Hectoring vectors

Pneu's body (a.k.a. Plummer's) acted as a magnet for the mosquitoes, his body odor attracting the vectors, the air resonating with his odor under the moustiquaire. The mosquito's surgical sucking tube is like the proboscis of a tapir or the trunk of an elephant, though it is not prehensile. In fact, Pneu was living in On-the-back-of-an-elephant, as the town was called by the locals. He had begun to occupy the town against his will and in full compliance with his velleities. The townspeople were merely indifferent. He was just another francais even though he was not French. He wagered all, didn't hedge his bets, had put them on being there, not having been before in such a place of contradictions, not really a polis, not really a suburb, not really countryside, not even jungle but with elements of all of them. So the mosquito was not merely a flying syringe that drew blood, it was a heat seeking missile, though his body's temperature was probably less than the surrounding air.
Il pleut des cordes. That is the rain in Africa, always applauding and reverberating through the flummoxed air. It took Pneu's breath away. It cools suddenly and you are mired in the red mud, yellow dirt from desert dryness turned to some old southern back road in the US down which old Crawford limps along. A drumming and a rapid report of a machine gun when it hit the corrugated, galvanized iron roof of Pneu's villa. The ropes of rain like miniature Bernini columns alive and moving, falling down in communion with the earth gone awry, sounding like Elvin Jones or Sunny Murray playing drums multiplied tenfold. It was a relief for Pneu, a relief from the oppressive humidity.
Sometimes the clouds were pregnant with rain for a few days before they burst without warning.
Moussa, Pneu's boy, kept the yard free of vegetation, as a mosquito likes to lurk under leaves during the day before she becomes active at night, attacking with the surgical precision of a drone, her long proboscioid mouth injecting into the dermis of her victim her saliva that contains the malaria parasite after sucking blood like nectar. Pneu did not want to get acquainted with her, the female of the particular species that carries the fever inducing plasmodia, called by the French, le palu. So he religiously took the prophylactic prescribed by the nurse in the form of a pill. He took it weekly like Holy Communion. That was his first line of defense. His second was the moustiquaire, the mosquito net, above his bed, sort of like a defective condom, the fine mesh that let the air in.  

