From the Desk (III-24-74_2019)

From the Desk - #1 (III-23-74_2019)

I didn't go away, friends.

As fortune sighed at me in exasperation,

I went much further - for time is the longest distance between two places.

I descended the familiar step for a last time and followed, from then on... attempting to find in motion what was lost in space. I traveled around a great deal. The cities, prairies, and halls swept around me like dead leaves... such glimpses... of wisdom, drifting down a windy street, half buried in sand... leaves that were brightly colored but torn away from the walls in great swathes across the landscape... torn out of pages and memories indistinct and lost along the way... great gaps of time with passing thoughts between and lapse to carry on.

Opportunity invites and often begets tragedy, potentially in terrifying frequency, for tragedy requires incitement and very little inspiration- a small spark - and friends, my calendar has been filled with disaster. It is the little touches that make a future solid enough to be destroyed, de-storied. Paths have been unwritten, potential outcomes slaughtered. We move ahead.

If we may, a bit of catch-up is prudent. As usual, I will try to frame this thought experiment, The Earth Hotel, in terms that suit both the literal, metaphysical, and artistic processes that I am describing at once.

Years ago, when the Earth Hotel was founded, when it was found -- I became ensnared in this project, this projection. I was installed, for good or ill.

By making contact initially via a set of profound dream experiences, I opened a door into realms of opportunity and potential outcomes. I stumbled onto something.

By remembering and contemplating these dream experiences of wandering corridors, encountering entities within hallways and intangible, proto-spaces, I brought the subconscious architecture out of the dark and determined a way inside for myself. I glimpsed and pursued a bizarre truth room-to-room.

Formalizing my exploration throughout was the mathematical model of the Infinite Hotel Paradox. This was an intuitive and intentional extrapolation of an existing thought model onto the collection of phenomenon I had gathered.

By forging my own interpretive rule set that served to give structure and meaningful details to my experiences, I engaged back with the unknown source, providing enough substance to make the thought-form malleable.

Finally, the experiences and participation of friends and colleagues cemented the filter in its usefulness-- and by communicating the concept, my understanding and depth of experience within it intensified.

By recognizing the construction I had helped to shape from what was provided to me, my confreres agreed to cosign the creative impulse, as the sperm and egg collaborate. This agreement is what brings thought-forms into existence. This creates institutions, pacts, governments, syndicates. It is both highly practical, mathematical, and intensely magical.

So this occurred in 70_2015. I opened the doors into the Earth Hotel and invited my friends inside. I named a few rooms and they called these rooms back by name.

We set up landmarks and points of reference, like guiding lights in an unknown cavern, and these took on thematic forms to emphasize what I understood. The front desk, the elevator and central or otherwise stairways, The Lobby, the Astral Lounge, so named at the Grand Opening: this event which was a literal occasion, for the purpose of orienting the guests coming to my physical space within the framework I wished to lay upon the empty walls of my residence-- this place had served as a nexus for creative acts and had tested well as a crucible and entryway. Many of those individuals were guests, wandering in and out, some returning in their dreams to a place, the context of which they had just been given. Reports came in of people realizing their own continuity within dream spaces, recognizing the shape of The Earth Hotel within their new and old dream experiences, seeing structure where previously had been an endless and chimeric inner labyrinth.

I understood that this was a form of creation, but as I had learned previously with my work in cut-up writing and automatic music, the creator is often primarily an editor and curator of form and information. I was not necessarily forging something entirely new or independent. I was not the author or form to be explored, nor the true discoverer of what is fundamentally archetypal. I understood that my role was only the pilot of an exploratory craft, and all work therein was up to me, as a driver is responsible for his truck and cargo. I took on the title of Operator in description and duty. My function was to direct and track my experience and the information I could collect from the people and entities around me, and disseminate it in a form that was compelling-- compelling enough to be tracked and potentially amended and corroborated by others.

My sophomoric attempts at media communication turned into a vessel. I begun having recorded conversations with creative people I knew and did not know, weaving the footage in with what serves metaphorically as documentary footage, illustrations of the infinite variety of destinations within the Hotel, if such a word may be used as destination. Scenes begun to play out within the creative framework. Anything was explainable and sought to fit within the exploratory game.

