A Website Compendium of
organized in three books
by Flash Young
BEFORE THE BEGINNING
I don’t think my brain is working the way that it used to. I mention that because as I think back it seems as if it could all have happened earlier today, maybe just this morning. Funny about that.
There is no better place to start out other than the beginning, but this story has no beginning. It just starts sort of oozing out all over the place and before anyone thinks to ask about what’s going on they find themselves caught up in the middle of the most confounding tale. At least, that is how it happened to me, not by design either, let me tell you. I was just sort of there. The same as you are right now, pretty much minding my own business, same like you are, when all of a sudden there it was. Like staring down a long narrow canyon or the barrel of a gun.
That is precisely what happened to DEMO when they blew him away. You talk about being knocked clear into Kingdom Come. So you can jump in right there. I know that story quite well [The Door Opens].
Well, and of course, I should invite you to comment but isn't that all kind of a con? I mean, when does what you have to say ever alter the plot? Surly, you know you can’t go messing around with the way something happened back then. Don't we all know better than that? I wonder.
Now, I know you don’t know me, but then who do you know? Many a man and a woman feel like they know their spouse plenty until they learn of the affair. Like the time when that God Damn DEMO went searching for pussy and it all got so messy and sordid, not like a church wedding at all. That’s the problem with Those Days. They are all filled up with surprizes, and some not too pretty. What begins on a high note can end up in a jail cell. Oh sure, it all works out in the end, but it does take some doing to bring us that far.
This is not a place for the feint hearted or weary. Whimsy and smut here walk side by side, where ethics and morals often collide, with my own rules of speech, (and my rules are wide). You want to read it go ahead. Plunk down your coin. You don’t want to. Fine. Here, take this kick in the groin.
Are you a critic? Come on in. Close the door behind you. I got a couple characters here holding you a chair. Pay no mind to that steel pipe the short one is holding behind him.
Are you a scenic? – hello and feel welcome. Do you sometimes think the world makes no sense at all? Here is a place you can satisfy your mind on that score, or change it, which is even better.
Are you a child, either in age or in cognitive style? Get out of here. No children allowed.
Are you, like those sweethearts sent from above, those of a highly blissful and innocent nature? Please stay as and where you are. There are things in here that might hurt you.
This account is not for everyone. It contains some obscene language and some graphic sexual images. Readers who cannot bear the thought of displays of lewd, lascivious or wanton behaviors are likely to find some rough places here. Nor are the following accounts intended for children. They attempt to deal with sensitive adult themes which will inevitably be misinterpreted by immature minds.
The appropriate caveats having been set down he thereto signed his name in the designated space, on the cover, his account now having been completed and fully prepared for submission. And that is how it was in Those Days, whenever a report was submitted.
I mean, what can you say about something that has been said so many times that saying it again seems somehow redundant? That is exactly how he experienced his life. Like acting in someone’s small town production in which his part was just minor. A character actor whose image was recognizable only to the producer of these two bit home movies and a few people nearby. One of life’s many walk-ons in a play written by a moron and performed only in front of the Institute’s staff.
The Archives at the Institute, [Archives] by the way, were filled with volumes of the accounts of just this type of non descript player at life. Accounts read by only one person and then set aside. Codified to be sure. Processed, yes. Categorized according to typology and cross-referenced both chronologically and by the agent’s most recent last name. After all, I did mention it was the Institute, did I not?
Any outside observer might well conclude that most accounts stored therein should never have been written in the first place. Nonetheless, filing of Final Reports (the “FRs”) was never optional. Every field agent from every regional headquarters on earth had to fulfill this obligation. Success or failure of the mission had nothing to do with it. Priorities and recommendations notwithstanding, that FR always had to be first reviewed and judged by one individual.
“That’s hard enough when you come to think of it and it kind of pisses me off,” JYB intoned as he handed the document over to Rimes.
“It’s the system, my boy, it’s the system.”
“Yeah, system bullshit. I mean, who put you in charge of this one?”
“Now, now Jonathan, you know I have quite an eye for detail. But I must say it has taken you some time.”
“There are no deadlines on Final Reports. You know that yourself. Look it up.”
“Indeed, but by this time we have almost forgotten about those antics of yours. You’re intention no doubt.”
“It’s all there. Read it yourself.”
It had forever been up to Rimes to peruse any Final Report in order to choose which ones to store in the Archives and which ones to pass up to the full Council. All those reports which Rimes sent ahead to the Council are listed in a manner that allows easy access for authorized readers to pick and choose and look over the ones that they want. [FA Reports] So you can relax, whenever you read ahead in this account, that everything here has been reviewed and fully vetted and officially approved. Of course, back in Those Days, Jonathan Youngblood Blanton could give a fig about that.
But Mr. Rimes did. Especially with this particular agent. Rimes knew as much about Jonathan Youngblood Blanton as Jonathan Youngblood Blanton knew about himself. After all, it was Rimes who authorized his original entrance into the academy at the Center under the name of Demothenes Seatlh. That is how Jonathan got into the Institute in the first place. Of course Rimes wasn’t working alone. No one ever worked along back in Those Days.
Stephens Pall had started that venture off. It was Stephens Pall who got it all going. Now, there is (or was) a long ago act that likely never would have succeeded had DEMO’s life not been heading the way it almost always appeared to be heading back in Those Days. Straight into the shitter. [BKICH1A]
To suggest or assert that Demosthenes Sealth, DEMO for short, and Jonathan Youngblood Blanton were one and the same fellow is likely starting out by saying too little and also too much, both at the same time. Actually, it was more complicated than that. The exact description of which takes some explaining, which of course is done right here in this account. Its all been mapped out in sort of a short hand comendium for those who would prefer not to have to read every work. [Handbook] Of course, access to that work also requires some clearance. Thankfully, for those who do have the time or at least more time than they think I have also provided them the longer way round [BK1CH1B]
As you can see, things start out kind of slow, but then they start to get juicy and eventually that leads into problems somehow. When it is all said and done you know the whole thing is not over. That’s the wonderful thing about Those Days. They keep coming one after the other until, the next thing you know, it is almost tomorrow. You know, tomorrow, where nothing is over before it is done, where everything is almost about to just happen, and some things, for sure, are bound to be fun.
Well, the sand is all poured out now so you run along. I’ll sit here a while and hum me a song.
Stay healthy, stay fit, stay alive and stay tuned.
Flash Young
Smalltown (on the opposite side of the road, up next to the river)