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Impossible to know whose obligation this drama is, mine or Mrs. Number Ones. No use wondering. Ill keep on doing my duty, or she hers, and I don't think that I, at least, will ever be able to find out. (But if I had anything more than just this one thing, then I could. One dactylic protuberance more to pit against the other in some way, one threat, one appeasement, one offering, one retreat, one gesture, one decline, one weapon other than this one, then I could find out who is the willing one and who the slave.) However ... No. She may have destroyed them. More likely, knowing her devious and duplicitous ways, she intended to keep them and the ones from Rideout, as insurance in the event she ever again needed large sums of money. If thats the case, it’s probable she sent the banker’s missives on ahead with his ten thousand dollars. The cash, if not the letters, will be recovered and handed over to Wrixton; I’ll see to that. There wassome basis for my wariness about the Pop Prof: between the beginning of his cult in 1951 and hitting the Big Time in 1964, he acquired one besetting, and audience-besotting, sin. Whether through carelessness or (miscalculation, it adds up to the too frequent subordination of hismessage by his own medium, words: the sacrifice of clarity to the hypnotic cadence of pop-talk, pun-fun, and the catch-phrase. For example: 1)He describes the participation involvement of TV-viewing as 'cool'— the 'fragmented' detachment of the reader as 'hot'. (The reason: a course in Contemp. Eng. from uncool Jack Paar, who got told by a put-on kid that 'cool' means'hot' nowadays.) 2)From 'The Medium is the Message', the most-quoted chapter of the most-quoted Book of McLuhan, Understanding Media: " ... even so, Joey was one of the sweetest men or women Ive ever known. He was the easiest person in the group to live with Maybe it was because he was away a lot ... " I didnt care how, exactly-just different. For example, how would things be right now, it occurred to me, if I’d majored in creative botany at college instead of physical ed? Or what would I be doing at this very moment if I’d the job with Enterprises, Incorporated, instead of Serv-Eez? Or if I’dgone to Siam with Tom Biehler that time? Or if I hadn’t broken off with what’s-her-name, that big, black-haired girl who could sing Japanese Sandman through her nose? Erl laughed and said,Im glad I’m not in hats. I haven’t got over the rush to get rid of grey suits last week. We sent over 3000 to the dumps, and all the other stores likewise. Hey, remember the time it was a cat-lover, and they all threw their cats out into the streets? Then if what I feel is human—anything different is less perfectly correlated with humanness. Hence any entity not identical is more or less subhuman; there cant possibly be something morelike me than I am. Mike seemed annoyed. "Just about, mate— as its you," he said. He was a thin-faced cockney from the City. His kind had survived plagues, sweatshops and the depression. Hed survive this, too. I happened to know he'd been one of Mosely's fascists before the War — in fact he'd kicked a thin-skulled Jew in the head in Dalston in 1938,thus saving him from the gas-chambers in 1948. Funny how things work out. Some stray bullets were whistling high overhead now. Clem said,So take off your belts, take off your pants . . . He seemed to change all in a second. I have never seen such a face or heard such a voice as he said, “What? Be beat by this puddle?” We were more afraid of him at that moment than of any kind of death or disaster. He screamed like a horse in a fire. His eyes were red. He lifted the heavy end of the tree in his bare hands, alone. The seams of his leather jacket burst. Black veins swelled in his neck and arms. It was as much as the rest of us could do, working together, to lift the lighter end of the tree. Sheriff, you heard right. This Pop Preachment on null-content (anti-matter?) is described in the Report from Iron Mountain(Dial, 1967): Tom was sitting on the old front porch, drinking Scotch. We are both thirty-eight now, but he looks younger than that, and younger than I. A rancher looks competent and calm, even in a bad year; being boss gives him that. But Tom had added to his calm the arrogance, the elegance, all the last refinements that money can confer, and had ended up in indifference and boredom. Still he was an impressive sight in his ranchers clothes and boots and British grooming. His eyes looked tired. So they took five sharpened sticks and went out to where the five men were sleeping. Gus, the blacksmith, had brought his hammer and proceeded to open the first of the five coffins and nailed the vampire before he could fly. "Ive been here for hours," she said. Physics majors! You guys are just super engineers!.
