“Watch your back, Art” they’ve been saying to him at the end of every soirée, lately. Since then there have been attempts made on Art’s life.

Attempted, assassinations. And at the More-Mart Store where he labors, greeting customers, threats on, Art’s life.

The threats at the close of each evening’s soirée gave Art, pause. For the threats were made, in tones, non-threatening. As if, friendly, warnings.

Confirmation, to Art that he well might expect attempts on his life. Attempts to follow through on warnings.

Jarring to Art; realizing that notwithstanding a friendship built up over hundreds of pleasant evening soirées, each of them would have me

killed the next day and go merrily on his way, desisting only if they, personally, were in the position of, for example, strangling me.

Jarring to Art has been the difference between video-game-playing-killing and killing up close. And personal. As in death by strangulation

in comparison with having others kill for ye. It’s easier to kill by proxy and/or remotely … by pressing … a button.

On the facility of lying and killing on Nebadon‘s Urantia. And their interrelatedness. And indeed, the interrelatedness, of things.

Everything connected by, as if, invisible, strings. A fact, nonfictional in a fiction, surreally, in MAYDAYS … nonfiction.

Everything’s connected by as if, invisible strings. A nonfictional fact, in a fiction, surreally, in Arthur’s MAYDAYS, nonfictional. On the facility

of lying and killing on Nebadon‘s Urantia. Their interrelatedness. And the interrelatedness … of a unity.

Metaphysically, actions and reactions have ripple effects, wrinkling, more or less, the space-time fabric. A nonfictional fact, in a fiction, surreally,

in Arthur’s MAYDAYS, nonfictional. On Nebadon‘s Urantia. Earning, an Angel, his wings … by saving ye.