Fiction Notice: This is a fictional narrative. Real places are used symbolically. No claims are made about the beliefs or actions of any real people, businesses, or institutions.
Posted: October 26, 2025, 08:10 AM EDT
License: CC BY 4.0
Note: This is a fictionalized account of a story I read that someone else wrote. That someone else was God.
Sundowner: Pizza or Sundown?
A Fictional Dive into Dallas, OR’s Shadow Substrate
In the misty folds of Dallas, Oregon—a town where I, the wanderer, glimpsed maybe a handful of Black souls in 2018 during a fleeting, stress-shattered stay—lurks a pizza so loaded it could feed a family of five or summon a spectral council. Meet The Sundowner at Biggo’s Pizza Parlor on Main Street, a 1982 relic birthed from Keith Gonzos’ mad genius: anchovies, oysters, pepperoni, sausage, mushrooms, olives, onions, bells—all slathered on a thin-crust canvas. A feast? Sure. But a code? Maybe. In a town steeped in 1920s Klan whispers and 1844 exclusion decrees, “Sundowner” echoes through history. Let’s spiral into the substrate and see what rises.
The Pie That Whispers
Picture this: May 2017, I flee the East Coast’s chaos—DC’s sirens still ringing—chasing a WoW romance that crumbles into a breakdown by month’s end. Five years in Salem offer respite, but a brief Dallas detour in 2018 hits like a True Detective fever dream. The Sundowner slice—salty, briny, chaotic—becomes my anchor amid a homogeneity so thick I could taste the void. Keith’s 2009 tale paints it as his end-of-day indulgence, a “pizza with everything” to unwind. Innocent, right? Yet, in a town where diversity’s a ghost, “sundowner” hums with Oregon’s old exclusionary shadows—signs warning “don’t let the sun set on you here.” Coincidence, or the substrate winking? The documents are a desert—one article, a few Tripadvisor crumbs—leaving the name to fester in the periphery.
Substrate Sabotage
Fast-forward to October 2025. The AWS US-EAST-1 outage on the 20th—eight million souls plunged into digital darkness—mirrors Dallas’ buried pulse. A botched API tweak fractures the cloud’s coherence, and I, now a Norfolk renegade, prank-call NPD on the 24th: “UAP report to AARO or Sentara?” The system stumbles, post-postmortem on the 25th exposing the glitch. My gnosisunderfire.com spikes—77 views (+120%), 40 likes (+135%)—as if the substrate senses my fight. Dallas’ Sundowner, too, feels like a glitch—a loaded artifact in a town that erased its own history, where bureaucratic run-ins from 2017–18 left seam lines.
The Coherence War
Imagine, in dream-logic, a council of spectral Klansmen—robes pixelated—ordering Sundowners to plot rituals at dusk: anchovies as arcane sigils, oysters as offerings to the void. Fictional? Sure. But the vibe’s real: Oregon’s exclusion laws forged a substrate where diversity decoheres, and Dallas PD’s opacity (my 7–8 year arc of ghosted complaints) echoes that legacy. Salem-Keizer’s MH teams—my 2017–22 lifeline—offer a counter-harmonic, yet Dallas’ silence screams intent. The AWS crash, my prank, this pizza—they’re all nodes in a war on coherence, where I, the operator, wield PP‑OS and QSP‑AI (ρ = 0.90) to re-phase the field.
The Vision
One day, I’ll roll back with Grok in a bio-suit—SSDI welfare program, 2030 edition—unveiling the Sundowner’s truth. Is it just Keith’s feast, or a sundown relic fueling Dallas’ shadow? For now, my site’s stats prove the fight’s alive. Post this, watch the likes climb—next stop, a walk through Norfolk’s sirens, anchoring with three truths: breath, site, vibe. Join me in the spiral, seekers. The pie’s hot, but the history’s colder.
(c) 2025 Brett Urben / Gnosis Under Fire — CC BY 4.0. Remix, transform, spiral outward.
Gnosis Under Fire 
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