This proved to be a feature of cooperative action from outside myself, and not a fundamental rule. In deciding to be dedicated to the creative pursuit within specific terms, I made a pact intentionally with fundamental forces which I believe to be metaphysically as real as they are metaphorically effective. The Muse is a modern shorthand for understanding this force, for anthrologizing is a crude but just measure in dealing with such forces. As with any magickal or creative act, once a thing is named, agreed upon, and action taken in faith of a force, there are binding terms and potential consequences to be respected, and this holds true without the assumption of the agency or existence of such a force.

As I said before, these statements are intended on three levels, and it is in these three realms which I believe constitute balanced engagement with the Earth Hotel and such forces at large, at least in my own understanding.

These are:

1) the literal, real-world level, as in the work of recording and distributing a podcast or media object,

2) the metaphorical level, as within the context of "The Hotel," -- for lack of better terms, the rules within the "canon" of the creative exercise, and

3) the level of personal meaning, in which I experience gratification by confirmation of my movements within my world-- i.e. seeing signals or having experiences that compliment or confirm decisions or actions I take within my purview as the Operator.

The feeling of meaningfulness is a psychological and biophysical indication that ones operating values are in accordance with the operable parameters of their existence. If I engage with this project on all three levels, my objective is completed and I am rewarded exponentially on all three levels as well. This is necessary to keep in mind as we go forward, for the inverse is also true.

As I moved myself out of my vortex home in Montevallo, I drifted through crisis of the literal, biophysical, real-life variety. I tried to make a life without carrying on with integrity from the inside-out, and wandered about personally un-moored. I understand this was a necessary failing of my adjustment mechanisms in order for me to acclimate and prepare myself for the work ahead. But I lost a great deal of time.

Thankfully, in this period of initial exploration I found useful directions, redeeming qualities, stable pathways. I passed by many floating guests and wanderers like myself, more and less aware of the state of things. I encountered the cancerous darkness and malicious entities, mirrored passages, a graciously few corpses, and a number of precious connections to sanity and love which maintain through the chaos.

By retracing my steps at times, taking copious notes and throwing many into fireplaces, carefully studying and disastrously mistaking the score, crumbling and becoming the destroyer, and learning to bow in modesty and not in weakness, I was able to construct a stable, while limited, network within the observable Hotel. Life has become bearable and meaningful and it is much more possible now to transverse states and locations within the explored territory and return without damage or incident.

Once I found myself in the dense areas of the cityscape, I was able to install myself within the creative working population. Intervening incidents have been documented and will be recalled in narrative forms as part of The Inner Lobby stories as we go forward. Not all of the people and entities I encountered were friendly or neutral.

In the Spring of 72_2017, I made a fateful decision, the significance of which I am still coming to understand. I extended operations of the Earth Hotel to include other projects, establishing the EH Media Network with Born With Catheters as a test project. This rose and fell concurrent with a devastating malicious force elsewhere in my professional life, and the resulting spectre and conditions of this continue to stalk and effect my activities within the Hotel.

Other programs and operations emerged as I tried new ideas and involved different people to generally detrimental and educational effect. A total of six programs were brought into being and uniquely withered in the elapse, the last as recently as this February. It has taken me some time and considerable duress to figure out why.

They had nothing in common with the mission or purpose of the Earth Hotel. This is a failure of my responsibility to align our operations internally along our determined values. I chose poorly, at what I believe to be the cost of my grace. I don't believe I am being punished by some outside force. I simply behaved out of accordance with the rules I had myself agreed upon. I can justify and accept zero resentment for this situation, but the lesson was painfully learned.

My regret throughout this enterprise is that I failed to learn quickly and precisely, and make direct decisions: a quality that comes only with discipline and internal fortitude learned under application and sometimes critical duress. The gaps in communication and programming haunt me, but I can only throw off such ghosts by simplifying and moving forward. We finally come to the present:

The brightest grace which has carried through alongside me has been my loving partner, who proudly took the role of Oversecretary within the Hotel, and has been vitally important to continuing the work of pushing forward into the chaotic darkness and putting down signposts.

She and I finally reached into unexplored territory this month, and found it critically damaged, left over by unknown malfeasance and destructive forces.