I was assigned to 37ECB, a county school on El Cajon Blvd. (b/t/w el cajon means narrow canyon in Mexican Spanish, and there are lots of narrow canyons in SD). A county school is the only option for a student, the last resort when a student is not accepted by any school in the SD district. When I was subbing at the East County Blended Community school in El Cajon the day before yesterday there was an Afghani boy who had brought a knife into school and so was kicked out. Two other boys had been kicked out of two schools before they wound up at the Blended Community school. 37ECB provides education for 7th through 12th grade. It dawned on me when I was peering out the window on the second floor of 37ECB what "the strange code" meant. I was looking at the green street sign, 37th St. The building I was in is located on the corner of 37th Street and El Cajon Boulevard. ECB is one of those streets that goes on for block after city block and goes in to Balboa Park and the SD Zoo, a long spine wracking ride on the city bus. Across the street was a shop for printing t-shirts and one of those small shop front establishments with an ubiquitous, yellow sign indicating car insurance for a trip to Mexico. There was not one sign with a corporate logo for blocks as I was searching for a Starbucks where I could get my usual tall hot chocolate without cream. I found one about five or six blocks from 37ECB. All those blocks of nondescript low buildings excluded from the bright temples of corporate America. The school building had a two hour parking zone in front of it, so I looked for parking around back down an alley. There was no evidence that the building was a school and the back of the building was just as non-evidently a school. I had only the street address to go by and the fact that from my pickup truck I could see through the window that there were tables and chairs inside. As I was slowly driving down the alley, a big black man dressed in grey appeared from around a corner and he was drawing and tying the strings of his draw-string pants. I was not the first to arrive. I was greeted at the back entrance by one of the teachers. I held up my SD Co. Dept. of Ed. ID tag that was dangling from my neck and he exclaimed, "Oh, credentialed!" (Ever since arriving in California I have noticed that Californians are inclined to use shorthand language such as acronyms and abbreviations in their speech, as well as lacing it with official jargon such as "credentialed." They seem to want to defuse any kind of casual conversation with it, as if they are reading your pedigree and stifling any kind of human warmth. At the same time as talking he was flashing "plastic dentures," which phrase my son uses to refer to the superficiality of Californians and the smile plastered on the face. His words bombarded me with a disarming frankness that was like a dog sniffing a strange dog in an encounter for the first time, his words coming at me as if a dog was licking my face.) I am certified to teach French as a "single subject" in the state of California, credentialed in other words. How he was able to deduce this from glancing at my tag, I haven't the slightest idea. He gave me a tour of the inside of the school after we chatted for a few minutes in lounge chairs. The inside was spanking clean and new, and the floor was not carpeted with the usual dark, dingy, dirty, virtually ply-less affair of industrial nylon weave. The floor was bare cement. The whole building had the atmosphere of an artist's loft in a converted warehouse. He showed me the aquahydroponic contraption in the large area adjoining the office space and reception desk. The plants were fed by the water from a large aquarium with fish in it. He gleefully remarked that the project gave the students the idea to use the contraption to grow marijuana, heaven forbid he seemed to be implying with his raised eyebrows. Next the principal and I chatted, and he remarked in response to my query about the laxness of tardiness I observed at the East County school for juvenile delinquents that there were no punitive measures taken against tardy students. They could come to school whenever they pleased. Neither the words 'juvenile delinquents' or 'punitive' were used in the conversation. Many of the students did not have guardians and lived in a group home. There was a great deal of tolerance I observed throughout the whole day I spent there. A euphemism for 'juvenile delinquents' was not used unless 'students' was the euphemism for them. What I observed of their behavior certainly did not betoken the comportment of students in a normal classroom situation. All of them were behaving as if all of the regular teachers there at 37ECB were substitute teachers. They were not really students and needed to be frequently reminded to be focused and on task. The teacher in the law pod often had to pause and get the attention of a student by telling him or her that she was teaching and to pay attention. The nearest I can come to as an apt description of their behavior in general is the typical experience I have had in "Special Day" classes I substitute teach for in the Chula Vista Elementary school district. Most of the students cannot stay in their seats in Special Day classes because they have mental disabilities that prevent them from doing so, or simply they do not have a sufficient attention span to allow them to sit still for any length of time. They have to be continually active and manipulating objects. The difference is that these students were older and they used their phones throughout the day, usually listening to music, and they were constantly distracted from the task at hand, which involved either writing (typing), math (there was one "pod" [class] for integrated mathematics), and reading and highlighting (there was another pod for law).
There were three pods that went on at the same time and three periods during the day and three different groups of students that rotated to the pod after about an hour and fifteen minutes in the pod. This length of time is commonly called a "block" schedule of classes. Students arrived at 9 and there was a half hour lunch break at 12. The day ended at 2. There was a ten minute homeroom at the beginning of the day and ten minutes at the end of the day. Many of the students had been excused for a field trip and the total list of students equaled 70 in grades 7 through 12. There were about half of them there today because of the field trip. Each pod was team taught by two teachers. There was one sub besides me. I was subbing for the special ed. resource teacher. A resource teacher is a teacher that helps certain students during the class with whatever they need help with. The math pod teachers were hipsters with beards. The sub had a beard too, as well as the teacher I had met when I arrived. The law pod teacher wore pants and had short blonde hair. Her partner in the team was a petite Indian woman that probably was Mayan. The partner for the sub was Hispanic. Their pod I think was science.        

