by
Jaye B.
Figured the blind, two nosed kyphotic dog was some irony omen, seeing that I unabashedly confessed my radiative, messianic self conception in part I. Unlike her, I managed to dodge mutation while a test site toddler, through mithradatism, i.e., gradual dosing on poison to build up tolerance. So my bare booby Mama once told me and how she incrementally dosed me with radiation in the same way, mixing it with Nestle’s infant formula to do so.
Earlier, the escapee dog returned and lay in the shade. It was me in dog form that I was seeing in the rear view mirror, i.e., something that does not want to be seen/caught. Made me appreciate even more living like I do for it keeps those pretending to be something they are not far away.
I had put a bowl of water out for Ms. On the Run, but someone took the bowl. Played my guitar in 528hz for her when she was collapsed in the shade and she perked her ears up. Cooked more food. Then gradually I worked my way towards her with it, but she saw someone walking a pit bull across the soccer field over near the fire station and took off.
So after prayers, I instinctually followed her paw prints back out to poof land and when I did, the same exquisite-in-the-morning-sun colors of deep yellow orange, gold aureole, scintilla dappled duckling feathers were floating before me. Earlier, the mallard hen showed off her brood to me, all seven of them, waddling only a few feet from my car right on by me and I gasped at such a beautiful surprise. (She kept looking at me to make sure I was watching), I realized they had no pond to float in and started crying as they procession disappeared in the glare, heading to the northeast across the hot field. I took that as a cue to turn around and when I did, I could see the preacher and his dog following me, carrying a satchel.
It didn’t take me long to get to Mama’s and the door was open, so I went in.
Looking out the window, I could see the preacher and his dog turn silver and fade.
“I made a living doing divination through dust devils. But that was before you was born.” Mama said. “Already knew I’d get screwed on the settlement inheritance watching one spin my way off the lime, then bending funny. You were my only hope and that’s why I brought you to ground zero.” Mama said, peering out her greasy window, still nursing the high ball I made for her yesterday. Better go get that satchel that preacher left behind. Grab the dog while you’re at it.”
So I did and walked all the way out to where I lost sight of the two during the scan and there they were: A reddish leather satchel which I did not hesitate to grab and the silver, medallion flattened dog. As I walked back to the RV, the pit bull’s skeleton resumed pulsing the required code straight into my DNA. I put the token medallion on the kitchen table while Mama pretended to watch her dead TV. I popped the satchel open and was shocked at what I saw.
“They’re all yours if you want them. “
I took a brick of the bonds out and held them up to the window.
“They are not bogus after all.” Mama said and tried changing the channel. The t.v. screen turned into silver confetti and spilled on the floor like jackpot static. “You can do what you want with them.”
“What would you like me to do with them?”
“Invest in this compound.”
“What would be the return?”
“A slight upgrade in the quality of our lives.”
“Doing what?
“Tweeker intel.”
The dog bones were pulsing 3 6 9 to me enabling me to grasp what my Mama was saying on a much deeper level.
Thumbing through the divinity bonds, a wave of confidence overcame me and then I made the connection. The synthetic synchronicities that brought me to this place, all coming from Nellis air force base.
“Don’t worry…you’re immune to what they’re doing.” Mama said, reading my mind. “It may be synthetic but it has brought us back together after all these years.”
Then I realized, via the dog pulse, what Mama was hinting at: Tweekers are unexplainably drawn to set up their meth labs where there are vast deposits of lithium and through WBAN, seeing they all got a graphene oxide loaded covid jab in exchange for free hamburgers, the mining corporations can read tweek biometrics via IOB and home in with incredible precision as to where to start under the table bypassing having to get a mining claim and just start electric-car-here-we-come digging.
The t.v. came on, sucking the silver fish confetti back up from the floor and a talking head appeared. Mama panicked and her skin puckered, all the while her liver spots lifted off her skin and became drones that buzzed around my head causing me to drop to the floor. I looked up and preacher and dog reconstituted, but the dog ran over to my side escaping the preacher’s pull via the 3 6 9 which I entrained along with to great benefit.
The liver spots started hornet orbiting the preacher’s head which frack cracked, his visage shrapnel falling to the floor and shattering into a sunflower mosaic pattern.
“Get back here now!!! GD it!”
Jaye B. heard while writing about the sunflower pattern and looked up and to his left only to see a blue heeler full bore incoming from 40 yards. The dog jumped right up on him when it got there and licked his face, wagging its tail. Jaye hugged the pooch, scratched behind the ears, then yelled back to the owner, “I’m a dog magnet!”
“I hear ya.” A gruff looking man said.
A little while later the man drove up to Jaye’s site to apologize. “No worries.” Jaye said making eye contact with the pooch sitting next to him, who gave the writer a mischievous, knowing look, thus making his day because at least dogs recognize who Jaye B. really is.
TBC
©2024-Jaye B.
Please help support Reset News @ Paypal, Cash App , Ko-Fi or contact the author for other options @ jayeb444@protonmail.com
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Jaye B. is a writer, musician and artist. His art criticism has appeared in Art Paper, New North Artscape, Art Muscle, Northfield Magazine and elsewhere. His articles have also appeared in City Pages, Twin Cities Reader, Mysteries Magazine, Fahrenheit San Diego, High Plains Reader, New Dawn and Rain Taxi. He has appeared on BBC Radio, WGN Chicago, WLW Cincinnati and elsewhere in the mediasphere to discuss his work. Please help support Reset News @ Paypal, Cash App , Ko-fi or contact the author for other options @ jayeb444@protonmail.com
I want to know who Jaye B. is. I’ll keep reading and maybe someday I will.
LAUGHING OUT LOUD!