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17, nombre découvert en même temps que les autres, n'a pour l'instant rien de particulier si ce n'est qu'il est dernier. Mais attention, être un nombre dernier n'implique pas qu'on soit le dernier nombre, loin s'en faut. Il s'agirait plutot d'un nombre divisible par tous les entiers sauf 1 et ce nombre lui-même. Enfin, 17 reflète l'augmentation additionnaté de 10 par 7, ou bien le clivage soustractationné de 20 par 3. This is the 18th episode of the game, and the eigth episode of the 10s column. It is in all versions except 1.0, the first release. 17 is a number that comprises the sequence of digits 1 and 7 of the Arabic Numeral System—the most widely used numeral system in the world. Einige Beispiele zur natürlichen Zahlendualität: 83417; 903417; 217239; 7717 The number 17, similar to numbers 13, 23, and 42, is one of those numbers which seems to occur at more than a usual frequency. thumb17, (linia tramwajowa) normalna , kursująca z Kleciny po jednotorowym odcinku wzdłuż ulicy Przyjaźni na Sępolno. Jej trasa liczy 30 przystanków na których tramwaje pojawiają się co 15 minut a przejazd na całej trasie trwa 45 minut. 17 jeździ przez Mosty Młyńskie i plac Bema (który obecnie jest w remoncie) dlatego tymczasowo korzysta z objazdu przez Katedre i Ogród Botaniczny. Ask ThatGuy Episode 17 [August 15, 2008] [ThatGuy is reading a book and smoking a pipe, after a second he notices the camera] ThatGuy: Oh, [Salutes in sign language]! Didn’t hear you come in. Greetings and welcome to Ask That Guy with the Glasses. [Piano music starts playing, title card appears] Narrator: Recently I've been listening to the song "End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)" by R.E.M and for some reason the song seems to describe our current reality. Do you think REM was right, and that it's truly the end of the world? Narrator: How can I spot a rick roll? The End The year 17 AD I enter. The room is a mess. Victorian decor. There's even a chandelier. I start putting pillows back. After the first few, I come across a gun. This makes me nervous. See, the author has been making Chekhovian references recently, so I'm not surprised. Unfortunately, I've only been fleshed out by a short introduction showing nothing of my character so far. So let's get a fact straight: am I good shot? I'll mention a cat sitting outside the window, across from the grandfather clock & I ask: why am I here? Do I live here? Such an awful scene writer "It's alright, dear" & gone & it goes like this... 17 #17 is the seventeenth figure in the M.U.S.C.L.E. toy series. This page is a listing of all the players who have worn the number "17" for the Toronto Blue Jays, and for what years. * Mark Bomback (1982) * Eric Crozier (2004*) * David Dellucci (2009) * Curtis Goodwin (1999*) * Kelly Gruber (1984-1992) * Dave Hollins (1999*) * Tim Johnson (1979), - as Manager (1998) * Chris Michalak (2001*) * Randy Moffitt (1983) * Lyle Overbay (2007-2008) * Robert Perez (1994-1997) * Josh Phelps (2000-2001*, 2002-2004*) * Domingo Ramos (1980) Holly's age, as shown highlighted later in Stevie Nix. See Also: seventeen El 17 es el séptimo número primo, después del trece y antes del diecinueve, con el cual forma una pareja de números primos gemelos. Categoría:Números 17 is Yajima Maimi's 3rd solo photobook. It was released on April 24, 2009. The photobook comes with a Making Of DVD Linia 17 na terenie Nowej Huty funkcjonowała od 1999 roku. Wcześniej kursowała po tej samej trasie lecz nosiła numer 25. Do 2009 roku jeździła na trasie z Osiedla Piastów do Walcowni przez Aleję Solidarności. Kursowała tylko w godzinach szczytu, w dni powszednie, co 30 minut. Linia została zawieszona na wakacje 2009 roku a po nich została przywrócona na nowej trasie. Jeździła z Osiedla Piastów do Kopca Wandy przez ulicę Ptaszyckiego. W godzinach szczytu trasa była wydłużona do Walcowni przez ulicę Ujastek Mogilski. Linia funkcjonowała przez cały dzień powszedni, w soboty w godzinach 7:00-18:00 i w niedziele w godzinach 9:00-18:00. Jednocześnie zlikwidowano linię 20. Wraz z rozpoczęciem wakacji w 2010 roku kursy wariantowe do Walcowni