macblaze.ca

3:18

Notice of Rejection

This is a official notification of rejection of claim regarding file #4325-23.

After proper consideration and review, it has been determined by appropriate authorities that no merit exist to move this case forward. All restrictions and covenants will be heretofore removed.

We hope this decision will be deemed as satisfactory by all parties, and invited interested claimants to address any concerns through the appropriate channels.

Thank you.

 

3:17

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LINEAR PROCESSOR DIRECTOR
MK III
(c) 1969 Acme Incorporated
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Rhyme Time

Blue Glue
Red Spread
Rummy Tummy
Rainspout Checkout

Line Time
Now is the winter of my discontent, made glorious summer by this son of York.

I am a millionaire. That is my religion.

Peoples is peoples.

Wine Time
Cabernet
Pinot grigio
Riesling
Malbec

Mine Time
Claymore
Gold
Salt
Kampf

Shine Time
Pledge
Sun
Moon

Time out
…

3:16
This message is brought to you as a public service. We accept no responsibility for any consequences deriving from the contents of this message, and hold ourselves entirely free of liability.

***

As a result of the filing of a letter of impediment, the narrative is hereby halted indefinitely. There shall be no further additions or deletions, and all activity related to the narrative must cease and desist immediately.

This includes, but is not limited to, writing, rewriting, illustrating, composition of any kind, editing, proofing and/or publishing of images, illustration or any intellectual property of any kind.

Failure to comply with this directive will be grounds for the filing of Forms 45-212a and 65-324c immediately, and a commencement of proceedings under Article IV, Section 2, Subsection (a) through (g).

There shall be no further warning.

 

3:15
Now look here. What’s with all this exposition? Where is the plot? Where are the characters? Why have we moved off script? This isn’t to be tolerated. We have a plan and an agenda, do we not?

I must say this must be because of the season. The changing weather always affects sensitive machinery, and the mind is a most sensitive machine. But it is no excuse: there are safeguards and procedures in place to prevent shenanigans and deviations, and it is my duty to put a halt to this, is it not?

But first the proper protocol. I shall check the relevant passages and consult the addenda. Once that is complete I shall gather the proper supporting materials and subpeona the requisite witnesses. Presently the calendar will be consulted, a consultation scheduled and finally a hearing date will be set. There shall be no call to question any decisions that come from this office, no, there shall not.

So. Shall we just place the narrative on hiatus while I initiate the the proceedings? Yes, yes, I think we shall.

So yes, I will just file this and…

3:14

One of the most distinctive features of the building was the door. Over 8 feet tall and almost as wide, it was a massive double door modeled on the wooden medieval doors found in cathedrals and abbeys. Legend had it the builders had actually tried to acquire such a door after the First World War but failed to negotiate the labyrinthine regulations that sprang up in the post-war reconstruction period.

The current door had been made locally with wood imported from the American South. A local smith had forged the massive hinges and bracing and worked with a local locksmith to craft the intricate locking mechanism. Oiled to a high sheen, the door was originally a warm chocolate brown, but it had faded over the years and was now a close match to the grey of the rest of the concrete edifice it guarded.

3:13

The temple was made of concrete. One supposes that the reason it had such a long existence in the town without being torn down was that it probably would cost more than it was worth to do so. The sheer challenge of the tearing down the building might have tempted one or two of the young men about town as each generation passed, but each and every aspirant to wrecking crew chief ran up up against one unassailable fact: the building was made almost completely of concrete and took up 90 percent of the lot it sat on. That meant that the temple’s neighbors — the hotel with the town’s only real bar, and the old Magrath place, a big ranch house built early in the 1900s by a duke or earl from England who had been a big investor in the CPR — were less than 10 feet from the temple’s walls. While many of the would-be demolition ’experts’ would be willing to sacrifice the Magrath place, no one wanted to risk the bar. After all, there was nowhere else to get off sales, and Lethbridge was over a half hour away.