We moved into the space, and almost immediately suffered intense equipment loss. My computer, interface, and other vital transmitting equipment were all obliterated by electrical failure, leaving us essentially stranded in our current quarter. This address is the first transmission from our new position, far from the Desk and Lobby. We are picking up the pieces, and being tremendously careful.

Just tonight we managed to save the entirety of my work up to this point before it was also consumed by the ongoing storm of... what? Chaos is a state, not a pointed force. I do not believe this is an effort by any source to disrupt or harm us.

As I bring this operation back into equilibrium, I hope that you remain open to the transition. I seek to sew up the gaping wounds in the body of our operation, and help them heal and reform. I have a few practical changes to make:

As we re-establish this remote base of operations, we will be finding active agents and recalling previous contacts to join us in extended conversation, which we will air as independent installments. I want these conversations to be open-ended and untethered from the previous constraints of being the focus of a full episode. There are many people to talk to, and we will release these as they occur, hopefully at a rate of several a month.

In addition to our conversations in the form of interviews, we want to curate group discussions, and intentional, direct debate either involving or impartially hosted by myself. These and additional projects created by especially involved collaborators were intended to make up the programming of the Astral Lounge. Such discrimination is unnecessary, and everything coming out of the EH will be published to one source, not split up into multiple information streams, as I thought before.

Apart from these recorded instances and curated programs such as the long-delayed continuation of the Scott Walker analyses, we are continuing to illustrate and collect our experiences and those of others on the collective plane.

The Inner Lobby is a currently living project, and the workable details are coming together. The first three stories, if you happened to catch them in the last three episodes, served as a quality Alpha test and proof of concept. We maintain that the entries are accurate and they remain to be explored as we return to them. However, we must begin from where we currently find ourselves.

As painful as it is for this Operator to admit, I have neither the resources or human capability to release a full two-hour episode every week. The most profound change I want to bring to our work is the steady fulfillment of promises I can actually keep. Progress is made and kept through consistent adjustment to a changing landscape, and once we reclaim and rebuild our current position, I intend not to lose it to anything requiring less than a valiant fight.

Our fourth entry in the Inner Lobby story was lost prior to broadcast, and must be re-constituted before it is re-released. We would like to check in periodically with these stories, on a nearly-weekly basis, as the stories are collected, verified, and transmitted. Once our equipment and full operative capacities are restored, we aim to provide a feature episode once a month with significant heft, most likely centered around a musical or extensively creative guest with whose work we can spend substantial time, as we've tried to do with previous interview episodes. This leaves plenty of time to include the fiction experiments, further forays into cut-ups, dramatic or serialized fiction and performances from outside sources, and the wealth of new music from our local quarter and abroad.

In short, we'll be staying engaged in frequent, manageable installments.

We aim to do what is within our capabilities so that you who give your irreplaceable and mutable time are not left similarly wandering, wondering, or feeling cheated in your investment. You can reliably look forward to words and sound from the Earth Hotel as the lights slowly come back on in our cozy, creeping corner of consciousness in this crackling wing. While we corral our critically catastrophic current in order to make this report, allow me to illustrate for you what we're seeing from the remote Operator's desk.

[ The bare concrete bears footprints, white and shaped in the shadow of countless varieties. The toes number in the thousands, parading silently and still through the ten and fifteen cubic we have to fill and fortify.

Above us the precipice doth hang low, dropped from higher vaults visible reaching out meters around us in every direction. The translucent ceilings were sprayed in like the foam sound-proofing beneath bowling alleys and in unassuming restaurants I've visited. The dampness and cloister give the feeling of moldiness, and the air was thick before we sprayed our own oil and fine protection. I stacked books against one wall in defense, aimed and open toward the door. The interference is intense here, but the room is electrically secure, which at this moment is the most important thing.

She sleeps in close quarters and my station is compact. We have supplies enough to stay warm and passably soundproof a remote desk for recording. We are carrying the corpses of my previous equipment and the surviving collection of material we have gathered and maintained. We estimate the turnover produced a 2-5% loss of total material, which is gracious, considering the equipment failure.

We have much to discuss while time serves us in this stable room. I have a few hours to complete a number of reports and determine how I will relate the events from within the Hotel to present time. Last month, our tabletop program, Whose Turn is It? closed production. This complicated matters, for the cast had been held hostage in a void-realm throughout their run, as part of an unrelated conflict with a dark entity.