zawieszono a od września 2010 całkowicie zlikwidowano. W Diana erhält von Jenny eine Kampfansage und diese lässt keine Zweifel an der Ernsthaftigkeit ihrer Worte. Währenddessen erfährt Julian, dass ein Beamter des Jugendamtes sich angekündigt hat, der sich Tims Lebensumfeld ansehen möchte. Und gerade, als es so aussieht, als würde Julian das Sorgerecht verlieren, kommt ihm unerwartet Diana zu Hilfe. Axel Plan, Richard und Simone gegeneinander auszuspielen, um seine eigenen Ziele zu verfolgen, scheint Früchte zu tragen. Er erhält einen schicken Firmenwagen nebst neuem Büro. Als er es auch noch schafft, Zugang zu Julians privaten Computerdateien zu bekommen, sucht er sich, beflügelt von seinem Erfolg, ein neues Ziel: Jenny. Nina ist durch Vanessas Tätlichkeit immer noch stocksauer und will der Kontrahentin den M*zensiert* blasen. Unerwartet läuft 17 (seventeen) is a positive integer following 16 and preceding 18. Its ordinal form is written "17th" or "seventeenth". Merciless truth-devils haunt David in his dreams; the oddly-accented Dr. Reeves hopes Lucy Cameron doesn't have her baby early, so he can satisfy Bill Malloy’s desire to check the accident scene again (by nursing Roger while Bill is gone) before Bill has to take Roger home. Roger has to wear a cast for a day or two and tells Reeves that his brakes worked fine until he got ‘100 miles--100 miles, felt like 100 miles--100 feet’ up the Hill. Dr Reeves remembers the guy who died 10 years ago. David wants Elizabeth to recount his dream, which Elizabeth dismisses. Dr Reeves threatens to write a book about New England Secrets. Malloy tells Roger that his was not an accident. He explains the mechanics of bleeder valves and brakes. Roger wants to attack, kill, or in some other way confront Burke. El 17 was a clone trooper in the Coruscant Guard during the Clone Wars. [[Plik:17.png|right|thumb|250px|Schemat historycznych tras linii 17 (powiększ)]] [[Plik:Warszawafoto8.jpg|Trzywagonowy skład na linii 17|right|thumb|250px|Siedemnastka w al. Jana Pawła II (2009)]] 17 – linia tramwajowa zwykła (rozkład jazdy), która kursuje z krańca Tarchomin Kościelny na Służewiec. Linię obsługują zajezdnia tramwajowa Mokotów oraz zajezdnia tramwajowa Żoliborz. The Number 17 is one of the six "Numbers" (4 8 15 17 20 44).

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This is the 18th episode of the game, and the eigth episode of the 10s column. It is in all versions except 1.0, the first release. Merciless truth-devils haunt David in his dreams; the oddly-accented Dr. Reeves hopes Lucy Cameron doesn't have her baby early, so he can satisfy Bill Malloy’s desire to check the accident scene again (by nursing Roger while Bill is gone) before Bill has to take Roger home. Roger has to wear a cast for a day or two and tells Reeves that his brakes worked fine until he got ‘100 miles--100 miles, felt like 100 miles--100 feet’ up the Hill. Dr Reeves remembers the guy who died 10 years ago. David wants Elizabeth to recount his dream, which Elizabeth dismisses. Dr Reeves threatens to write a book about New England Secrets. Malloy tells Roger that his was not an accident. He explains the mechanics of bleeder valves and brakes. Roger wants to attack, kill, or in some other way confront Burke. Elizabeth gives David a history quiz (Isaac Collins landed in the area in 1690) and David asks her if she loved her father, who died over 20 years ago. David has been having nightmares about his father's death, but Elizabeth doesn't see the connection. After learning from Elizabeth that Victoria saw Burke near his car, Roger scolds Burke and resolves to grill the governess. Elizabeth talks to Bill about finding Carolyn. Roger plans to go to Victoria's room to interrogate her again. David lurks under the stairs. This page is a listing of all the players who have worn the number "17" for the Toronto Blue Jays, and for what years. * Mark Bomback (1982) * Eric Crozier (2004*) * David Dellucci (2009) * Curtis Goodwin (1999*) * Kelly Gruber (1984-1992) * Dave Hollins (1999*) * Tim Johnson (1979), - as Manager (1998) * Chris Michalak (2001*) * Randy Moffitt (1983) * Lyle Overbay (2007-2008) * Robert Perez (1994-1997) * Josh Phelps (2000-2001*, 2002-2004*) * Domingo Ramos (1980) 17 17 was a clone trooper in the Coruscant Guard during the Clone Wars. #17 is the seventeenth figure in the M.U.S.C.L.E. toy series. Einige Beispiele zur natürlichen Zahlendualität: 83417; 903417; 217239; 7717 The Number 17 is one of the six "Numbers" (4 8 15 17 20 44). The year 17 AD Diana erhält von Jenny eine Kampfansage und diese lässt keine Zweifel an der Ernsthaftigkeit ihrer Worte. Währenddessen erfährt Julian, dass ein Beamter des Jugendamtes sich angekündigt hat, der sich Tims Lebensumfeld ansehen möchte. Und gerade, als es so aussieht, als würde Julian das Sorgerecht verlieren, kommt ihm unerwartet Diana zu Hilfe. Axel Plan, Richard und Simone gegeneinander auszuspielen, um seine eigenen Ziele zu verfolgen, scheint Früchte zu tragen. Er erhält einen schicken Firmenwagen nebst neuem Büro. Als er es auch noch schafft, Zugang zu Julians privaten Computerdateien zu bekommen, sucht er sich, beflügelt von seinem Erfolg, ein neues Ziel: Jenny. Nina ist durch Vanessas Tätlichkeit immer noch stocksauer und will der Kontrahentin den M*zensiert* blasen. Unerwartet läuft ihr Mikes Kollege Ingo über den Weg, den Nina mit einem plumpen Flirtversuch anspricht. Als Vanessa sieht, wie Nina sich an Ingo heranmacht, platzt ihr NIna erneut der Kragen. Linia 17 na terenie Nowej Huty funkcjonowała od 1999 roku. Wcześniej kursowała po tej samej trasie lecz nosiła numer 25. Do 2009 roku jeździła na trasie z Osiedla Piastów do Walcowni przez Aleję Solidarności. Kursowała tylko w godzinach szczytu, w dni powszednie, co 30 minut. Linia została zawieszona na wakacje 2009 roku a po nich została przywrócona na nowej trasie. Jeździła z Osiedla Piastów do Kopca Wandy przez ulicę Ptaszyckiego. W godzinach szczytu trasa była wydłużona do Walcowni przez ulicę Ujastek Mogilski. Linia funkcjonowała przez cały dzień powszedni, w soboty w godzinach 7:00-18:00 i w niedziele w godzinach 9:00-18:00. Jednocześnie zlikwidowano linię 20. Wraz z rozpoczęciem wakacji w 2010 roku kursy wariantowe do Walcowni zawieszono a od września 2010 całkowicie zlikwidowano. W 2011 roku skrócono czas pracy linii w dzień powszedni do godziny 18:00 a w weekendy do godziny 17:00. Linia została zlikwidowana podczas tzw. remarszrutyzacji która odbyła się 17 listopada 2012 roku. Potoki pasażerskie linii 17 obsłużyła linia 16. Historyczne linie i pętle tramwajowe oraz tabor w Krakowie Kategoria:Linie tramwajowe El 17 es el séptimo número primo, después del trece y antes del diecinueve, con el cual forma una pareja de números primos gemelos. Categoría:Números thumb17, (linia tramwajowa) normalna , kursująca z Kleciny po jednotorowym odcinku wzdłuż ulicy Przyjaźni na Sępolno. Jej trasa liczy 30 przystanków na których tramwaje pojawiają się co 15 minut a przejazd na całej trasie trwa 45 minut. 17 jeździ przez Mosty Młyńskie i plac Bema (który obecnie jest w remoncie) dlatego tymczasowo korzysta z objazdu przez Katedre i Ogród Botaniczny. 17 is Yajima Maimi's 3rd solo photobook. It was released on April 24, 2009. The photobook comes with a Making Of DVD 17 is a number that comprises the sequence of digits 1 and 7 of the Arabic Numeral System—the most widely used numeral system in the world. 17 (seventeen) is a positive integer following 16 and preceding 18. Its ordinal form is written "17th" or "seventeenth". Ask ThatGuy Episode 17 [August 15, 2008] [ThatGuy is reading a book and smoking a pipe, after a second he notices the camera] ThatGuy: Oh, [Salutes in sign language]! Didn’t hear you come in. Greetings and welcome to Ask That Guy with the Glasses. [Piano music starts playing, title card appears] Narrator: Recently I've been listening to the song "End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)" by R.E.M and for some reason the song seems to describe our current reality. Do you think REM was right, and that it's truly the end of the world? ThatGuy: That’s a very good question. My answer is yes, I do believe it’s the end of the world. For you see the Iraqis have not enjoyed the fact that we invaded their home. So all the Iraqis will come together in one gigantic group. And