Sentimental

Richard Wesley Clough

Description

The near final perspective of the minimum wage actor where the slogan you can’t take it with you may seem absolute when one feels the profundity of his last days before death puts its final face, like it said in the first Philosophers, on the deceased. Yet if one knows what once happened might be tarnished the next life gives one hope for supposedly faulty decisions like That Mysterious Girl. Then again it might be her opportunity for a revenge he might not be prepared for just as the vampire wives of this life might be waiting to be normal the next. All in all it’s a complex riddle only the reader might wonder over knowing life often has a lot of ups and downs no matter how much comes from the previous life beyond what was so in general sentimental.

Sujets

• Richard Clough
• Poetry

Informations

• Publié par: Xlibris US
• Date de parution: 22 mai 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 3
• EAN13: 9781669877509
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Sentimental
RICHARD WESLEY CLOUGH

 
Copyright © 2023 by Richard Wesley Clough.
Library of Congress Control Number:
2023909122
ISBN:
Hardcover
978-1-6698-7746-2

Softcover
978-1-6698-7747-9

eBook
978-1-6698-7750-9
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
Print information available on the last page.
 
 
 
 
Rev. date: 05/12/2023
 
 
 
 
Xlibris
844-714-8691
www.Xlibris.com
852989
Contents
Part One
The Speed Of Light
The Unknown Soldier
The Woods Anew
Of Two Coasts
Only Glent Knows
A Gripping Drama
Carrie
Through The Course Of Time
The Foreboding Present
The Real End
Giant
The Riddle Of Life
An Insane Reflection
What about Jesus?
The Night in Price
Part Two
Charlottesville
The Quest For Money
The Spirit Of Adventure
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Analysis
The Spirit of Adventure
Cathedral of God
Sentimental
Vampires
Part Three From The Original Apex Of Time
Portuguese Bend
What Escape Wrought
The Brides of Fountaineau
The Last Spartan
Biodide
Great Stories
Light Verse (1)
Light Verse (2)
Light Verse (3)
Light Verse (4)
Light Verse (5)
Light Verse (6)
Light Verse (7)
The Great Cloud
The Prophecy of the Dead
Mr. Hyde Is Near
What the Reef Sows
The Curse of a Soldier
The Execution of Ramulo
The True Lore
Love’s Crescendo
The Duke of Glanville
Lots of Fun
Heat Lightning
Legend of the Gun
Cigarettes and Coffee
Is It Death?
The Proud Sparrow
My Xlibris
The Present Pedestal
Mental Analysis
Light Cavalry
The End Is the Beginning
The Ancient Greeks
Chivalry
Half the Story
The Surf Always Remembers
Part Four Of The Original Apex Of Time
Speed Zones
My Reality
Unexplainable
What’s Meaningful?
The High Priest
One Motherfucker
Extemporaneous
Legend of the Gun
Memorable Characters
That Mysterious Girl
Part One