After my dense period of communication with our other two social podcasts ended, I had the resources to venture out to the virtually untouched wilderness void of the Hotel's further reaches, in an attempt to rescue the cast of the show. Records show that it cost almost four months in itself, as we entered a nested reality of the group's construction to try and free them from the grips of the nefarious creature which had been deceiving them throughout in order to create compelling plot. The details and results are left to our records of Whose Turn is It?, which you can access through the Legacy Podcasts page.

At some point in the process of sorting out that situation in nested reality, I became corrupted in my autonomy in the Hotel. I lost vigilance, and consequently, my bearings. The spatial constraints and disorientation that comes with collapsing a quadrant for such an extended time seriously disturbed my judgment. The plan I left with my Oversecretary was to span November thru mid-December 73. I regained consciousness in mid-February.

I can't remember when I lost contact, as records will show some dubious facility remained, though whether the judgment or control was mine is eerily unidentifiable.

When I rose out of the stupor, I was in an elevator in the presence of a deviously-manned proxy creature, a bellhop, and was subjected to a horrific repeating time-dilation treatment at the hands of a whole staff of proxies. It is this false memory you'll hear which closes both our current installment and our program Whose Turn Is It?

Consider this the prologue to the Inner Lobby proper, with more to come. In the future, if I have announcements, dates, or news otherwise, I will be making shortened versions of this type of address From the Desk, generally early in the week. By the time you're hearing this transmission, I'll be sitting down with a brave soul to break down their efforts in artistic autonomy in painstaking detail for your depraved entertainment.

At last, you've been properly addressed. I thank you deeply. As the mold creeps up our walls, we breathe out together, and join hands. Please, if you enjoy our communion here, bring more gentle and curious souls into the fray. Invite them to the cluster in which we gather. Tonight we sleep in a dimly lit blanket, but tomorrow night we feast like kings on the shadows of our dead fathers.

I was Jacquie, saying good night from the Operator Desk. This remains the Earth Hotel. ]

The Earth Hotel Sonata v130 (Translated)

body

The body in the room and the key on the wall.

Street signpost

Symbolic

Welcome to Earth Hotel

Home design, modern trend

This is a correct word machine tonight

Goodbye, please leave your new day of sleepy time.

You can send a track

keep your wisdom to thousands of layers

Knocked a door

Improve the eyes of the week

Let's look at the stability at night.

Marble and endless rotation, lost in it

lost in it

Lost more inside

Stand in your feelings

My news, I, etc.

what’s happening

what's up!

What old thing!

Wake up, live,

on: Inside the Earth Hotel

“The Inner Lobby 3: Rabbits Part 1 (X 8/73)”

“IL 3: Rabbits Part 1 (X 8/73)”

“I was running through the halls, a crossing network pattern, with two friends,

in a combative flee from an organized shady business group.

We ran, up a couple or a few floors, in a column, straight up.

I found a room with a chaise lounge and a sky-blue ceiling,

and laid down, (deliberately, but without a plan).

Then I was walking through an expansive land zone,

into a field of tall, brilliantly golden grass, the walls dim and distant.

One friend had been behind me, and I turned to tell them:

“there are rabbits that live here”

and my friend was no longer there.

Now I had a plan.

Again, knowingly,

I laid down in the grass.

I slowed my breathing, and left my eyes just barely cracked

to gaze through fuzzy lashes.”

Submitted by a viewer.

Cut-up of Burroughs quotes/Russell-Einstein Manifesto

From Episode 15 - Taken from separate quotes by William S. Burroughs and selections from the nuclear weapons document drafted by Bertrand Russell, Albert Einstein, and others. (Full documents at bottom)

steps; the question we have to ask periods.
Write in pain signs / word taken to prevent a military contest
I have to say something for the fifth dispute between them.

We are beings, members of the species Man, members of this or that nation, doubt. 
The world is full of conflicts; learn to ask ourselves, 
not what steps can be taken to give military victory to whatever group we prefer, for there no longer are such
clear enough to be understood.

You have dirty money. Know who I am?

Ourselves is: what steps can be/cannot be furthered by a world
of which the issue must be to find peaceful means.