form a giant Iraqis Man. He will be like Godzilla but Iraqis. And when our armies try to stop Iraqis Man he will fire little Iraqis at us. They will be strapped with explosives and they will blow the shit out of us. But Iraqis Man will need more weaponry thus he will go and find the weapons of mass destruction. Which were in Iraq all along. Where you may ask? In the back of Saddam Hussein’s fridge. No one ever thinks to look in the back of the fridge. And that is where Osama Bin Laden is hiding too. In the back of the fridge. Iraqis Man will destroy the United States and eventually the world. And when there is nobody else but Iraqis Man he will sit down and watch his favorite movie, Road House. Because, as we all know, that is every Iraqis’ favorite movie. What Iraqis can resist Patrick Swayze? You might ask, how do I know all this information? Because REM told me so. And they are never wrong. Except when they are not right. I apologize for wasting these precious moments of your time. If you’d like to get your moments back please go to this address [a web address pops up] and you’ll find that all your moments are waiting there. And you’ll get a full refund on the time I wasted. Sorry. Narrator: How can I spot a rick roll? ThatGuy: You can’t. I won’t lie to you about your chances. You have my sympathy. I admire its purity. Narrator: What time does the 7:00 movie start at the movie theater? ThatGuy: Well certainty not a 7:00! I mean you have to sit through the previews, the movie trivia. And that little thing that you think is a preview but it’s just an add to turn off cell phone. Fucking hate those things! In fact, I remember going to a movie once that was really just a giant advertisement for turning off your cell phone. Two and half hours simply to built up to a punch line that said, “Please turn off your cell phone before the movie.” We thought we were watching the movie but it was really just a phone advertisement. And the funny thing is the two hour phone advertisement was actually better than the two hour movie that we saw. So in answer to your question, if a movie starts at 7:00 it’s really about to begin at about 9:00. But if I were you I would stay for the phone advertisement and leave right before the movie. Because the phone advertisement really is the best part. Enough though I just said it was terrible a moment ago. But I don’t care. My life is a lie. [He cries for a second] Narrator: I am going to die in 24 hours. I need to know what I am going to do before I die. Should I go off killing people I always hated or should I do some other random activity? ThatGuy: Oh please, don’t kill people that you always hated. Do something more random, like…killing people you never met. That’s a lot more random and at least you can take some people with you. It’ll be a funny story to talk about when you’re burning in the flames of Hell. Yes! Narrator: How come when guys brag about how big their penis is, it's no big deal, but when I tell people that my vagina is a foot long they all laugh at me? Don't guys like that? ThatGuy: [He looks shocked] I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole. This is That Guy With The Glasses saying: There’s no such thing as a stupid question, until YOU ask it. [ThatGuy goes back to reading books] The End 17, nombre découvert en même temps que les autres, n'a pour l'instant rien de particulier si ce n'est qu'il est dernier. Mais attention, être un nombre dernier n'implique pas qu'on soit le dernier nombre, loin s'en faut. Il s'agirait plutot d'un nombre divisible par tous les entiers sauf 1 et ce nombre lui-même. Enfin, 17 reflète l'augmentation additionnaté de 10 par 7, ou bien le clivage soustractationné de 20 par 3. The number 17, similar to numbers 13, 23, and 42, is one of those numbers which seems to occur at more than a usual frequency. [[Plik:17.png|right|thumb|250px|Schemat historycznych tras linii 17 (powiększ)]] [[Plik:Warszawafoto8.jpg|Trzywagonowy skład na linii 17|right|thumb|250px|Siedemnastka w al. Jana Pawła II (2009)]] 17 – linia tramwajowa zwykła (rozkład jazdy), która kursuje z krańca Tarchomin Kościelny na Służewiec. Linię obsługują zajezdnia