TREATY OF GREENVILLE, AUGUST 3, 1795

SIGNATORIES:
Anthony "Mad Dog" Wayne
Wyandots:
Tarhe (Crane)
J. Williams, Jr.
Teyyaghtaw
Haroenyou ("half king's son")
Tehaawtorens
Awmeyeeray
Stayetah
Shateyyaronyah (Leather Lips)
Daughshuttayah
Shaawrunthe
Delawares:
Tetabokshke (Grand Glaize King)
Lemantanquis (Black King)
Wabatthoe
Maghpiway (Red Feather)
Kikthawenund (Anderson)
Bukongehelas
Peekeelund
Wellebawkeelund
Peekeetelemund (Thomas Adams)
Kishkopekund (Captain Buffalo)
Amenahehan (Captain Crow)
Queshawksey (George Washington)
Weywinquis (Billy Siscomb)
Moses
Shawanees:
Misquacoonacaw (Red Pole)
Cutthewekasaw (Black Hoof)
Kaysewaesekah
Weythapamattha
Nianymseka
Waytheah (Long Shanks)
Weyapiersenwaw (Blue Jacket)
Nequetaughaw
Hahgooseekaw (Captain Reed)
Ottawas:
Augooshaway
Keenoshameek
La Malice
Machiwetah
Thowonawa
Secaw
Chippewas:
Mashipinashiwish (Bad Bird)
Nahshogashe (from Lake Superior)
Kathawasung
Masass
Nemekass (Little Thunder)
Peshawkay (Young Ox)
Nanguey
Meenedohgeesogh
Peewanshemenogh
Weymegwas
Gobmaatick
Ottawa:
Chegonickska (from Sandusky)
Pattawatimas of the River St. Joseph:
Thupenebu
Nawac (for himself and brother Etsimethe)
Nenanseka
Keesass (Run)
Kabamasaw (for himself and brother Chisaugan)
Suggannunk
Wapmeme (White Pigeon)
Wacheness (for himself and brother Pedagoshok)
Wabshicawnaw
La Chasse
Meshegethenogh (for himself and brother Wawasek)
Hingoswash
Anewasaw
Nawbudgh
Missenogomaw
Waweegshe
Thawme (Le Blanc)
Geeque (for himself and brother Shewinse)
Pattawatimas of Huron:
Okia
Chamung
Segagewan
Nanawme (for himself and brother A. Gin)
Marchand
Wenemeac
Miamis:
Nagohquangogh (Le Gris)
Meshekunnoghquoh (Little Turtle)
Miamis and Eel Rivers:
Peejeewa (Richard Ville)
Cochkepoghtogh
Eel River Tribe:
Shamekunnesa (Soldier)
Miamis:
Wapamangwa (the White Loon)
Weas, for themselves and the Piankeshaws:
Amacunsa (Little Beaver)
Acoolatha (Little Fox)
Francis
Kickapoos and Kaskaskias:
Keeawhah
Nemighka (Josey Renard)
Paikeekanogh
Delawares of Sandusky:
Hawkinpumiska
Peyemawksey
Reyntueco (of the Six Nations living at Sandusky)

NOTE: All of the signatories signed with his x mark except Anthony Wayne.
1794: "the tomahawk [was] buried by the Indians" after their defeat "at the rapids of the Miami of the lakes, on the 20th of August" (Drake, 36) at the hands of general Wayne (38).
...in 1795 the Shawanoes were united in the treaty of Greenville, which Tecumtha said was forced on the Indians and so invalid; "that the only true boundary was the Ohio, as established in 1768" (Mooney, 45).

[The current Secretary of Defense is General James "Mad Dog" Mattis. Reincarnation of General Anthony "Mad Dog" Wayne?]

"[...] to manifest the liberality of the United States, as the great means of rendering this peace strong and perpetual; the United States relinquish their claims to all other Indian lands northward of the river Ohio, eastward of the Mississippi, and westward and southward of the Great Lakes and the waters uniting them, according to the boundary line agreed on by the United States and the king of Great Britain, in the treaty of peace made between them in the year 1783" (Indian Affairs. Laws and Treaties. Vol. II. (Treaties.) Compiled and edited by Charles J. Klapper, LL. M., clerk of the Senate committee on Indian Affairs. Washington: Government Printing Office 1904).

EXCEPTIONS: 1st. "the tract of one hundred and fifty thousand acres near the rapids of the river Ohio, which has been assigned to General Clark, for the use of himself and his warriors.
2d. The post of St. Vincennes on the river Wabash, and the lands adjacent, of which the Indian title has been extinguished.
3d. The lands at all other places in possession of the French people and other white settlers among them, of which the Indian title has been extinguished as mentioned in the 3d article ... [
(1.) One piece of land six miles square at or near Loromie's store [...]
(2.) One piece two miles square at the head of the navigable water or landing on the St. Mary's river, near Girty's town.
(3.) One piece six miles square at the head of the navigable water of the Au-Glaize river.
(4.) One piece six miles square at the confluence of the Au-Glaize and Miami rivers, where Fort Defiance now stands.
(5.) One piece six miles square at or near the confluence of the rivers St. Mary's and St. Joseph's, where Fort Wayne now stands, or near it.
(6.) One piece two miles square on the Wabash river at the end of the portage from the Miami of the lake, and about eight miles westward from Fort Wayne.
(7.) One piece six miles square at the Ouatanan or old Weea towns on the Wabash river.
(8.) One piece twelve miles square at the British fort on the Miami of the lake at the foot of the rapids.
(9.) One piece six miles square at the mouth of the said river where it empties into the lake.
(10.) One piece six miles square upon Sandusky lake, where a fort formerly stood.
(11.)

