The God of Curiosity

By Louis Bruno

Dimitiri Dale and Alexska are both Russian and they live in Arlington Virginia. He plays chess, and minds his own business. With playing chess, he has gained some insight into humanity. But he will tell you the secrets if you play him at a game of chess. If you make a wrong move, it's all over.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9780359967339

Book preview

The God of Curiosity

The God of Curiosity

Louis Bruno

And perhaps it was precisely because she knew nothing at all about chess that chess for her was not simply a parlor game or a pleasant pastime, but a mysterious art equal to all the recognized arts. She had never been in close contact with such people — there was no one to compare him with except those inspired eccentrics, musicians and poets whose image one knows as clearly and as vaguely as that of a Roman Emperor, an inquisitor or a comedy miser. Her memory contained a modest dimly lit gallery with a sequence of all the people who had in any way caught her fancy.

-Vladimir Nabokov The Luzhin Defense

To the sound of this voice, to the music of the chessboard's evil lure, Luzhin recalled, with the exquisite, moist melancholy peculiar to recollections of love, a thousand games that he had played in the past... There were combinations, pure and harmonious, where thought ascended marble stairs to victory; there were tender stirrings in one corner of the board, and a passionate explosion, and the fanfare of the Queen going to its sacrificial doom.

-Vladimir Nabokov The Luzhin Defense

Dazzling combinations are for the many, shifting wood is for the few.

-George Kieninger, Deustsche Schachhefte, 1950

My life has been determined by the move e2-e1N

-Johan Barendregt, interview with Max Pam, 1972

Books by Louis Bruno

The Disintegrating Bloodline

The Disintegrating Bloodline Part 2: Chaos

The Data Chase

The Disintegrating Bloodline part 3: Solvè

Apocalypse Soldier

Selection: The First Book of the Life and Death Saga

Blinking Eyes: The Second Book of the Life and Death Saga

To the Moon and Back

The Michael Project

The Lost Children of Eve: The Michael Project: Book 2

The Disintegrating Bloodline: The Original Text

The Villain Lives: Book 1: Infinitesimal Star

The God of Curiosity

Poetry

Hierarchy of Dwindling Sheep

Praise for Hierarchy of Dwindling Sheep

"I have been considerably inspired by the various poems of this book. Some of the poems are very educative and some have great moral lessons. It has been established in one of the poems that the abundance of money does not provide happiness and peace. It is also not sensible to do an arduous task to the detriment of your health. It is equally unwise to be deprived of your social life due to the love of money. People always crave for jobs with higher salary with the view of making money, but they end up causing more harm to themselves. It is, therefore, necessary to be cautious of employers who exploit you mercilessly and kill your dreams.

[Louis] has demonstrated his awesome skills in the world of poetry with the use of excellent literary devices."

-Kwame1977-Online bookclub.org

[Louis] covers everything from fairy tales to algorithms. He has a strong voice that carries through the entire collection, with active language, the darkness of the narrator’s experience of our times coming through loud and clear. And, let’s just say, by two poems in, you won’t ever think about Snow White quite the same way again.

Axie Barclay -San Fran Sisco Book Review

Praise for Selection

"[Mr.] Bruno has certainly

created a frightening world full of bleakness, despair, and a great deal of ash."

-Kirkus Review

Praise for The Michael Project

The character development proves that the writer is talented. He managed to create several characters and all of them were unique and different.

Sen_Suzumiya Online Book Club.org

Copyright © 2019 by Louis Bruno

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal. Contact Fire Street Publishing at [e-mail] to gain further permissions or submitting a book.

ISBN: 978-0-359-96733-9

First Printing: 2019 Fire Street Publishing and Lulu

Louis Bruno’s books can be found on Amazon and Lulu, in all soft cover and hardcover and e-book format on all major retailers. He also writes for the Intellectual Conservative.

To Eric Bracey

Chapter 1

God knows how to bless those who have talent. With Demitri Dale, his last name changed when they immigrated from Russia, had helped him that he had not told him of his brother’s secret. It had been said from the Gypsy that one child would be free and happy while the other would be cursed. America was the place of opportunity, and while they dare not spell America with a K, it reminded them that what they had continued to fight for was independence. It reminded them that whatever happened in the world would never allow them to think that what they had suffered was the same the Kremlin did. It helped that Sasha and Ayleski had been separated from birth, and they didn’t want to know which one they were giving up. They looked identical, but whatever happened, happened. It was hard to say that the time they spent with the one child would help him, but whatever maintained that while there was a point of interest for them, it remained to think that one life they were giving into the same thoughts they had to understand the feelings they had and when they could spot their own feelings in the boy; they knew they would find their own. It was hard to give in and think about the missing boy, but that boy would have a sense of choice in what they had to do. Sasha had been the preoccupation of what found the world as their new step into life. In their life in Russia, it had always been under surveillance. The feeling that they were being watched or blackmailed. The aspect that the KGB was still under population was not missing from sight. The world had known the reasons behind Russia’s camera policy. The reason they felt what continued to find disaster in the world was always in their homeland. They often thought that what contains a thought between what they had to understand the reasons they had to listen and know the will had to endure and see the preoccupation they felt.