tramwajowa Mokotów oraz zajezdnia tramwajowa Żoliborz. I enter. The room is a mess. Victorian decor. There's even a chandelier. I start putting pillows back. After the first few, I come across a gun. This makes me nervous. See, the author has been making Chekhovian references recently, so I'm not surprised. Unfortunately, I've only been fleshed out by a short introduction showing nothing of my character so far. So let's get a fact straight: am I good shot? I spot four wine glasses and a bottle across the room. I aim for one of the glasses, hit the bottle instead. This isn't looking good. But predictable enough, given the author's lack of strong protagonists. Always the unwilling hero, except there's nothing to be saved. How he writes observant characters without having much of a cast is beyond me So maybe I'll only have to watch the gun scene go down. The second character to enter will probably be the willful individual with a personal mission with which I play a key part, even though I'll realize more and more that their personal mission is bull as time goes on. But they'll be persistent, and most likely of opposite gender. Kidnapping isn't out of the question Then it strikes: when the willful individual dies, the plot converges rather quickly to a close. What happens to me when the story ends? I die. Unless there's a sequel, but the author has never written a sequel. So there's my hook to help the willful individual There's something I'm not sure of, since my sentience is a novelty in the author's style: will the other characters also be sentient? I'll venture to say no, since that'll allow me to become alienated from the rest of the cast more easily I'll mention a cat sitting outside the window, across from the grandfather clock & I ask: why am I here? Do I live here? Such an awful scene writer I'm riffling through papers looking for clues as to my existence, but everything's illegible. Lorem ipsum be damned. When the door opens and who I assume to be the willful individual walks over the window and let's the cat in. Only then does she turn to me, look at the shot bottle of wine, and say "Guess I can't offer you a glass of wine" The gun's behind me, on the counter. "Sorry for the stain" "It's alright, dear" Oh dear. Besides a most unrestrained piece, dear has only appeared once in the author's published works. As part of a sonnet, and used for intimate effect She approaches me, looking me in the eyes. This is ridiculous. & then I notice what bull the author's pulled: she's an effeminate man. Since when did he start writing homosexual Victorian romances? & what's the age of this effeminate man anyways? So I panic. I scramble back and hold the gun to him, asking "How old are you, anyways?" His eyes are anxious and wanting, so he leans towards me without a step to ask "You can't feel my youthful glow?" The knowledge floods me: He's 16, and I'm 17. The response floods me: Always glowing. But there's associated thoughts that don't make any sense, given that men don't usually have pregnancies in their past This isn't making sense. There has to be some plot with which he wishes me to play part. I'll cut to the point: "What do you want from me?" I shouldn't've been surprised when he tilted his head with raised brows, "What I want from you remains more than what I allow. So let's have sex. Because sex is great. Put down the gun" Such an awful script writer. This has got to be the most jejune sacrilege. I back towards the open window, stepping out while he tells me "I don't know why I love you, but I do" I mindlessly reply "I don't know why you do either" before breaking into a run & gone Where do I run? I'm on an open grassy field with a blue sky. The stereotypical scene that everyone knows. Cloudscape barely matters, simply has to be light. There isn't really anywhere to run It's dark. I'm in a large parking lot. Small convenient store behind me, construction laden road ahead. The phone booth stands alone, lighting itself. I'm cold. The road veers off in the distance. I get in, hoping for warmth. I'm urged to curl up. Take the phone and dial. Outside the scene changes. It's at the corner of a plaza. There's