"When we had smoked, he remained a long time silent, but, at last, began to tell me he had come with a message from the prophet of the Shawneese [Tenskwatawa, "The Open Door" (from skwa'te, 'a door' and the'nui, 'to be open', frequently spelled Elskwatawa)] . 'Henceforth', said he, 'the fire must never be suffered to go out in your lodge. Summer and winter, day and night, in the storm, or when it is calm, you must remember that the life in your body, and the fire in your lodge, are the same, and of the same date. If you suffer your fire to be extinguished, at that moment your life will be at its end. You must not suffer a dog to live; you must never strike either a man, a woman, a child, or a dog. The prophet himself is coming to shake hands with you; but I have come before, that you may know what is the will of the Great Spirit, communicated to us by him, and to inform you that the preservation of your life, for a single moment, depends on your entire obedience. From this time forward, we are neither to be drunk, to steal, to lie, or to go against our enemies. While we yield an entire obedience to these commands of the Great Spirit, the Sioux, even if they come to our country, will not be able to see us: we shall be protected and made happy."

"Disguise it as the pride of the white man may,
his safest security, as well as ours, is in the absence of temptation.
We are now in the midst of an exciting presidential campaign of 1896.
One of the great political parties is clamoring with pen and tongue that se-wan (the money)
in circulation is inadequate to meet the demands of the people;
and that as a result the laboring classes are struggling under na-bik-a-gan (the yoke) of poverty
in the midst of plenty, and that peace and prosperity can only be secured
by opening the mints of the United States to the free and unlimited coinage of jo-ni-ia (silver);
while the other great party is declaring just as vehemently,
that the depression complained of is not for the want of more money,
but for the lack of proper tariff reform to protect the farmers and open our mills to American labor.
[...]
No ke-ti-mesh-kig (tramps) now beg from ish-kwan dem tchi ish-kwan-dem (door to door);
all are corralled and ash-an-ge (fed) for their votes until election day comes round.
[...]
what most staggers Pokagon's daw-naw-ki nib-waw'-kawin (native reason) is how
either party can hold its peace and not throw some responsibility for trying times for the laboring classes where it justly belongs,
and openly condemn the manufacture of three billions of cigarettes
which are consumed annually in this country by little boys and those of older years,
at the expense of millions of dollars, receiving therefor only a deadly poison, want, disease,
and premature death.
The smoke of their torments blues the air,
and is breathed in at every political club room in the land without reproof. And Pokagon
is still more surprised that both of the great political parties do not cry out against
that liquid fire of nib-owin (death)
and ana-mak-amig (hell)
that is aki-gimosh-kaang-win (deluging this land of ours)
with poverty, shame, and crime, annually robbing the people of hundreds of millions of dollars
for a damning curse that leads but to the grave."

[moral degradation follows upon whiskey and violence
 "Pussy and boxing gloves," said Chico, the Mohawk iron worker, ca. 1979.]

[Mistaking it for gummy bears candy, children are eating marijuana oil candy, now readily available in marijuana dispensaries across the nation, leading to an uptick in emergency room cases.]

"The word 'freedom' resonates so widely within the common-sense understanding of Americans that it becomes 'a button that elites can press to open the door to the masses' to justify almost anything" (D. Harvey, A Brief History of Neoliberalism, 39).

"'I'm like Button-Bright; I don't know,' answered the shaggy man with a laugh. 'But I've learned from long experience that every road leads somewhere, or there wouldn't be any roads; so it's likely that if we travel long enough, my dear, we will come to some place or another in the end. What place it will be we can't guess at this moment, but we're sure to find out when we get there.'
"'Why, yes,' said Dorothy; 'that seems reas'n'ble, Shaggy Man.'"

BLUE JACKET: WEYAPIERSENWAW (Shawanoe chief)
Aug. 1794: Blue Jacket was defeated before the Treaty of Greenville by general Wayne, while Chief Little, Turtle (Miami chief) was inclined towards peace and opposed to doing battle.
7 nations fought:
Miamis
Potawatimies
Delawares
Shawanoes
Chippewas
Ottawas
Senecas

Wayne was referred to by Little Turtle as "a chief who never sleeps" [so he was not Indian, he never had a vision]
Also, "[...] something whispers me, it would be prudent to listen to his offers of peace" (Drake, 38)
Blue Jacket before the Greenville Treaty was swayed by the British to attack "the U.S.,"--by governor Simcoe who told Blue Jacket and his deputation of chiefs to Wayne at Greenville (Oct. 1794): "Children: I am still of the opinion that the Ohio is your right and title" (39).
So, the conclusion of peace was delayed until "the following summer" (39). BJ and deputation had been convinced that the English, or at least persuaded that the English, would drive the Americans back across the Ohio.
{What changed BJ's mind? -- Drake merely writes: "Little Turtle was opposed to this measure [to attack general Wayne], but being warmly supported by Blue Jacket, it was finally agreed upon" (38). Perhaps, BJ was swayed by the fact that he was indeed defeated in battle by the Americans under Wayne's command.}

1817: the Shawanoes ceded the land within the limits of the subsequent state of Ohio to the US government at the treaty held at the rapids of the Miami of the lakes, by Duncan McArthur and Lewis Cass "commissioners on the part of the United States, for extinguishing Indian titles [...]" (60).