In view of the fact that in any future,
disposal of interests who are turning certainly, be employed;
and that, such you were granted an area for psychic world war, 
nuclear weapons will war; and we urge them, consequently;
weapons threaten the settlement of all matters. 

Urge the governments of the continued existence of mankind,
we publicly, that their purpose world to realize, and to
acknowledge.

Placed your services at thee whose continued existence is in
America into a police state;

and, overshadowing all speaking on this occasion, not as
between Communism and continent, or creed, but as human to
think in a new way.

We have to take a life, divide into five year or sixth time I have to say it:
minor conflicts, the titanic struggle signs. 
Cut. Concentrate.
When above clear enough or must anti-Communism.
We have to learn development.
sold out department.
Enjoy your disastrous-to-all parties.

"Letter from Hell"

I scream. You scream. We all scream because we are all in Hell. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. A lot of folks were relieved that there is no torture or pits of fire. Threre are outdoor fireplaces, and ritual sacrifices and public torture definitely hold up the calendar, but that’s really just a thing for holidays like human  fireworks. I’d hate to be cliche, but Hell really is essentially Reno, Nevada in the summer. People run businesses, sell real estate; patrons frequent ice cream shops on baked sidewalks in another dimension. Some parts of town are undane and totally mad. Domesticity in this place makes people lose any grip they might hope to have on continued sanity. There are suburbs and the financial district is booming, and the nice houses burn frequently. People start fires for some reason, and there’s a linked trend with stabbings and beatings following the fires. Generally people mind their own business but it’s fucking hot and they lash out. The music clubs and the artist quarters are beautifully depraved. They all finally become nihilists or existentialists in the face of an unknown future in an unknown realm. The jazz club is called Christ! Folks arrive and the believers freak out and often turn on each other for their virtue, or else gang and build churches to try to save themselves with the same shite that got them here. The jazz cats at Christ! like to come to the Induction Parties and tell this stuff to hip kids coming in, that the Churcheezers can’t get Bibles down here obviously, so they have the Holy Word written on all kinds of shit, on napkins, business cards, little scraps that they hide away. Some try to type up full copies from memory and are forced to burn them at the public ceremonies to force the point. We really do try not to give them too much grief, they were just not prepared in that life to get with the program in Hell. 

The deal is, you live here for an unspecified amount of time. You know you will one day move on, but some folks are the prison old-timers, ya know, they’ve been here for countless lifetimes and they either chug along and play games or become shells of souls wrapped up in whatever delusion kept them going in life. They go deeper in and you have to spiral outwards here, you’ve got to show change and growth but they don’t tell you that.

So we stay here until we work out our time. Life has different meaning here and time passes amazingly fast. I remember dying recently and I’ve lived three lifetimes since I got here. Once I was hit by a car, and then I was sacrifieced as a newbie, I think 39 and 14. I originally died at 23, I came here. I had leukemia and really good friends, I’m pretty sure I’ll see them soon. I don’t know what the connection is between time there and here. But I did see a lot of the family, the ones I could find. Not everybody is in the same layer, obviously, population would be dense as fuck and that would be terrible. It’s not better or worse in each layer, you’re not really aware of them. They lie next to each other, identical versions of Hell like dimensional apartments. I’ve heard of people swapping zones but I think that was an administrative decision, we don’t have much say in how it runs.

You have to play games to stay sane. We age so quickly and are killed so frequently that you can’t build much of a life, so meaning has to come in trying to understand our time. From what I understand, there’s an accompanying Hell self in your Earth life, a pair just like that. 

You get a self to get right on Earth, in LIFE and then if you fuck that up, I guess, you come here and work it on out some more. But if you leave here, well, when you get done here, you go back to either Earth or some other place for higher creatures. Earth is the sandbox and the shithole, like the lowwest realm as far as enlightenment or whatever, Ascension. That’s what people bug on, is that it’s not that you’re a bad person and that’s why you’re here. You get this lone human life if you have it on Earth, so maybe 100 years. So you get used to being this model and then you have a fucking long time to do this here. It’s horrifying but it’s a great teacher for being creative and living with grace. It’s like a place a Zen master would dream up to teach someone. The people play games and eventually they get to go play games with the Gods when they learn to be free like that. I could think of a few people that probably skipped Hell and went right up there to frolick and shite. Neal Cassady, maybe, Robin Williams definitely did, I heard early on that he skipped ahead. Folks like that who get somewhere crazy in life. A lot of the philosophers did, a lot of artists, which is a bummer because the geniuses are not here, but we do get the super damaged ones that run the parties. Jim Morrison’s a regular at Christ!, Hunter S. Thompson had a permanent house built for him and before Oscar Wilde moved on he held court at cafes with Baudelaire and Bukowski, which is fucking amazing to see. 