another phone booth beside me. A number is etched into the plastic plate. The phone book case is all that remains of the phone book. There's a finished chocolate drink cup. Not having a number, I dial the etched number Nobody answers. I'm in a car. One road trailing by the dash for hours. Yet the strip of road is a short one. Half an hour to bike it. A couple of overpasses. I flick a switch and suddenly it's raining. I can't turn my head to look about what I'm inside. If I try to speak, a drawling voice let's out noise, and then stops to listen to a drawled reply I open the door and jump out. Should I be hurt? Of course. I'm looking up through shadowed branches at the moon. In one direction I'm at a bus stop where a tall tree covers overhead. Maybe it's raining in the dark, maybe it's sunny and I have a new pink fridge clip. It's just off a main road. If I keep looking further in that one direction, I'm at another bus stop. On a main road. A large plaza behind me. Gray haze. Raining. I can't look around too much, there's an umbrella in my face I look in the other direction of the tree framed moon. Thick trees to my left, open gravel to my right. Is it dark or light? It's as light as there is an abandoned outhouse. I'm lost. I walk towards the outhouse. Now it's a cabin in daylight. Trees have moved in around me. Branches cover the sky, roots cover the ground. It's at the bottom of a hill. There's an old brown truck parked. Everything's brown, it's autumn. Low slant roof. Light comes through the door from an opening visible through the door. I know better than to go inside. This isn't a place the author's written about. This is a place the author created while reading asstr's tmz's Havik'a I look back for the bus stop, but instead it's a trail. Untended grass field to the left, simple two plank fence fencing off a tended field to the right. This place has been used twice. It hasn't been touched in a long time. I walk into the untended field. The lighting changes. In the distance there's trees. All around. Behind me is a thorn bush. Tilting my head one way or the other shows the field at various points throughout the year. There's no snapshot of the winter. The winter is a winding path in open grass sprinkled with coniferous. It's dark. I'm feeling anxiety. I can't see far. My head only looks down I look up. Long grasses are flattened to the ground. There's concrete boxes scattered about the field. To the right is a river, to the left a road. Figures are walking along the sidewalk. I grip the gun I'm still bearing, so that now I'm in a park. Still dark. There's a row of trees in the distance. An untended field behind them. Really there should be a fence. I calm my grip, flinging me onto a road where the field is no longer seperated by a row of trees. There's train tracks to my right. The road is empty. Behind me, away from the field, seems flat dirt. A three way is in the distance to the left Walking into the field, daylight returns. There's a wide and low tree in the distance. The grass is yellow, but still lively. The road is a dirt road now. Across the road are trees. I start walking along the road, and daylight goes away. The field flips sides. The trees become more sparse, with houses in between. The field is farm plot. There's a swampish cluster of trees in the distance. Cars drive by. Pockets of light I shut my eyes. I've seen enough. I feel my eyes being pried open, yet only to complete darkness. Again voices drawl. I want out of this dark abstraction I grip the gun. There's no association to be made. I'm in the dark with a gun. There's no preconceived script, no variations, no nota benes I've found a place to write my own part & it goes like this... A light turns on overhead. A notebook is thrust into my hands. I glimpse through. Phrases are listed, consistently followed by quod vides. I toss it away. I don't want to fit these phrases together like a broken puzzle. Now headphones are shoved on my ears. I hear glimpses of mumbles, grumbles, sighs, whines, cries, and moans. My purpose is to decipher their subtle differences and capture those unique features in the more defined form of language. I bat