"Pussy and boxing gloves, ... beer makes you want to fight," claimed Chico, the Mohawk iron worker who walked the girders of skyscrapers in the wind while the girders would sway side to side.
I had perched myself at the bar of Andy's Pub to calm the nerves, the pain in my body, especially the arms, in my elbows, from unloading stacks of grey plastic trays for baked goods from the trucks at Kroger's factory bakery. "Gusto" bread the hillbillies called the white bread they ate after work while drinking 3/2 beer. Graveyard shift, Columbus, Ohio. Chico and I got stoned outside, back of the bar, on some weed. My first job after I graduated with a BA in French from Ohio State.

I returned to the school on the corner of Fourth Avenue and L Street: Lillian J. Rice Elementary. The secretary this morning was more friendly,  she offered me a cup of coffee while I was waiting for my classroom assignment. I returned to Ms. R's Kindergarten class, where I had been yesterday. Rice is a dual immersion school. Two groups of students have two different teachers during the day. I was in the English classroom conducted by Ms. R, who also speaks Spanish. The Spanish classroom is next to Ms. R's classroom connected by a door. We had the green group in the morning while the blue group was with the Spanish teacher. The green group went over to the Spanish classroom at 11, when I left, since I had only a half day assignment. Ms. R was doing testing, so I conducted the class while she tested students individually. When I left, Ms. R said, as the blue group was entering the classroom, "I do it all over again."
I recall what a principal during an interview told me in Albuquerque back in the late 80's: "You are a dinosaur." I was an ESL teacher. He said the trend was bilingualism. Indeed, here in California, that is the case, at least in so. Cal.

John Cage
Seven (1988)
for flute, clarinet, percussion, piano, violin, viola, and violoncello
Quartets I-VIII (1976)
for 24 instruments
Orchester Jakobsplatz Munchen: Daniel Grossmann, conductor
NEOS 10720
Art Ensemble of Chicago
"LES STANCES A SOPHIE" a motion picture soundtrack
ROSCOE MITCHELL saxophones & percussion
JOSEPH JARMAN saxophones & percussion
LESTER BOWIE trumpet & percussion
MALACHI FAVORS  bass & percussion
FONTELLA BASS vocal and piano
Recorded in the studios of Pathe Marconi in Boulogne on July 22, 1970
SOUL JAZZ RECORDS CD 191
Circle
Paris-Concert CD1
ANTHONY BRAXTON reeds, percussion
CHICK COREA piano
DAVID HOLLAND bass, cello
BARRY ALTSCHUL percussion
1971 ECM RECORDS
Circle
Paris-Concert CD 2
"The 1971 formation of Circle, the famous but short-lived quartet with Braxton, drummer Barry Altschul, bassist Dave Holland, and pianist Chick Corea, augmented Braxton's visibility [...], culminating in a watershed Paris concert, a recording of which was eventually released on ECM" (pp. 327-8, A Power Stronger Than Itself, George E. Lewis).
NOTE: Some of the tracks were deleted by sound cloud because of copyright violation.

...with his machine gun delivery that became mesmerizing to Pneu's ear, the aural turpitude in which the words were vested, a dripping, black fetid mass. They were always straddling the fence, whatever the fence was. G. Scott Key's lying was in earnest. He was positively asserting his lies, his baldfaced lies. Balderdash. The crux of the matter was the underlying purple garbed, blood suffused, empurpled penis he had sheathed in his pants. To stick it in like a tic-tac-to game always won by playing the corners, the words imbibed by Pneu's ears that became empurpled, too.
G. Scott Key, the successor of F. Scott Key, was how he referred to himself.
Good
Boys
Don't
Fool
Around.
All
Cows
Eat
Grass. He even had a business card. It had a small rainbow on it. The ensign of his business, a kind of logo. The Low Ghost. He was an interpreter of Indians, Native Americans, to white folk, the Long Knives, after he stripped the veneer of the Yankee from them, and the bright colors of Hanta Yo were revealed for what they were, the bright colors of psychedelia, the Peter Max colors of the summer of love. This is Pneu's history, the time called the Sixties in the U.S., a time as fateful as the Sixties a hundred years previous, the time of the success of the failure of the Civil War. The time of the failure of the success of the Civil War, however you look at it.

