The Reality of Knowing Nothing at All -Part 3
Jim Meirose

No one knew the why, but my dear, there’s an ‘efinate process; yes, a process, a good process, quite fine; to returnback for—plant these rose—f’ recoinsideration ‘f any possibly mistake ‘f lack of presence of any character ‘f number forming any of the words—rose seeds—which, strung together, form the name of the thing less than present, and one unusual day the Paul came to work on time, all calmly putting palms down ‘n soothing gestures with, No, I am fine—I had a neck problem. Got hurt in the pool. I had to get surgery. I was gone for that reason, eh deftly swiping the next available excuse in the ‘x bin for fitting the ‘gory of universal no-show, the prior being, I went to the dentist for a cleaning—with the x’bility to be ramped up into, and I ended up with a broken—plant these rose seeds—jaw no I don’t know why they didn’t call you that’s just one ‘nother facette oof there indocompetenance, maybe they don’t know you exist—no I said no I don’t know why they didn’t try and find you out, dig you up, clean you raw, as existing I cannot answer for their dos, or do nots, and even so if had it been done, how the ‘eck ought they have figgered ‘ow to du-it. Then, as for me, after my wiring, I could not speak a syllable ‘cause this jaw’s wired immobile okay, okay, I know this’s off topico’ sinn et’s know not big shot Paul’s excuse, how dumb do I look I did hear you know that yes his was I had a bad spine, and yes his was also; I had to stop lay down and lookie heah’ listen, gaaa. Gaaaa! Stop, let him fix things using tools some long and sharp some short and blunt—these rose—some in be the ‘tween so. Stop, lookie here I do seem to you to be a different person now, say that you all wrong all that hey, ah? Is that—seeds—it? Well, bah. Ahh, you don’t know me. So you say? No, shut, listen. You may look at me. No, shut, listen. You may look at me. No, shut, listen. But you don’t see me. You don’t know eh o’ look at me. But me, you look at me, you don’t? Yes you do—but you can’t see me, don’t know me, now ‘r never. Hear me! I am Paul Repititian, I am here to work out my way! I am yes, the big Papa and Paul and all that, just like that. Let me work. And. He being ten. To. Plant seeds. Being ten feet. Of. Ten feet tall and half as less sametimes. Tall and tall and half-broad as tall, nobody questioned Paul any times over then,’bout any possible hoax, more afta’ that. Paul, the big Papa, and both of all others go’ resurrected, went on to sainthood, the one already, the other, no, not yet, but—surely soon after. There are those that—and sorry, but the scroll rips gone down diagonally at that point. And so that is it. But knowin’ half—if that be the number— ‘s better than knowin’ nothing at all. The reality of knowing nothing at all, is not I’m afraid, my dearie o’ dear-o, all there is, so no it is not all—plant these rose seeds—there is no not no. Yes? Not in any way, either. No. Accept things please no or all’s gone by’s been flat wasted. There he goes; plant these rose seeds.

Jim Meirose

The Reality of Knowing Nothing at All 

Part 2 

So; we looked back to the first next behind snaking low up back o’ the Poole Mayorality’s behind, and there was a man pulling at his laminations, down in his pocketsacks, and the largest part of his name was Repititian, and. We said first, or last, and, if neither, or uh, not having no ‘dea what of our senses were speaking from the seemingly multiple holeframes of, ehh, it’s said he said, Well there’ neve’ goan’ ‘t be another soooo’ it Mustafa bean the last. Taken aback, we scattered into our second, and third—these—regrouping ‘fore finalizatioining the question at—plant these rose—him, then what of the first—how ‘bout—see there it flies, ah—hook it, in one gill or t’other which’s no matter longs as gillie by goshie, ye’ gets it, Paul! Then the real Paul held it up, waving it ‘roundall slappy ’n flaglike, but, a fast skinny whipman—of which in those days hosts came up from the swampland all wildly an’ woolie, back then—snatched his name back into another, and we thought—I mean I am sorry officer, it happened so fast—but we’re sorry, Meestah Repititianne, we didn’t get you’ name fore it ‘ssolved-so, if Paul’s so looking back now, it seems so easy—plant—it’s taken for granulated  to b’ ‘ble t’ se, buh backity denda’ then, being young dumb and blind, we felt it right, and somehow in the following five minutes or less a newly minted jobrank called Chief Peninsulander popped out that guy back there, and Paul Repititiannette fell back deliberately into the cooling mold of the shiny bright job an’, they fused; all butte the last two letters ‘ne which lopped off Paul’s sho’ last of a oaken-name, leaving  the faux man he was with the final coolly solidified name-plate of Paul Repititian, Chief Peninsulander of Back City, or, betta’ yette, Back City Chief Peninsulander Paul Repititian—and the latest fully adjustable stainless steel style to boot—which was better way better ‘cause of course less is more, bigger’ snot better—these—and economy is a virtue, even a—plant these rose seeds—penny here, and a penny there, ‘cause infinity itself, it was built one penny afta’ it’s very own prior and repeat, Peter, repeat, eck! So that was how, the first three seconds of the start of Paul Repititian’s Chief Peninsulandership began. And all in one instant, compressed, coming critical, and becoming one chink in the wall of our ever festering tightly-firebricked reality. So. 

So. 

This, all as we are sure you are well lo’ th’ under of, took Ms. Poole by the behind, but she said, so be it—if it is May—rose—as well believe, that it is, and get in step, with it as, the big men above require it to be done as you know; else as you there are places you know there are for your kind to be places for your kind to taken you’ll be taken ‘u’ know you are to be ‘n know taken to, locked behind something, shut over, which is much, and locked down—which is locked down much more strongly than you’ll be later, to be the punishment center termed the gaol, or the punishment prison center, or the punishment center prison, oh—seeds—what the hereafter of it all, hot damn, and dog too, you got—these rose seeds—the drift, so; let’s move on. But, Vicki Poole became known as a squirmer ‘ver this Paul Repititian this squirmer of a Poole et Poolette he bashed out his head while backswimming in a pool, did you know? Not one year after like, that Papa, ‘member that Papa who ‘verybod’ was glad of who wok? Wok wok? When many all gone were driving up their fine hills, the beloved Pap went toward their bad warehousing shit jobs, all gone was the beloved Papa toward, and had their beloved Papa, in their radios—plant these—who’ bn’ tuned up for distraction. The Papa it said, was gone, all gone. All gone was their beloved Papa. Snot noses in similarity, stuffed ones sat sides by sides o’er him in the Back City business building, wh’ a separate episode will describe downstruction of—and the children may listen, ‘cause no loss of life’s described though yes, there were several hundred more than a few. Paul Repititian was not seeming sudden and not even sluggish on slowly his ‘rogress up the beloved Papa. No one knew the why, but—