Still, the temple had provided a lot of late-night scheming in that very bar over the years, and one or two late-night raids had resulted. But the massive edifice survived the only real test and still held after all those boys had moved on, raised families and become the oldtimers that sat shaking their heads at the young fools wasting their time on shenanigans and muttering to themselves that they could’ve done a better job if only they’d put their minds to it.

It also must be noted that the various bar owners had a vested interest in their near-indestructible neighbour. Not only did it provide a relief valve for the Saturday night hotheads, but it also guaranteed that the zoning wasn’t about to change and the 80-year-old hotel wasn’t in danger of a case of modernization. The last thing the owners needed was someone trying to clean up the town and insisting they get that ancient pile of bricks and rotten wood up to code. The last owner but one used to insist, as he sat in the coffee shop with his cronies, that if he were ever forced to actually clean the tavern, once they removed all the layers of cigarette smoke and spilled beer, the place would likely collapse due to a lack of structural support.

Not so the temple, though. The founding family had wanted to build a stone church of imposing dimensions but had quickly found out that while the prairie of southern Alberta had a lot of random stones strew about by centuries of passing glaciers and hopeful farmers, there wasn’t a decent building block to be found and a field-stone structure would be possible only if they could convince someone to collect the stones. The farmers were more than happy to be rid of them but they had more than enough work just working the stones out of the soil year after year. No one had time or energy to start up a rock-collecting business for the sole purpose of pandering to some weird religious folk.

Concrete construction had been making news in the east, and a relative had started a concrete business in Lethbridge, and that was soon that. It took a year and a few false starts, but by the end of the second summer of construction, a gleaming white reinforced concrete structure dominated the Magrath mainstreet. And, while a dingier grey colour now, it still stands out as the most recognizable feature in an otherwise colourless town.

 

3:12

On the main street in Magrath stood a temple. It was right on the edge of what the townspeople thought of as downtown, marking the northern border of the business part of the community from the more residential portion near the highway.

It had been built by the large Mormon population in the earlier part of the twentieth century, but had fallen empty after most of the faithful had left during the Second World War. The town had grown enormously during those years as hundreds of pilots from around the commonwealth had arrived to train at the airbase that had sprung up. This transient population had remained through much of the Cold War but had finally disappeared in the mid ’60s when the base had been closed.

After the temple had been closed by the last of the departing Mormons, an enterprising young family had squatted in it for a while and eventually opened its doors as a music hall and bar while living in the quarters that once housed the transients and visitors. There had been a bit of a scandal at that, as the townspeople thought a church was a church even if it was a Mormon one, but no one really championed the cause and eventually the issue became just one of those coffeeshop grumbles that provided a point of commonality for the oldtimers to chew over like a soggy rawhide bone.

After the base closed, it was used as a town hall for a while and occasionally as a movie theatre or stage for the local theatre group, but it often stood empty and uncared for. Early in the ’80s a group from nearby Lethbridge enquired as to ownership and eventually settled with the town a deal which brought about its latest incarnation. The group spent a couple of months renovating and repairing the old structure. Then they announced the opening of a hostel and retreat for the environmentally conscious. The semi-arid desert and the presence of some of the last remaining short-grass prairie in North America attracted a reasonable amount of interest, and the entrepreneurs felt it was enough to make a little money while helping raise awareness for the disappearing ecoscape.

 

3:11

Communication is the wellspring from which all other things progress. But the act of communication is often misinterpreted. Sometimes it is perceived as an attack, other times as a defense. Sometimes communication is invisible and as a result passes unnoticed, and sometimes it is so wrapped in bombast and excess that it fails in its purpose. And meaning — ah, there is a greased pig of a different colour. Meaning can weave itself in and around communication like a fine Egyptian cotton, becoming so much a part of the the thing yet completely indistinguishable as a component.

And at the core of it all, Edward didn’t just want to talk to the beaver. He had to know what the current situation meant and needed to decided what he was going to do about it. And that need must start with a dialogue like the one just interrupted.