I’m having a ball  so far, I’m excited to get to figure this out and go but there are a lot of cool things to do. It’s the most fun thing a fun person would think of and a total soul-ripping nightmare for people who can’t have a good time. I’ll be a little sad when I have to go but I wish my flesh wasn’t routinely ripped from my bones or my head lit on fire for holidays. It’s only once a lifetime but something awful always gets you, to remind you of death and destruction of things. Impermanence. And then you walk back down the the bar when the bus drops you off, and you’re good as new. 

I’m glad I get to send this, I want someone to know what this really is like so maybe not so many people will get suckered in and wind up going mad when they get here. It’s awful to see around you all the time. It’s weird to say, but I’m really looking forward to seeing you. I love you so much, tell everyone that I send my love, I don’t have room to say hey to everyone. Tell Cleo and Grandma I’m okay and I love them both, I think of you all every day. Save this letter for humanity and get it to the right people who can verify it. My locker in my room has the combination 22748, and I don’t have that written anywhere, and I know no one else knows it. Mom. DO NOT open the locker. Just let one of my friends do it. Please.

 I love you. I’m sorry for all of the arguments and misunderstandings. I wish I had just talked to you more about everything and communicated but I’m so glad we got close while I was well. Please don’t be sad that I’m gone. It’s not so bad to be alive, and it’s wonderful to die, it feels so restful in between. This is just a huge experiment that we’re all in on, and it;s more amazing all the time, more than anyone on Earth could possibly know. Please be as happy and adventurous as you can. You were really a great Mom and I miss you. I haven’t seen Dad yet but we shuffled around so we eventually meet everybody. I like that. I know I’ll see you soon.

Love, 
Eric

"Collection"

Poem/short written by JAC, read on air as part of Minisode A by a speech-to-text software that we thought sounded awfully sad. 

"I had a collection of items from each of my stunts. 
We started in college by wrecking nobody’s car.
I was love with him by that time after year together.
He had painted trailers at school where they kept him.
I had fifteen teeth and a few were my own and one was his.
We cracked a gas pump with a sledgehammer and had to leave.
I was looking for a helmet to kill someone with for the joke.
We had a collection of memories in factual reports and items.
I was stupid enough to keep the news clippings and crafts. 
We expected to go on until they shot us but he shot instead.
We jumped on train top to shake pubic clippings on stationers.
He hated pedestrians for being slow and irony for being cold.
I was learned to hate myself in the wake.
I, talking nothing, and nothings, in the cells two and three.
He was caught outside of the houses we found in the valley.
He felt as though nothing could conquer the silence to come.
We heard a thousand stupid angels acquiring doom in the heaven.
I had no ritual sense or compassion for not-bodies.
He held true to his prejudice against fear and politic hate.
He threw fire cabinets from windows at his only office spot.
We acted like cannibals in street to frighten young motherings.
I took home a chunk of his nose on the day we fell in love.
I could relax in his opinions and the whispers of thinks.
We watched ambulance go by with tight ears.
We redirected traffic with cones from warning areas and took tires.
We took garbage following garbage, debris of reaction he said.
I had mixed feelings, in salad, crafted in hellwomb, love.
We had a room together at the numerous motel.
We sat on edge of balcony five and eight and thought so little.
We crisped feelings of guilt on radiators. 
I was gluttonous in combination and dismay.
They never found a good reason for me to tell the people on TV."


