I'm glad to know I'm not the only person who drops words from the stuff I write.
Among the millions of page of stuff I written here in the blog and that I've collected, I often find examples where I've dropped a word. Seems to happen because I am thinking while writing.
As a blogging maniac, I've gotten better since then about proofreading my writing, of which I had before the hospital often communicated by written word.
But back in the Bad Old Days, after the VA psychiatric hospital in Seattle, I was sometimes letting mistakes get through. And that still happens but I am proofreading to the best of my abilities.
I've seen this professor do it before, referencing him because he's one of the very actual bloggers I read on the internet. No way for me to know for certain if he's the actual blogger or if it an intern or something. I assume the former. Almost all the other content I read on the internet is from professional journalists. I've wondered if he goes back and makes the correction but then I forget about it and I don't go back and check.
https://cliffmass.blogspot.com/2019/11/the-spokane-megacar-crash-up-snow-and.html
So if you are out driving on Sunday morning, be careful. We need a second mega-car pile up at the end of the Thanksgiving weekend.
From 11/15/1938 ( André-Eugène Blondel dead ) To 11/26/2019 ( ) is 29596 days
29596 = 14798 + 14798
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 5/9/2006 ( referenced in text here by me, Kerry Burgess: journal, Tuesday, May 9, 2006 ) is 14798 days
cliff-mass_11-23-2019_1.jpg
The Stand - complete edition
Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
Chapter 29
Stuart Redman was waiting for Elder. He had been waiting for three days—and this evening Elder did not disappoint him.
At just past noon on the twenty-fourth, Elder and two male nurses had come and taken away the television. The nurses had removed it while Elder stood by, holding his revolver (neatly wrapped in a Baggie) on Stu. But by then Stu hadn’t wanted or needed the TV—it was just putting out a lot of confused shit anyway. All he had to do was stand at his barred window and look out at the town on the river below. Like the man on the record said, “You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.”
Smoke was no longer billowing from the stacks of the textile mill. The gaudy stripes and eddies of dye in the river had dissipated and the water ran clear and clean again. Most of the cars, glittering and toylike from this distance, had left the mill’s parking lot and hadn’t come back. By yesterday, the twenty-sixth, there had been only a few cars still moving on the turnpike, and those few had to weave between the stalls like skiers in a slalom race. No wreckers had come to remove the abandoned vehicles.
The downtown area was spread out below him like a relief map, and it seemed totally deserted. The town clock, which had chimed off the hours of his imprisonment here, had not tolled since nine this morning, when the little tune that preceded the striking had sounded draggy and weird, like a tune played underwater by a drowned music box. There had been a fire at what looked like a roadside café or maybe a general store just outside of town. It had burned merry hell all this afternoon, black smoke etched against the blue sky, but no fire engines had come to put it out. If the building hadn’t been set in the middle of an asphalt parking lot, Stu supposed that half the town might have gone up. Tonight the ruins were still smoldering in spite of an afternoon spat of rain.
Stu supposed that Elder’s final orders were to kill him—why not? He would only be one more corpse, and he knew their little secret. They had been unable to find a cure or to discover how his bodily makeup varied from all those who had succumbed. The thought that there would be precious few left he could tell their secret to had probably never even entered their computations. He was a loose thread held hostage by a bunch of tight assholes.
Stu was sure that a hero in a television program or a novel could have thought of a way to escape, hell, even some people in real life, but he wasn’t one of them. In the end he had decided with a certain panicky resignation that the only thing to do would be to wait for Elder and just try to be ready.
- posted by Kerry Burgess 3:54 PM Pacific Time Spokane Valley Washington USA Wednesday 11/27/2019
