Chase Griffin

“That's total mech waste. I'm glad I trusted my gut and didn't hand this thing over to the Order. I'm glad I sat with this commonplace for so many units. I'm not sure if I've ever believed in the transmogrification. I'm not too sure if I cared very much about this book at all. But I think if I had handed this book over to the Order, Mr. Smalls and his cronies would have burned this book. Even if I am not sure about the transmogrification of the data I can see now so many units later so much of Pop and Mabel’s cryptz in here. I think it's true what they say about youth thinking they’ve got it all figured out. I'm glad I attempted as hard as I could to stave off rigidity. So many of my fellow etceterists found their little box, climbed inside, had the box taped shut from the outside with the help of peer reinforcement, taped it from the inside too, parceled themselves off, and lost themselves in the realm of the archival sublime.”
― Chase Griffin

“Physis (Emerging-Abiding Sway), yes that’s the oink thing’s
christian name, the café’s semi-official mascot, philosophical provocateur, and occasionally extradimensional notary, chose this
exact moment to poke his head, feathered, contemplative, and
faintly iridescent, through the bead curtain that separated the main
patio from what the proprietor called the “Reflexology Lounge,”
but which was, in truth, just where they stored the broken espresso
machine and three cursed stools. Physis tilted his head, blinked
once, slowly, as if absorbing not light but context, and let out a
warbling honk that echoed like a misremembered thesis defense.
He was, as ever, the embodiment of that which emerges and then
stubbornly, inexplicably abides.
And then, as mysteriously as he had arrived, he withdrew.”
― Chase Griffin, Schlemiel Gaucho: An Improv Comedy Magick Grimoire