As basil leaves fell to the ground, glistening in the Utah Sun, Dawson Filter turned his torso forty-seven degrees counterclockwise to face Sylvester Denny, his partner in quest-tastic fun; and though the Utah Sun never shines in Regina, it existed just as much as if all the citizens of this planet all those of us who speak English call “home” had been staring their eyes at it all week, shifting Utah’s position every hour to compensate for physics.
“Was that Luther Gigee F. Mansete O’Finn worth his weight in time?” Dawson asked.
“Yes. He is a human being; and by extension, ought to be treated with boatloads of kindness ‘n’ respect.” Sylvester responded, his posture growing consistently better as he spoke.
“Did he know the true meaning of feelings?” Inquired Dawson; and promptly afterward, watched Sylvester signal “no” by shifting his head and surrounding ears back ‘n’ forth several times. Once Dawson processed the meaning of this motion, he asked “Shall we move to the next, then?”
“No doubt in my mind.” Sylvester stated, implying the verb “is” as he did so. Dawson again perfectly deciphered Sylvester’s words, and faced the computer; presumably to read the words on the monitor, as he read the words on the monitor. The words, some say, were “one”, “eight”, “hundred”, “seven”, “nine”, “four”, “five”, “two”, “four”, and “one”. Just as Dawson had transferred these words from the monitor to vibrations in the air, Sylvester converted these vibrations into head-messages, and then into telephone-finger-pushes.
“Hello, customer, it’s service time for you, here at The Wellness Warehouse.” Pat Bin said, via the telephone in her left hand.
“May I have speech with Luther O’Finn?” Sylvester Denny began to say, and finished saying soon after.
“Ja, he’s just here chastising me for being hispanic.” She said, moving the telephone into Mr. O’Finn’s hand-palm with her hand, forearm, wrist, and shoulder.
“Hello customer, sorry about that. I keep telling her to get help; but she comes in here every day with the same genes. Anyway, can I help you?” Luther said, twirling his moustache.
“I was just wondering if you happened to know what feelings mean; but I thought you should know I’m not actually offended by hispanic people. I was sort of under the impression that no one was. I just thought that with your name being Luther Gigee F. Mansete O’Finn you’d have a better idea of the true meaning of feelings.” Sylvester said, completely unaware that the capital of Portugal is Lisbon, although no harm came to him as a result-this time.
“Well no one really is consciously; ’cause that’s all racist; but “hispanic” ends with “panic”, and not one person under the Sun doesn’t find that unsettling on a subconscious level.” Luther reasoned. “About your feelings thing, though, that sounded pretty good.”
“It kind of is.”
“I have an uncle, neat man; he goes on ’bout the meaning of feelings. I’d never thought much about it, he also thinks he’s the year 1782 incarnate; but I could set you two up fer a brunch or some such.”
“Neat. How do I contact him”
“His telephone number is all fives; he asked for it like that because he says that those are the last ten digits of pi; his email address is email@example.com; and his face is a round thing, with a lengthy nose, probably about a foot or so, peach-yellow skin, and eyes to match.”
Sylvester turned to Dawson, and as he moved his lips, out of them he said “Dodecadawson, I do declare, the man of the answers is sitting next to you. I’ve garnered a description of his face from the latest Luther, and he’s a square-in-square-hole fit with the rocker to your left.”
“Are you sure?”~Dawson Filter
“Am I ever.” Sylvester said in response.
“Oh, I’m so happy I could blink!” Dawson said afterward; and following that life event, he turned to the rocker and asked “Would you happen to know anything about the true meaning of feelings?”
“Only when I’m in the Amazon Basin.” The rocker said; and as he spoke, Dawson and Sylvester turned their heads once more, both thinking “Boy, we sure should go on down to the Amazon Basin”. For the mind reading rocker of the hour, this was a tremendously neat experience, even more so because Dawson and Sylvester think exactly one octave apart; and he knew that they knew that with the Amazon Basin would come truth.
They were all wrong.