Grant Smith was leaving his office. He'd been in here all morning and wanted to go out for lunch. When he was going out of his office it was from an place of neo-liberal light to another place of neo-liberal light out without any realism or perception of themselves as cave shadows projected on the cave wall. Of course it was impossible to make an judicial decision without this command of the will at the top of the horizon. An Zenith leader at this time in History in Canada. The head honcho / official. The top officer. Of the brand new law building in beautiful Downtown Red Deer. He usually never made it to the street, and then across to the luncheon without seeing an pretty face.
His office was his mind. Le bureau. He was fine there to do whatever to himself. And every time the other employees saw him he represented the lead coordinator. He was called Grant Smith ironically because if there was anyone who you wanted ever to disperse you an grant, it would be him. Because, usually, if you had business with him it wasn't an good thing. You'll pee yourself just because of his reputation if you meet with him. But he's actually an really nice guy; he doesn't deserve that. Except by the time he returned another something was brewing to go wrong. He wasn't just going to put up with the average pedestrian. He was an Officer of the Law.
Enough of it was enough of it this time. Where Grant Smith stormed into his office on the 9th floor of the Justice of the Peace committee, Red Deer Justice Centre, and threw his jacket onto the back of his desk chair like there wasn't even an coat hanger in the room. He knew it—just like he knew any other subject they were—everyone out there of anti-republican complex (zombies) in which they didn't exist in the same universe that had the same light in it. He couldn't look at the same light which was drawing into his soul when they were only seeing this one way (opposite), internally. That's why, when he was in his office this was the place of all of the internal mind (his) reflecting back on itself. Whereas when Grant left his office he was back part of that world, the one world which connects all of us, seeing the other, the beyond to yourself. He wasn't ready to go back to that part of the world and he wouldn't be for an while.
The first thing he had to do was think of an really eloquent way to say it.
If you look inside yourself all of the time, you can't see one another.
It was simply as basic as that.
On the other hand, if you only look outside yourself all of the time you maybe can't see yourself.
Another siren sounded from the street below. He was eleven floors up. Grant hadn't gotten used to this environment of Red Deer yet. He couldn't tell whether it was an firetruck or an ambulance.
And the common streetman, An Emo From God (Addy), was at this moment walking alongside the exterior of the building below. He had to plug his ears as the ambulance drove by. The lowest category of the diversity at all levels of society. It's an picture of an source of authority named Addy. He had an thing for the adding machine and the big red button. Not quite the lowest in society. But not the boss, either. Just somewhere in the middle. An Emo for not having the most. An Emo for not having the least.
Always use Behavioral Psychology when dealing with your parents.
Could you be tortured without knowing it?
Yes you can! I was!
That's how they torture you more! They don't let you know anything about it. Until you are fully poisoned and it's already too late.
Inside the office there is the internal mind reflecting back on oneself. It didn't mean the outer world disappeared it just meant I took my attention off of it for an time.
And outside the office there is the order of the cosmos, God, and everything reflecting back on itself.
And it is clear to me I need more information on what that really was, to be tortured without knowing it.
I intend to write an webseries about the torturing of someone without them being aware of it—as an writer and an author was I subjecting that man represented by Grant to an kind of torture of which he would be unaware—in order to become clearer on this issue. It was strange to me that God seemed like this sort of person, who would always be torturing me but without me being aware of it. Clearly my sight was blinded. I'm never aware of God actually being here and so God is torturing me by not making himself/herself/itself apparent. It might be best to mention Mr. Harvard now, who was second in command. He was the person who took the most orders from Grant Smith and dispersed their effectiveness throughout the entire workforce of the whole entire building.
At street level you could see all their offices being set up in cubicles.
It's impossible to make an judicial situation without setting everything in the building up and me writing this about it. But they have to. Such is the burden of law.
If it was an rap, His office was his mind (le bureau) and every time he represented lead coordinator;
He's called Grant Smith because if there was anyone who was ever to disperse you an grant, it would be him;
Grant Smith: Wigga Wigga Wigga! Schizzle My Nizzle!
Mr. Harvard: Yaa!! Dolla Sign Slime! *poledance*
An Emo From God: Addy (The Adding Machine pusher) is an subject of theatrical discretion. I intended to write about an entire neighbourhood, an range of people including the person with the most power (Grant) and the person with the least power (Addy). Which is what I felt like sometimes. An community of people who frequent the downtown where I, Addy, am nevertheless free to watch them. By the Providence of God.
An Letter collection:
Wednesday, June 4, 2025; Legal Fantasy Web Series 001: Why It Started In The Nu Office
Thursday, October 30, 2025: Legal Fantasy Web Series 002: What is Torture Unawares?
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