gesture with his hand in midair. Comme çi, comme ça.

“I ain’t gonna hold you,” Baker said, mopping up grease with a slice of toasted Wonder Bread, “but I tell you what. If you stick around, maybe we can get the guys who did this to you. You game?”

Nick nodded and wrote: “You think I can get my week’s pay back?”

“Not a chance,” Baker said flatly. “I’m just a hick sheriff, boy. For somethin like that, you’d be wantin Oral Roberts.”

Nick nodded and shrugged. Putting his hands together, he made a bird flying away.

“Yeah, like that. How many were there?”

Nick held up four fingers, shrugged, then held up five.

“Think you could identify any of them?”

Nick held up one finger and wrote: “Big & blond. Your size, maybe a little heavier. Gray shirt & pants. He was wearing a big ring. 3rd finger right hand. Purple stone. That’s what cut me.”

As Baker read this, a change came over his face. First concern, then anger. Nick, thinking the anger was directed against him, became frightened again.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Baker said. “This here’s a full commode slopping over for sure.










http://www.oocities.org/elzj78/bsgminiseries.html


BATTLESTAR GALACTICA: Miniseries (2003)


(Down in the brig - Apollo walks in and salutes the guard. Starbuck is doing push-ups in a cell.)

Apollo: This seems familiar.

Starbuck: (getting up) Captain Adama, sir. Sorry I wasn't there to greet you with the rest of the squadron. Did they kiss your ass to your satisfaction?

Apollo: So, what's the charge this time?

Starbuck: Mmm. Striking a superior asshole.

Apollo: Ahh. I bet you've been waiting all day to say that one.

Starbuck: Most of the afternoon, yeah. (They laugh.) So how long's it been?

Apollo: Two years.

Starbuck: Two years? We must be gettin' old. Seems like the funeral was just a couple months ago. Your old man's doing fine. We don't talk about it much, maybe two, three times a year. He still struggles with it, though.

Apollo: I haven't seen him.

Starbuck: Why not?

Apollo: Kara, don't even start.

Starbuck: How long are you gonna do this?

Apollo: I'm not doing anything.










JOURNAL ARCHIVE: Posted by H.V.O.M at 4:18 AM Thursday, September 29, 2011 - http://hvom.blogspot.com/2011/09/star-constellations.html


But he had the E-1 rate white symbol patch on one sleeve and the E-2 rate white stripe patch on the other sleeve, which is definitely not a uniform standard of the United States Navy. After thinking about that after waking up I decided that detail is supposed to represent the E-1 and E-2 aircraft of the United States Navy.


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 29 September 2011 excerpt ends]










JOURNAL ARCHIVE: Posted by H.V.O.M at 4:18 AM Thursday, September 29, 2011 - http://hvom.blogspot.com/2011/09/star-constellations.html


As he walked up to me, I asked him where he had been because I have been standing on that hill everyday. There was some unspoken dialog about me having food during that time.


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 29 September 2011 excerpt ends]










http://www.oocities.org/elzj78/bsgminiseries.html


BATTLESTAR GALACTICA: Miniseries (2003)


Apollo: And who's responsible for that?



- posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 6:14 PM Pacific Time Spokane Valley Washington USA Sunday 07 February 2016