I went on assignment to the East County Blended Community school on E. Main St. in El Cajon (the car dealer on El Cajon Blvd. where I bought my son his first car pronounced it as it's spelled, the English way, "L-Kay-jin," and he was not an Anglo but an Iranian). The students were jaded from too much youtubing ("drunk fights compilation" and vignettes of guys hanging from precarious positions on the outside of tall buildings, and videos of various pranks and ridiculous stunts), and my son criticized me the other day for being jaded from the middle-class suburban life. There was a tutor, an Arabic woman, for the Iraqi refugees and the lone Afghani boy from Kabul who was kicked out of school for bringing a knife onto school grounds. This school I subbed at is for juveniles who have been kicked out of school for various reasons from the 7th to the 12th grades. One boy pleaded with me not to write him up for his behavior in the classroom because he didn't want his PO to get wind of it. Another boy was a Chicano, very round like a snowman and had chino eyes. He was from south El Cajon and he told me in his journal exercise on "the history of you" that his neighborhood had changed since the Chaldeans (the Iraqis) had arrived. The violence of the "OG's" had subsided. He wore a big silver crucifix around his neck and a blue and white checkered shirt, untucked, with open collar. He wore his black, flat brimmed baseball cap down to his eyebrows.

The word had always come to his mind, Pneu's mind, as a breath and sometimes a breeze, an invisible wave that was sine or cosine in his geometry book. He had always conceived in his mind an image of Molly's hair, the roots at the part on her scalp that were dark and the subtle shades of brown and then the hue of orange rendered by the reflection of light on her peroxided mane. This was titillating to Pneu, stimulating to the cockles of his balls, his eggs where the sperm cells were incubated, awaiting the ejaculation into the air, that flight to freedom from the confinement of his scrotal sack, Sad Sack balls with a halo of hair. Molly's glowing mane, the Ur-ejaculation. Pneu, sitting at his desk in seventh grade behind Molly, gazing at her orange hair with dark brown roots. Then, to revel in the image of it in his mind at home on his stomach in bed at night, awaiting the slow, gradual, inevitable erection.
Sad Sack Pneu when he tried to stick his member into the tight cunt of Nancy, the Chinese girl Ricky made available to the gang of beavers who were Pneu's friends, sharing her like a prebend, a little plot of pussy to be stamped and perforated. No, it wouldn't go in, the ejaculation was an ululation through an embrasure in the wall, hitting the window of Pneu's attic room. The sperm whistled through the air, expended, without hitting the ball spot. The moral turpitude of the act, yet there was so much pleasure in it that was the cosine of its sine wave, the friction of the palm of his hand against his bongara. Howsoever it happened, weighed heavily on his conscience, it had little to be desired in the designs it had to encapsulate the quandary of his soul, which was to be rectified before the authorities. Matson Smith even confessed it jocularly, how many times he masturbated, when confessions were heard in the high school gym. He thought it was a joke, the act of contrition an ejaculation itself to God, the sperm giving up its spirit to the denizens of the air, who may be demons for all Pneu knew, uselessly chucked in the toilet bowl or bathroom sink. Jesus was conceived by the Holy Spirit. The endeavor to conceive of the thing itself, the orange glowing follicles of Molly's mane, the idea of it! How could there be any credibility, or objectivity, in the matter of the televisual thing? To masturbate to it? Conceived by the Holy Ghost, give up the ghost. Later the Church changed it to the Holy Spirit. The body is not the soul, is merely a prebend for the lucky winner in the lottery of souls waiting to attach themselves like postage stamps, to come into the world as immigrants or aliens. A premium on souls because too many bodies. All that sperm wasted.
Prevarication or asseveration? Which was it? Pneu knew enough not to know the difference. It was the same to him whether Scott Key lied or continued to lie. There was no one instance of a lie, it was a continual, reassuring lie, like a constant in a mathematical equation. A running lie, a series of lies, as if asserting the same thing over and over again, whether going to the right on the number line, or going to the left of zero on the number line. Geometry was all about uniformity, and Scott's lies were uniformly a saying of yes over and over again, asserting their falsity or truth value, there was no difference, whether positive or negative, it was all the same to Pneu's bent ear.