The rhythmic pounding off in the distance sharpened and intensified as well– became a work beat for some army of troll-like underground laborers, performing some endless, brutally monotonous task, wrote Dr. Eben Alexander in Proof of Heaven, a book about his near death experience.  I can't tell that for sure, but I think this was a music from Hell, and I’ve heard it too.
Oh, I am banging my head again, now it is over a name of a girl. Or, I should say, a lady, a genius Southern lady writer, who sadly died relatively young. It happens during the liturgy service, so I am definitely committing a sin of distraction. But it is a relevant distraction. As the story goes, once she was invited to some party of academics, where one of the ladies-professors said about Eucharist: “Sure, it is a nice metaphor.”
When you hear about Mandela effect for the first time it sounds like some Byzantine prank. How is that possible? The good old Biblical wineskins in my Book had changed to stupid bottles? Changed in the very same old copy of my Bible? When? How? Impossible! Bullshit!! So you go for the familiar passage about new wine. You go Luke 5:37. It’s bottles. You go Matthew 9:17. Bottles. Same is with Mark 2:22. Bottles. No wineskins, bottles. What is it? Am I going insane? Is it the end? Dude on the YouTube blames CERN and shift in our universe caused by their experiments. I don’t know, there is too many politics around supercolliders, like that one in Texas. They cost too much, instead, we could have much more tanks and bombs. And much bigger prisons.
This masterpiece of Leonardo da Vinci emerged before my mind’s eye and then just ran me into a corner (figuratively speaking). So I was sitting in the corner of the dorm and cudgeling my head trying to recall the name of the painting. It wasn’t the “young lady” part I was after, but that little beast on her lap. What was the name of it? A young lady with a weasel? No, too ugly. A young lady with a ferret? Maybe, but... If I would be living in a free world, I’ll google the image and be done, but there is no web in prison. I kept calling candidate beasts until I have caught “ermine”. I think it is ermine and I only hope that from now on this ermine will sit still in my sloppy memory next to the painting.