Demitri had to start from the bottom, and being that he was an ex KGB man himself, he had taken priorities in wondering what America would do to him if he didn’t give up secrets. He wanted to be rid of his old life, even when there was a choice to understand that what contained the thoughts of new risks, there was always chess to decide his own reason that whatever he found could calm him. He always played with the idea that when life had been dismissive towards his dreams, whenever the Kremlin thought that what happened to the world had known the force of dilemmas that even they had thought that while Russia had offered him freezing cold winds, there was little to say that when he had been lost in the wilderness, he always had his chess set to help him figure out his next move. It wasn’t the focus of his life, but it meant more than the Russian Orthodox church. His parents were dead, and what he had to understand was that life didn’t seem ripe with disappointments, it was laced with truffles. The aspect of understanding came from a time when he wasn’t the only one who had continued to fight for the children’s future, but in his own preoccupation, he had found life in between time had stopped to remain embittered by the winds. It was often an unknown curiosity that what centers in the world is not what gravity chooses to obey. The focus of what he had found in America is not just hard work helped him, but it was his past that America wanted, and how he could give it to Amerika.

Demitri wasn’t sure if having children in America during the Trump administration was the perfect time. It seemed that immigrants were being kicked out forever, and what happened in the time they felt continuing to master the child-like wonder one had for America, it had now changed. Americans were not happy. Russians were welcome, but it seemed that his highest priority was still at the lowest common denominator. Demitiri and his young Russian wife both settled in Arlington Virginia, where they could be close to the action and what they found is that nothing is ever out of place with a Republican president. The choice to follow the destruction of America was not his choice. He loved America, and he wanted his kids to have freedom. But after what allowed the generations to falter and know the proceeding will to conquer the earth and know the prospect that whatever contained truth and knowledge was still at a disadvantage. The other child was missing, and what happened is still the choice that others had not known and what happened to the one child would never interact with the other. The thoughts that they had was still the bottom line. America was still the poorest country they had, but the freedoms they had listened at the tip of suffering and understanding.

It wasn’t his fault that what his children faced was the aspect that whatever happened is still that experience is the last option that natural causes aligned with had to align with the gypsy’s words. Two children would be born, and one shall have a life of power and the other of failure. Why did it have to be them? Why were they chosen to live out this life? Had he understood that whatever centered at the bottom of the pit, there was always a choice to jump in, but there was no way to get out. It helped that happenings had chosen the world to see their child split into two. The chosen guards that created itself, and even what happened is still the focus between two armies that had felt their factions split. Why had the gypsy chosen them, even what they had allowed them to feel and whatever they had was still at the common place whenever they felt their wings aspire to the world, and even when they had another aspect that even they had not continued to fight, there was still an option that whatever allowed themselves to witness each other. there was no other sentence that could help them focus their strength.

Demitri had wanted his life to be fair, even when there was no other fairness left to give. The chosen thoughts. The dreams of unfulfilled fuel. They had known their life had not considered those opportune satisfactions the time they had known that the Gypsy would be right. The Gypsy would know that they had two children. They had been cursed by the following of fish breath, even when they had understood that whatever is left behind is nothing else but continuing to find difference in the life of one who had understood that what had been left for the world had not continued to find satisfaction. What changes the special length between what satisfies the operational condition not satisfied each other had lost their world had been demeaned for the sake of artificial grime. Even when there was not another a choice, there was a sense of dramatic faults. Even when they had not allowed them is the satisfaction that whatever simplifies each other is the satisfaction that whatever is lost between the ancient and the mysterious, is still the chosen sword that one tends to fall on.

There are moments between them, even what they have to understand the loss between the sense of grandeur, even what they allowed to suffer, but Demitri wanted to understand the notion between loss of faith that even they had been lost in the aspect between what they had understood is the difference in the spatial glimpse between what they had to concur and even what they sense is the lowest thought, could rise into a glowing spore. The help of his thoughts between what they decided, is still an untreated life that Demitiri’s sole purpose as the thought between life and death. Those who understood the frozen deaths of the KGB agents, they would rather do that than offer childhood grace, which had been lost for the time.

Demitri wanted his sons to grow up in the health of American life, but with the cuts of American life taking place, it wouldn’t hurt that they were Russian. It came and went, that even those who understood the chosen thoughts for life between loss and those who understood the aspect that even those who had been lost to the wind would show up for the last shot of vodka. Demitiri knew that what he had seen is the only choice that whatever is allowed to function is the same thought that what he followed is the strength between what they had seen is Demitiri’s choice had lost in pressure points in comprehension, and those who felt their way between them is what the soul of the life between what they felt is the self between life and those who had slipped in between the hours of the night, were always late bloomers.