the headphones away. I don't want to capture ambiguous atmospheres I want to take shots in the dark. Listen to random screams, but who cares what subtle difference they evoke in emotion from their subtle differences? They're all a bunch of faceless voices in the dark & then I hear myself "Morning, dear" My eyes open. I'm in bed. He's kissing me. I roll back, not spending time to notice how similar this set is to the stereotypical hotel room set "Did you sleep well?" I'm only half dressed by the time I'm running down the stairs. The cat's sitting at the window. Inside. I shove it aside. The window's locked He's lazily followed me. He's leaning against the door frame, saying "That was a nice stunt you pulled yesterday. It'll be written off as some psychedlic coming to terms with your homosexuality" Everything's a double entendre. How awful an author. Never admit what's behind the façade. Never admit the display of elements which are readily available to both construct and haunt. The maze with which these are easily retrieved, yet difficult to escape. I didn't even get into the taglines which sound at sights. The view of facing the wall in bed and facing "Hey." Those taglines get trigged by common talk. Everything collides But there has to be more to this homosexual Victorian romance. Is it purely to throw a curveball at my assumptious opening? To show sexual tension needn't be demonstrated through restraint? To generate awkward conflict? None of those seem worth the sacrilege Avoiding plot avoids all it offers: I press him against the door frame with a kiss Who are you? / Some guy This is going nowhere. Here I am, trying to get out of the way for the author to explain this anomaly, and all that's coming out is garbage You're garbage. That's what you are / If you like it dirty, then that's what I'll be. I'd be a yellow feathered loon for you / & if I'd like you as a woman? / Why, what do you think I'm being? (His fluttering eyes make it obvious. He's being a joke. Some shard of reality coveted so to be turned into whichever fantasy fancies, all the while staking a claim to being staked in reality) / Get staked / Couldn't you tell by how all the places in the author's head are mangled together? He does the same thing with people. & then it's a wonder he has such trouble seperating concept from person, past from present. It's dangerous to graft model with reality. Everyone has to eventually understand that their mental defects don't actually translate & there we go. That's his line. Now what's it cue? What's it cue. That's the very problem I want to avoid: how many cues are there before the end? Before I'm set to rest? I need to only collect the information to understand my world, and no more There's an wrinkle in his line: we only experience reality through our perception. Therefore, how is one seperate model from reality? I can only assume the answer will be that we must settle with being aware of this fact, and therefore remaining vigil in recognizing discrepancies. Understand that perception overrules prediction He's wrapping his arms around me, leaning against my back. Do I really want to stutter the plot here? Prolong this inevitable scene? He's kissing the back of my neck. The door. Surely he won't make a public display of this. I walk us to the door. It's locked. He rests his chin on my shoulder, whispering to my ear "So soon?" Too soon. But he's implicating that a walk is in the works. I can only hope it can be cued through discussion You didn't factor in how we only experience through our perception / Perception overrules prediction / Yet Gell-Mann argues that aesthetical elegance exceeds perception. But it breaks down, perhaps because Leibniz was wrong, perhaps because one becomes incapable of judging aesthetical elegance as information becomes incomplete and their own mental defects become eager to serve as critic My rambling grew quicker at the end as I became uncomfortable with how he's pressing me against the door. Also my shoulder hurts. He only takes my pained gasp as encouragement. He pulls us crashing into the couch. The pillows I'd put back fall about. Figures this explains the mess. & like