5 minutes 4 seconds| Incidentally, at the halfway point of the piece, a female voice can be heard saying, "Now boarding to leave Krypton." The second occurrence of this voice, played backwards and altered to sound male, faintly appears to be saying, "You will fly for a hundred years." This happens in a lull where an eerie echo anticipates the return of the battling guitars that began Escape Krypton. I picked up on this bit of unintended backward masking only on subsequent listening, and only after I had, in a late edit, inserted a small fragment of the Baptist hymn, I'll Fly Away, to flesh out the little march that ends Infant Kal-El.
Time stamp for creation of Infant Kal-El is 9/28/09, while Escape Krypton is 9/25/09. Cosmetically, one of these dates appears to be wrong—both because of the order of composition and the fact that mere days separate them. This is one of those complicated situations where the battling guitar parts for Escape Krypton were likely written first and left on the back burner, only to be finished after Infant Kal-El was written and, expressly, so the two works could be joined.
Novel-in-Progress, excerpt 41| This next set of chapters contained the most difficult part of my book to write, not because of the plot or subject, but because I, the author, developed of a protract benzodiazepine discontinuation syndrome, which profoundly disturbed my sleep and lowered my quality of life immeasurably. My writing stalled during this time, and I rewrote these following chapters incessantly over a period of nearly three years, as if my mind was a rudderless boat caught in a circling eddy. I am still dealing with my syndrome, though the first improvements in the past year have been seen, and writing in the book has, at last, moved on.
Consequently, this next section of my novel is involved, and I am still grappling with it and the sections that follow it. I did not intend for my book to get bogged in what was, essentially, a ghost story, but the previous section and the two still in development comprise, as a continuous storyline, half the novel’s hefty 550+ page count.
A prelude begins action, although its theme will be recalled from Lowell’s first conversation with Eva:
Lowell imagined himself to be a lesser god, holding the world as a continuous thought in his head where he stared out his hole: Naomi, as Virgin Mary, was radiantly backlit, and presided over the suppliant children arrayed around her on their long-ago stage.
Owing to his diligence, the creature suspended from the rafters did not pass unnoticed. It was tempting to believe it a fellow classmate donning angel attire and hanging from a harness, but nothing like this was recalled from rehearsal.
Where there was one hovering figure on the ceiling, there were soon others. These dark beings threw bent wings over the tubular lights, but did not fly down from their perches. Instead, spindly legs, reminiscent of retractable supports on a collapsible table, unfolded beneath them. The hard-tipped stilts clacked along the auditorium floor, and became the walking sticks of sightless men. Nothing in these actions acknowledged the seated attendees’ heartbeats below, or their rustling mimeographed programs. Rather the invaders stepped between the aisles and, like scaffolding with a single mind, crab-walked their way toward the stage where Bruce Channings delivered the closing monologue.
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