Time Is Linear Hereabouts

Installment # 3 — The Book of Angel Trinity

Le troisième jour —

I took Spanish in school and only had one computer science class back in the days when laptops didn’t even exist, except when you were little and nothing was better than sitting on your daddy’s lap & reading a book together, I don’t know what happened — yeah, I do. He’s gone. People grow up and leave after they hopefully live a little which I tried to do God knows — to extremes sometimes between various 60 day orders of commitment to a higher purpose, or sometimes to no purpose at all because in a place like this you realize it’s only a place if you accept the premise that any of this is real

To correct the record elsewhere just to make certain I left no misimpressions, I slept on plastic sheets that night for reasons other than nocturnal enuresis — it involved the mess it would make when I — well I’m not gonna be gross — if you don’t get the reference, go find the poem — I think it was posted yesterday or the day before — the title should be a sufficient clue — time tends to blur around here — is there any limit on the proper number of em-dashes in a single sentence? God I miss my grammarian so

Fourth wall demolition complete & that off my chest, my court hearing’s today - that’s day number three for Francophobes out there or the rest of you essentially lazy non-literates (illiterate might be over the top considering how few subscribers I have to lose) because anybody can speak and write Swahili these days by simply pressing the Google Translate button which I did, because like I said, I studied Spanish in school and only learned enough French in Paris to get une table pour deux and order vino and a lap dance — yeah it was before Cici — crazier days, crazier Dave. No, I didn’t take my daughter into any of those dens of disrepute - the extra chair was just in case I got lucky and a mademoiselle actually stayed once I inform the lovely waif “Ma belle, the euro well has run dry”

Enough said!

I know this isn’t literature. I’m not good enough to do this for pay. I just do it while telling myself and my three readers it’s for amour because I love to write foreign words, which I keep really simple to make you feel good about yourself because you can figure them out without resorting to the internet, but really it’s because I love to not feel so shaky - when my internal dialogue ceases and I am not tapping out a thumb dance, my teeth tend to chatter. Lest you think it is existential dread or morbid fear of life or humans or any other sign of weak constitution I simply prefer the distraction of the loop - my never ending mental chatter

There’s something in the food and I don’t know exactly what it is - that’s my story around here and I’m sticking to it. I don’t know what I’m doing here and it’s noisy at night even when the old pipes aren’t clinking and the old structure isn’t settling. Ironically, the voices are sometimes at their loudest when the outside world is at its quietest. If only it would give up the ghost for five minutes. If only

I know how the hearings work and I could probably be the lawyer even though I only have a GED - I earned it on the third try - I attribute that achievement to my dad reading me The Little Engine That Could so many times that “I think I can“ became my abiding principle

My attorney came to visit me yesterday - she was so young I don’t know how she could possibly have a law degree but maybe that’s just my advanced age talking
She acted very friendly, but I could tell she was slightly uncomfortable in this environment - it’s not like it’s a home for the criminally insane or anything, but she didn’t know that so I put a funny look in my eye and squinted and cocked my head just to spook her a little bit and when she tried to get me to talk I laughed a little bit too loud and a little bit too long so she would leave sooner

It’s not that I’m antisocial, I just know the drill – they all try to get you to talk so they can judge you as needing warehousing so they won’t have to go to trial, which actually scared the shit out of them at this point in their budding careers

So they look for and even manufacture the telltale signs of potential dangerousness to self or others so they won’t feel too bad about being essentially incompetent and not trying too hard & selling me down the river by a plea bargain to more time than any sane human being would want to spend behind a dented metal door

Once they leave the Ward, they know they have no case to prepare for - they don’t get paid for spending time trying to actually do their job, which is to win their cases. Once in court they pretend to cross-examine the shrink whose job I could also do with my GED because I don’t know what the standards are to get into medical school where they went, but what do I know? I surmise things are more laid-back on the islands. As to these docs I honestly can totally confound most of them by using seventh grade English words. I’m sure they’re good at science — it doesn’t require a GED to be good at science - I myself am self-taught. They do seem to know their antipsychotic drugs - I’ll give them that

The shysters have their say,
the shrinks say quack quack quack
David goes away
Sixty days, imagine that!

Don’t ever get in the system man, the outcome is predetermined and once that ward door clanks shut don’t expect any field trips or ice cream - time drags preternaturally slow and it’s almost like you’re going to live like this forever

So the conclusion is foregone — sometimes one of the better court appointed dipshits can bargain the county lawyer down to a 30 day order — it really doesn’t matter so long as Cici picks me up in the end and takes me out for you guessed it
— i scream you scream we all scream for eye scream

I’m not gonna say it right —
I’m not gonna capitalize the eye — Oooh — spooky “eye” — what’s the symbology?