The Speed Of Light

It’s horrible that people die, but it’s reconciled as one of God’s facts of life. I haven’t died in the last sixty years, but I came close numerous times. What protects me, I guess, is more than God’s message but the scientific insight that created me for answering the purpose that the higher powers declared as the apex of time from 1955 to 2016. The apex of time was important in determining the fate of the human race, and the fact that it passed along with my five books that detailed my Speed of Light existence says a lot of the secret government’s ability to dupe them from knowing it happened. Now I want to delve into some of my accoutrements. When I saw Johnny Weissmuller’s Tarzan wrestling with a man on TV, I proceeded to do likewise with my pillow. My dry ejaculation at age five started me on the path of hiding impulsivity plus beating opponents steeped in hate. This was necessary because in the galactic scheme of things, there were predatory dark stars that fed on a man’s righteous strength, which I prophetically called, in a surly way, escape from the fat people. It was due to these stars that my lives were left with a sparse field to cultivate, thus forcing me to be the way I was—an asshole to some but, to my mind, a juggernaut by my perceptions of the unfolding apex that saw people degenerating.
The pillow fucking imbued me with strength and intelligence, but I had to hide it for fear of the dark stars. Because of this secret agenda, I had my grandparents waiting for me on Maryland’s eastern rustic shore. They enabled me to grow while building insights into how my grandfather might have once been president but was destroyed by the powers of this black hole I was postulating through my good schooling. My schooling was in the higher degree to which I labeled my fellows as highbrow. My milieu in Santa Monica was also so diverse that I doubted any other part of the world could duplicate it.
My course in life wasn’t to be recognized in sports or thought, but I intended, through my sojourn, to unravel truths from my birthplace in Price Bethany Church. This was by the divine providence that demanded this above greatness.
I discovered that God was both lesser and greater, because one God, the lesser, was all-powerful while the greater God was the free will overriding the lesser God. I proved it a lot in my life. Life was like the rising of the sun. It was bright in the early stages then dull in the later stages. When I thought I was fucking girls early in life, it started to dawn on me that it was a great frustration for me while in Vegas or running the whole length of the beach in the sand without a girl. It wasn’t until at the apex that it dawned on me that the Great Russian gymnast Olga Korbut of the 1976 Olympics, the year I eluded the lagoon full of predators, was my girlfriend attracted to my fanatic lineage. So I was now satiated by this resolution. It just left it for me to develop some more of what the apex had deposited from its penetration. My first childhood sweetheart was Norma Smith. During bongo drumming class, her splayed legs intimidated and inspired me. She was in the high school marching band marching beside the gymnasium when I was running five miles before class and during lunch. My activity was so strenuous that when I got nervous in class, I sweated profusely. Or it could have been my brain damage from junior high. My high school and the trip to the observatory and beau were just like Rebel without a Cause . I showed my early aptitude for running when my mother’s car broke down in the garage and I ran all the way to school. I was no longer a boy from a rich family who distained the kind of sinewy activity displayed at present by Schwarzenegger. Like him, I returned to my prowess, but in a kind of retarded way that balked at exerting myself to its fullest capabilities. Nevertheless, I was like a boy possessed playing basketball or whatever, never knowing that it was going to end. I was like the Beach Boys, who represented the endless summer. Because of my retardation, I think my mother hired a hit man named Karl, who visited us on Marine Street overlooking the Venice basin. He was just waiting for his opportunity, but I kept throwing him off until he challenged me to fight him at the beach in Venice just before I went into the air force in ’76.
It so happened that after I entered, he might have been killed. It was a mysterious issue for Karl because he told me how an old lady on Marine Street threatened my mother. That kind of ameliorated my suspicions. I had a friend named David Weisbart, who was the son of a famed 1950s movie producer, and it seemed my life was like those movies before David was replaced by Peter. Glory began in Sparta, and the Parthenon began to shine again after my sweaty sexual alliance with Sheila. It was noted by seeing a vision in the clouds that reflected the glassy ancient Aegean. Unlike UCLA, eastern colleges would have educated me. This I found out while playing tennis during the summer at Cornell with Aunt Doris and buying from its bookstore books that, unlike UCLA’s, I understood. Aunt Doris, my mother’s sister, was dubbed Miss Sunshine at the 4-H club in Maryland as a teenager; and she was a keen competitor with my mother, who earned a business scholarship at Beacon by politics, as my grandma said. Anyway, her parents belittled her health, which drove her to Phoenix, Arizona, where she met my father, who was already teetering on the abyss of crime that showed in his frown while holding me above the rim of the world as a baby. It was a place down below where I’d be for the rest of my life while writing the story. The behemoth of the hills was beckoning. My erudite Uncle Glenn once taught me gymnastics in Maryland, which might have explained my connection with Olga. He didn’t teach me this time, although he did headstands and cartwheels that intimidated me. Uncle Glenn was my world, and when he said he was going to take me to the store at the beginning of town, I ended up hitting my cousin Donnie over the head with a baseball bat for saying that they already went and asking if I wanted some candy like he was going to screw me. He always got boners in the basement shower. It was where I should have been having sex with Lynette and my other cousin after high school graduation. My grandmother had me feeling like a celebrity as all these country folks— including the reputedly smelly taxidermist William, who later dated my grandma as a world traveler—would see me sitting in that rustic post office with its eerie wanted pictures. I was staring at a black cloud over LA, wondering why life seemed to be absolute when it’s known or thought to be fi