Wanting this to be a mystery. We'll see if I let myself let myselfUser:Serprex 20:11, August 26, 2011 (UTC)

To cite:

You know how when you're falling down a hill and your feet start dancing you into a perfect landing? That's what alcohol does to writing

Because it hurts so bad

He's nobody's business like it's nobody's business

I can't leave the house. But I have to leave on Friday. I said I'd be there. So I will

I'm sitting in the empty tub

The hall makes sounds. A crack to look from six to twelve

Distressful strikes with the clocks ticking. With the rain ticking

No food. Can't commission. Don't want to talk about why I can't leave the house

That's what humor I've got, so that's what humor you'll get

Encryption makes something which may be completely rational indiscernible from randomness without some small piece of information. That this can apply to any rational idea raises frightening implications about how easily omission can be used to attack an idea

I went to offer a drink of Absinthe. Nobody's home. I return, and hear the talk behind the door. The voices are different. They don't live there. I know who lives there. It's not them. They're nobodies; I've never talked to them

Tomorrow I'm going out for dinner. Except I can't bear to dine alone. I'd have to order. The waiters are nobodies; I've never talked to them. Now I don't have any dinner for tomorrow

I have to fear Cynthia Dall's Grey & Castle's "She writes you long letters, another way to hear herself talk"

To know:

On Friday afternoon a man died. Nobody was home

It's Monday. Returned to measure which measures to take. The sheets are riddled bloody. Ink & cum. Consequence on a stick. It's a fine line

The tub was never cleaned. I wasn't clean. So I showered. Showering garbled knocking

The faucet leaks ticks. Leeches & tics. Strung on a stick to dry without a towel

The fan dehumidifies. It must be turned on even when only running a bath. It's your fault. That's what she told whom she took to be a dirty foreigner who bathed too much

Fault is contradiction: thus does it become difficult to decide whether fault follows contradiction, or vice versa. Which A is A?

None of them. Know the truth: There is no truth. It's lines like that which make me skeptical of my skepticism. Those "I'm wise because I know I know nothing" shits are shit. It's about breaking away from circular logic into semi circular logic. The difficulty people have in tying the knot in recursive problems is that they forget to leave a knot in the loop

That's why it's your fault. It's not because you forget to turn on the fan, as that'd be circular; you forget to turn on the fan because it's your fault. The missing key piece of information to decrypt that last knot: the explanation that the fan was not being turned on was assumed

But that's the basis of inference

People infer a lot of things. Inference from inference. Interference patterns from wave collisions. Probability waves. Bayesian inference. But none of that would really explain where a dead man's perfect landing fell on a Friday afternoon

Still knocking. Through the peephole peepers peep from their keep. This keep kept it's keeper taken. Nothing peeped. Not a peep while creeping open a crack to look twelve. Fluorescence blinds to see nothing of the nothing. Peep out to peek six to twelve: Nothing. Still knocking. A step, a tip toe, or even less. Across from this keep is another keep. Another peephole. Except the other way around

Inside its knocking it's knocking. Some echo that's happening and happened. To knock, or open? One doesn't knock when their door knocks, despite an edgecase I'll not wander given its bore

The keep across from the keep I came is of the same design: Hollows in hollows

To say:

Mind if I come out?

Who are you?

Mind if I come out?

Very well

(Walks out)

Who are you?

Very Well

I interrupt to inform this mystery that I've just received an anonymous message detailing what seems to be some sort of ransom which I am to attend in four days: Sunday 1830, September 4th. Come Sunday evening, someone'll've died

Very well

A man dies, and then another

Coincidences. Solution is deciphering coincidence from intention. Consider: nobody cares. Without intention, there is no solution. But that's alright; nobody intends to solve anything in that case. They'd solve by coincidence


Jyxx my back head

Just another coincidental line. Coincidental because it makes no sense. Unintentional noise in the murk of consciousness

Wake up in the empty tub. Couldn't leave until Friday. Said would be there. Where's there?

Where's here? Did I march to nine? From three. One for one

On Thursday afternoon I died

Very Well:

You're just like me

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