The nighttime really bothered Demitri, and what those had been lost are designed to see it from a lifetime of thoughts, even what they had been full of iron, there was sense between what they had been lost in the spiral glimpse in the last trial between the night and his hours of waking despair. He had been helped by stealing what he had, but what they had listened to is the difference between the lost and those who had heard his calls in the night. The sole fright is that the avengers might come for him. Not the marvel group of hero’s. Heroes were secretly villains. They were lost in the worst they felt in the spiral staircase between them, even what they had to lose in the denial between desires they felt and what they had seen in the science of what happens in the listening glimpses they felt are interior and what had been lost in are the waylaid warriors that even those who secretly fault the globe for the corners they hid in. There was a comma between what he felt, and even those who had lost the sight of their forefathers, had known what he had been lost is the denial between connections in the lack of simplistic errors that even those who fought for were valued over their skins. It helped that there was a sense of fright between what was lost in the sight between aspects of global infection. The channels that Demitri followed is still the distance between what the phone might do if it rings. The focus between what is simple is still the connection that even those who had lost between aspects that even they had been in the frozen glimpse of the ice queen, his mother, who had heard the phone ring in the middle of the night. He never answered it. He had not invited people over his house, and wanted to be forgotten. His life in the KGB had taught him to embrace the life between the aspect of gluttony that one time that one had been lost to time, and those who wanted to feel is Demitri’s science between what had been lost in the glowing denizens that even those who had sought the focus between the focus between deciding functions that no button could stop relegating to design. The white meat he felt ripped from his skin could only feel his life trim the cross of self-indulgence. He had lived his life very simply, but every Russian had known that whoever sees moves ahead can always see the chess board. Knowing the simplification that even those who walked away from trauma can always figure it out with chess. It was simplified that whatever is lost between the niceness and degraded opportunity will happen upon itself, even when they happen to see the difference between what the chessboard has to gain, a new version of fear. It’s hard to see that whatever is gained is the difference in what they had to listen to and know the feeling they have simplified chess is the decision lost between the aspect that even those who gained is the same person that configures the days lost between inspirational glances that often falter and those who see it are just as lost as they should be. It was often the desire that even those who often see it falter and those who had lost them is the simple chaos that whatever listens to them is the social subscription with the faith between them is when the chessboard is still the same choices they see, and to listen are the same trial between what global obstacle are among them, even what they had seen. The soul existed in the blessed desires that even they had become each other are sitting down and intermingling with communion yet to understand, even what they had deigned upon the ear, are lost between what they had to understand are the glowing lights that blink in the dark. There was always a choice to understand that the phone may ring, but not everyone has to answer it. It’s often the rotary dial that explodes in the mind. There are times between each other are lessening, and what they have to understand are chosen as the focus between them. It helped when there are notions they have lost between fractured skulls, and even those who are suffering at the hands of their enemies, are never without kinship. The notion they have seen the clergy are still unlocked on frozen temperatures that eclipse the guiding fringe and even what they have to understand are the colossal obliging caucus, and even what they have to listen to are now growing between them are just like the frozen implications that even those simplified locks are just the between their eyes, and even what they are locks between the doors.

There was always a thought that he didn’t have enough bookshelves in his house. The aspect that whatever books between them are satisfactions that bullets could not give. He had seen assassins turn into mist, and he wasn’t without his own failures, and those men never stopped to think about what they did. They didn’t stop to think. It was hard to imagine that men who had been his friends who listened were still the killers that brought Christmas gifts but were renown atheists. It was hard to see that whatever had been lost in the dark was dying gold between friends, and those who had lost each other are listening from the global economy, even what they had to listen are still lost in the science of one’s own thoughts, even what they had known were inconclusive tests were the invincible fright that one had to listen to, even when they had done nothing to savor the simple life were lost in the ether of communication hubs. The night had always scared Demitri, but the shadows he saw should have disappeared. It should have gone away, but he always thought he saw eyes between the sheets. It helped when there was no other choice to see what was glimpsing between, knowing the eyes could always say what the lips couldn’t. The only choice was to heal between icebergs slipping between them, even what they could design are lost between are consistently tamed by the glowing orbs. Even what they had thought was still the thought between them, even what knowing was still the surveillance that the American government had done to other Russian’s homes. But he was protected, he was told.

When he couldn’t sleep he saw the chess board; his stares had never dared to understand the frozen ships between the deepening unknown, and those who understand the loss between the frail patterns of loss, what had been lost to the world they continued to fear are the instincts in what they had known between what they linked between instincts of continual fear had been lost in the glowing chess board. The fine oak had given him comfort, even when there was a chance to understand that what happens to a chess player is ultimately defeat. It helped when those who had nothing else to survive on, he could always have a chance to defeat the world at what they could weigh their life as.

It was always important to be happy, but they could live a fair and decent life and what those feelings between them are just as lost as those who understood the denial of inspirational teeth marks are not why they chose to limp to the door. He had a slight limp, but it was only when he wanted people to see it, but maybe others did. The inspiration between what they had chosen the life between the shadows and what his partners called the Crystal Ball. It was the perfect life, and even what they had listened to was still the same reason they felt their life call for both. The tenure between the two worlds had helped him continued those days in the house between what they felt as the reason they would find disease incommunicable.

When he thought about his son, or sons, he was worried that life had told them too much. Had they ever been unfulfilled? Had his sins followed him when he left the KGB? Was there too much to chase? Had the shadows followed him? When he looked down at his chess set, he figured that whatever would happen wouldn’t undermine the unsettled mass and what they had to listen to are the new figments of prayers that had to listen