3:10

The beaver wasn’t afraid. But he wasn’t stupid either, and something told him that Edward had hidden reserves that would make just trifling with him ill advised. Still, he wasn’t about to give the bunny what he wanted without making him pay for it and …

Edward’s ears shot upright and he cocked his head. “Oh for … You have the luck of the gods about you. I have enough to deal with without adding even more complications.”

“Still, if it was just him, you might not be free of me so easily,” the bunny muttered, hopping toward the door of the apartment.

“This is not resolved, and I will have my answers!” he informed a befuddled-looking beaver.

Moments later Edward was gone from the apartment while the beaver was still forming his first retort. If Edward had chosen that moment to pop his head back in, he would have treated to the unique vision that was a beaver with his mouth hanging open. It was probably a good thing for any future interactions that he did not.

The beaver slowly relaxed and, taking a deep, cleansing breath, moved over to his beloved lemon and settled down to await whatever had driven off the floppy-eared nuisance, although he suspected it was nothing more special than his roommate. Why the mere presence of Gareth, the subject of all this nonsense, would gain him this reprieve was a bit of a mystery. Still, now that the beaver had time and the players were illuminated, he could make plans to add a little chaos to that interfering March Hare’s existence. But it was clear that a little forward momentum was called for.

Outside two voices approached the door, and the beaver settled back to see what this new factor would bring in the door.

3:9

Scene: The park’s fringes

CAROLINE: Well I’m here. (Pause) Look, I haven’t got a lot of time and I’d really rather not be standing here. (Looks around)

MYSTERIOUS MAN: (Speaking offstage) Are you alone?

CAROLINE: Oh for god’s sake, what does it look like? Come out, because I most assuredly am not creeping around in a bunch of shrubbery.

MYSTERIOUS MAN: (Entering stage right) I need to be sure. This isn’t some game we’re playing here. There are real consequences and I’m not going to be burned by fools playing at life.

CAROLINE: Look, you fool…

MYSTERIOUS MAN: No, you look. I didn’t start this, but I am not going to lose out because morons can’t take things seriously. There are only two sides: the winners and the losers. And I never lose, especially not because my ’side’ can’t get their shit together. If I can’t count on you, then I will just count you out.

CAROLINE: (Sputtering) You can’t talk…

MYSTERIOUS MAN: Oh, shut your trap and grow a pair. I’ll fucking we’ll talk to you however I like. Unless you think you’ve got the cajones to stop me. (Pause) Well, do you?

CAROLINE: Oh, fine. Have it your way, Mister Tough Guy. I’ve got better things to do and way better places to be than standing in this flea-ridden park discussing the size of your implements. What have you got for me?

MYSTERIOUS MAN: (Looking her over before continuing) Unfortunately, not much. I’ve got most of the players identified and there’s nothing new on that front. I still haven’t got a handle on who knows what, and frankly that pisses me off. And every once in a while I get the sense that someone’s playing another hand, and that really will piss me off if it turns out to be true. As well as putting a fucking wrench into my … our … plans.

CAROLINE: Another hand? This is not an open invitation for every scammer in the city to try their hand. You need to either eliminate the possibility or eliminate the player. As you so coarsely put it, this isn’t some game.

MYSTERIOUS MAN: Look, I don’t need your shit. The plan’s running, and we need to stand tight and stick with it for at least another week. If nothing’s broken by then we can apply a little leverage, preferably with a crowbar, and if I’m lucky it will be to someone’s head.

CAROLINE: Well, I don’t want to hear any more about that, thank you very much. So, if that’s the sum total of why you dragged me out here, then I will bid you adieu. This place is disgusting and this meeting’s apparently a waste of my time.

MYSTERIOUS MAN: (Sotto voce) Prissy bitch. (Aloud) Well, then I’ll be off. Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you any more. I hope the rest of your day is as pleasant as our little tête-à-tête. Oh, and by the way, I’d think about taking the caterpillar out of your hair before visiting any of your hoity-toity friends. (Exits)

CAROLINE: (screams)

Lights fade to black