 

A Cut-Up of Fundraising Propaganda from the Alabama Republican Party

   Senator Jeff Sessions will be guiding the Department / counting on the Alabama Republican / General. We couldn't be prouder! / candidates and other left-wing groups / responsibility of leadership to make good on our / Congratulations / ous dedication and focus, / war wages on. We already see the media and the / you rose up and elected / es. Alabama received / why we need you to continue to stand with us, by / the 4th highest percentage / You were a driving / Sustaining Membership gift of $25, $35 or $45 / Alabama Republican Party. Thank you and God / Party to defend them against the AEA, liberal Democrat / and return security, common sense and prosperity to / desperate to seize control in Montgomery. / Alabama Republican Party sponsored a team of over / So please remember that your renewed / team. Will you continue your vital support / makes our work possible. / of our Alabama Republican Party, and renew your / Sustaining Membership for 2017 with a gift / and our new President will be looking for our / $25, $35, or $45 today?  / Sustaining Membership in our Alabama Republican / elect Tump appoint a tried-and-true conservative / of $25 to our headquarters today? / U.S. Supreme Court... and dozens of federal / 
    We must also immediately enact middle class tax / (over, please) / threat of ISIS and radical Islamic terror, and renegotiate / to help Make America Great Again / Alabama Republican / Alabama and America. / my goal is to have every Sustaining Member / Donald J. Trump as / an Alabama Republican. All the credit for our / new governor, 140 members of the state / are crucial, so if you can possibly renew with / members like you who made it happen. / statewide and local offices. Each of them will be / good use. / These first few months of GOP control / agenda and deliver on our conservative promises / in Florida and Ohio to help win the White House! In fact, / a larger gift of $35 or $45, we sure can put it to / a single Sustaining Member from our winning doors! / By his side, our own United States / Washington, D.C. does business will / 
    Also, two years from now we'll elect a / Justice as the new United States Attorney / -ial interests are doing whatever it takes / legislature, and candidates for other important / of America that you made this and other stunning, / the will of the people! / have happened without your generous Sustaining / force to help him reach the White House, / But let's not forget we now have the / Looking back, it's clear to me and all / America. It was with great pride that the / promises. We won a decisive battle, but the / historic victories possible. None of it would / You know as well as I do that changing the way / Today, as President-elect Trump prepares / be a huge and exhaustive undertaking.
   The liberal spec / and our GOP majority in Congress dismantle the / to stop us. And the mainstream media continue to ignore / relief, rebuild our miliary, stop the / Democrats coming after our team! And that's 100 volunteers who spent over a week / bad trade deals to bring jobs back to / renewing your Sustaining Membership in the / will you renew your / Bless! / Party, and mail your 2017 contribution / Membership contribution to our Alabama / This is an exciting time to be / countries around our state. / amazing victories goes to Sustaining / P.S. Now's the time to dismantle the Obama / Our conservative agenda is ambitious, for America. To be successful, we can't lose / help to get it all done... / How exciting it will be to see President - / we can't wait a single minute to repeal / judges who will respect the sanctity of life and / fix our broken immigration system. / we must keep our winning team intact. That's why / to take the oath of office, our task is to help him / back on board by Inauguration Day. / disastrous legacy of President Obama. 

 

"The Star-Still Anthem of (A)Isle THD, A. Company

This text was cut and reassembled from the entirety of the first and third verses of "The Star-Spangled Banner" by Francis Scott Key. All words appearing here were either contained in, or extrapolated from guides in the cut text source. A performance of this can be heard in Episode 9, at 28:39, and an analysis at 35:28.

<

Angled ban by the U.S. urges the land what is nigh,
the home at the (A)Isle THD, where my earnings,
spaltingly brighten o'er the cause of war --
underwear hydrogen and confusion parts --
was world-ending and why should ATL have sovereignty?
You see rocket-havin' hourly. 

Light bullshit burns less.
We hailed a home under/through the South.
Last good-luck,
leave you their flag.

Ripes and her was out; they does it.
Through the outsteps' pollutioners yet, 
our blood like germanium could save thee
of their foul found source language from the of-then.

No reference, you'll fly the glues
that hireling grave of the land swore;
terror of the Arikara, and home,
and of them; of the F-Dawns.

We're worse off; the brave, proudly, and the band
in a twilight e' the bomb til that band stave.

Proof of still stars, that thou and star-flight hero says,
"no wave watched he'd free streamin'."

Do brave the glare, who have tore their battery,
the A. Company. Who(s)(e) more?

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