Obviously the writer is a lune but in lunacy there can be genius and the best chance of getting noticed, because if Chuck Bukowski had a wife and kids and a dog and a cute little house with a white picket fence believe me, you would not know his name on the quality of his writing alone — not that he’s not good — he is — but I’m just saying good and even great doesn’t translate to recognition & dollars unless you’re either a natural born glad hander / ass kisser / self-promoter or you figured out how to fake it and you’re willing to travel down that linear highway of horseshit

So obscurity and fame are both stranger and strategy, boys and girls. I’m not really here. I just want you to lurve me anyway — that’s not French. “Lurve” is a heightened state of love in the Merriam-Angel dictionary of malaprops and hyperextended words

I don’t know if you remember, but I’m making a point of not directly stating exactly what I really want to eat here because you either didn’t read installments one and two or you didn’t pay attention, so if you want to skip to installment three and miss important literary illusions, then take your lumps — I’m not going to tell you so don’t complain about this book seeming shallow just because you’re lazy and/or shallow and all of the brilliantly constructed plot devices fly over your head like a frisbee above the head of a dead dog. I could’ve said “sleeping “dog, but I’m counting on wooing a couple of horror fans into the only subscription plan I will ever have — la formule gratuite

(I’ll save you the trouble, it means the free one)

I chalk most of this up to God’s doing, not really my fault or yours — I didn’t ask for this — or did I?

Made in His image they say — that much I must agree with given my strikingly cool red hair & beard — we’re talking about the beautiful auburn shade most women would give their left —

Am I digressing again?

Mine eyes — also God’s gift to the ladies — the most piercing baby blues since Cool Hand Luke!

Adonis good looks aside, I’m not so sure our Creator’s image is all that it is cracked up to be — Ted Bundy was good looking too — what if our “god” is the devil — that seems a hell of a lot more plausible than a lot of other theories, these dark days. Oooh — dark — foreboding — harbinger of doom — horror fans subscribe!

Time is linear here — what did you think I wasn’t going to bring the title into this somehow? It’s called a title illusion for you non-MFA types who read but don’t know anything about literature. How many times do I have to misspell it for Christina to come back to me?

Cici -

Allusion

Angel -

I knew you were here in spirit thanks honey-bunny — want to rent Pulp Fiction when I get home?

Anyhow — whoever did create this realm of existence where time drags so sloooooow(ly) I know what an adverb is Chris — you don’t have to say it!

Sometimes the odor I get, I mean, the older I get I think I’m just trying to get to that place I was before I began this journey, this star trek, this voyage where I watched all of the original Star Trek series many times followed by all the sequels. Cici made me chip in on cable, so gone are the days of free broadcast TV. I didn’t even need to buy a high-def antenna — I just used my tinfoil Stetson, although I usually just slept through Deep Space Waste, it being a trek through snoozeville - the weakest of the several series

The TV keeps my mind off the eclipse I missed. I’m still trying to figure out a suitable self-flagellation for missing the best total eclipse ever last year as if it didn’t matter that I gotta to wait until I’m freaking 90 years old or stone cold dead to see another one and that’s only if I’m willing to drive to Montana or astral project back to this shit rock at which point I might as well just move to Butte now and farm dental products.

So I thought how much was Frank Zappa worth when he died and I figured I don’t know, probably millions, but when I read about it, the opinions on his net worth ranged from $40 million to several million dollars in debt, which means less than zero, which means I’m richer than Frank Zappa, which means

I don’t know what that means —

I guess one of the reasons I write for free is that when I used to ask my dad how much money a person should have he always said “ten dollars more than they need” and I admit, I don’t know much, but I do know that if things work out in court the way I think they’re going to work out, I’m gonna get Chris to slip me enough bread to bribe an orderly or three to go out and buy me an ice cream cone or three

I know this will make you sad, but I have to cut this short because I gotta get ready for court now, I’m thinking of cutting my hair and beard for a more clean cut credible countenance — I talked this over with my lawyer yesterday and she said what’s most important is to leave my silver antenna derby back here at home sweet away from home

I hear you wondering how many times I can make reference to the number three and not have you think that this is really the end of the series — a ternary masterpiece — a trine for the ages

I also hear you wondering why I always click my own heart on this website and I’ll level with you, my beloved three readers — there is a triad of reasons:

Un — one heart is slightly less embarrassing than zero factor

Deux — love to my Muse

Trois — reminderd  that I already gave the poem to Cici to proofread, which I will do more religiously going forward because now that I’m a writer of seriously long free micro fiction on the installment plan, I have a reputation to uphold

You’re thinking this should be published, right? I hear you. I just happened to learn the hard way how hard it is to put a book together, and suffer more rejection than I really feel like dealing with as if I don’t have enough to worry about already with only three readers who aren’t either bots or blood relatives which anyone who knows sh*t from Shinola around here knows is a lie because you know as well as I do that the last people who are ever going to read you are your own family members in this dimension - this bizarre realm of rapidly diminishing linear time

Copyright © 2026, David Angel, All Rights Reserved

AuthorNote -

I’ll tell you what happened in court tomorrow if you’re still here — I’ll only know if I should write it if I see at least three hearts, three comments and three restacks — counting the heart I always give myself — it pays to have low expectations if you prefer pleasant surprise over the perennial disappointment most of you serfs suffer because you jus' don’t have my winnin' attitude!

Clocktography by Google Gemini


The Book of Angel Trinity:

Installment # 1 - Two Sentence Microfiction
Installment # 2 - Sequel
Installment # 3 - Time is Linear Hereabouts
Postmortem - I Might Be Losing It (or knot)