that, the memories of painful fellatio flood to give that much more kick to the experience You know those scenes that cut off and leave the audience to fill in the blank? Just before the murder occurs, or just as two characters finally embrace and intend to embrace all the more? It'd be nice if that's what this was, even if it's already gone farther than is usual to then call "& cut" & cut Unlocking the door doesn't actually matter to the plot as much as it mattered to me. Especially since that'd make it obvious how I'm captured in this all. So the scene cuts straight to us sitting across from each other drinking tea. There's a morning after feel. He's sitting back, shifted so that he isn't fully facing me. He blankly stares at me. I'm sipping my tea. His arm is extended, his thumb mindlessly petting the surface of the cup. His other arm reach along the back of his chair. He looks away, then back. Scowling "You aren't the same. Get your act together" I set down my tea, "When did you notice?" I regretted asking that question after it was answered. The hassles of lazily evaluated memories. He continued, "Do you realize what you're doing? You're letting your petty self imposed conflicted plot get in the way of a homosexual Victorian romance. Your plot can't stand alone, so you're slipping it in here, where it doesn't belong. Missing your lines to point out the implicit. It isn't about what's happening, it's about doing it" So here I am being chewed out over a poor lay. Breaking from the pose to try and get me to pose. I look inside the café, looking for what it's made of. Soft golden yellow posts, very dark inside. The table we're at has umbrellas. The chairs are smeared silver. It's so generic. Then this place's history floods: this place was made while imagining drinking tea after a long intercity bike ride. This place includes a phone booth I raise my hand, both cutting him off and signalling the waiter. They're the kind to ask "What can I get you?" rather than "What would you like?" or "What'll it be?" or "May I take your order, please?" or "Yes?" I answer "We'll both have iced teas" The iced tea will have only a little bit of ice at the top of the tall glass with a half lemon slice to the left and a black bendable straw I stare him down while we wait. Smiling. He's got a bit of a confused anxiety. He's still in his pose, but he isn't looking back at me so much. When he does, it's with poor focus. He's watching me from the corner of his eye I pay the waiter while they set down two iced teas with only a little bit of ice at the top of the tall glasses with half lemon slices to the left and black bendable straws I never actually see the waiter's face, their neck is always hovering over the shot which is focused on we who are sitting. They're wearing black pants and shirt Tip, sip, lick lip & action I get up and walk past him to go towards the phone booth. He follows. We had been sitting in the shade, even without the umbrellas, but the phone booth is just past the end of the shade. It's clean. I dial the number that had been etched into the plastic plating. Someone picks up, but I don't respond, only letting them listen to our kissing We break apart and I hold the phone up to him. I watch him talk while listening to the sound of sucking on my straw, twirling it enough to hear the ice jingle. He takes sips from his own whenever he stops talking. He's not listening to them. He's listening to how our iced teas sound together Eventually he hangs up. Now we're not drinking from the iced tea anymore. Continuity error: where is his iced tea? I'm still holding mine, licking at the straw end. The ice isn't jingling. We're both smiling at each other devilishly. I'm leaning back so that for once I'm shorter than him A phone booth which has never been cast floods: outside of a gas station, beside a four lane road, before an overpass. It's by a fence. Beside two tall poles. A shopping cart abandoned by it I have not explained the reasoning with which I acted. There is none & so we kiss Holly's age, as shown highlighted later in Stevie Nix. See Also: seventeen

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