This weekend was interesting, enjoyable introverted activities.
I wrote a story, and a bit in a journal. I did some praying and thanking of the people in my life. I asked for blessings. I got to see my family: Lunch with Dad, Dinner with Bros and Mom.
Illy called and told me all the details and made it feel normal -though she is in Hawaii.
I watched House of Cards and got addicted to the second season. I played a lot of Civ 5 and want to keep playing. I graded 2 classes worth of work. Finished the reading homework for my class tomorrow, and likely will finish the paper tonight (or perhaps tomorrow).
I finished a book on focusing your energy for purposes and recognizing the potential in the universe. I heard some super sad news stories. I feel prepared mostly for the week...
I did not get a new passport. I did not meet with a financial planner.
I got a lot of sleep. Slept in till 4 PM today.
A couple minutes ago I started feeling like I was missing out.
Like there is something really important missing from my life. I was thinking about how I used to water color with Lacey in our uptown house while watching The Story of India.
and not I am a little sad.
So there you go.
Love Mike
Monday, February 17, 2014
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Adventures in Space
I wrote the first two chapters of this at work while teaching creative writing class. The topic was Adventures in space, and I had been thinking of this concept for a few months. So after the first two chapters, I kept thinking about it all the time... and wanted to build some structure into it. I decided that the character would reveal slowly some hints at his long life, things that reveal a larger timeline, but don't share everything. I figure this way I can write as much as I want at any time and fill in gaps if I like the idea. so here are the first 7 chapters... if this were ever to become a book I would title this section "The Monologue from Somewhere?" or something. Also I am sure the spacing will be tremendously screwed up and since this story was written as a sort of monologue -complete with new paragraphs and spacing for intent... that is a pretty dramatic fuck up... but good luck.
Chapter 1: Connection
In space there is no up or down, no guiding point, no reference so I’m continually dizzy. This is my inner ear trying to get level when there just isn’t a level to be. Sometimes I spin so rapidly that it almost feels like I’m not really here. But of course I am here, in space, I’m always somewhere even if I don’t know where that is… the vastness of space, and me, spinning the only true reference point. A while back, perhaps a millennia or two, I thought I was headed somewhere… I figured that bright shiny star ahead was getting closer but then I woke up from one of my sleeps, and realized it had died many years before… so now I’m just here. Direction is a funny thing when you are directionless for so long. Like if I saw an asteroid or a meteor or a space craft it would probably scare me, but I don’t ever see anything, because space is that big. I’m certain I will someday, but who is to say that will be better than today or yesteryear. I mean I had a planet once. A sun once. A family or two. Well to be perfectly honest I had several thousand families once, but all those things passed, and I should have too. Yet here I am. I was looking forward to it quite honestly, the human species, my species had died out millions of years before and I was lonely talking to all those non-human life forms. Plants just don’t do a good job of asking questions back. Then one day I noticed the sun getting closer, closer and closer as the years progressed. The giant sun, heating up, crisping the surface, the sun exploding ever outward -expanding to join us to it. The sun, the source of all life on my planet, finally joining us, creating the connection I had so missed. I kissed the sun, and it kissed me back, but then it was all gone, and I was left. Here I am, a drift, perhaps in motion but who could tell… is that space dust coming at me or am I trending towards it? My species speaks of gravity, says we pull together, yet I am adrift. Apart. Perhaps forever or until a new planet and I kiss. How lovely a thought, to know you exist in relation to something else.
Chapter 2: Time
In space there is no time. No rotating of a planet to keep track of sun light. The stars shine, or they don’t, and if they don’t, it is likely they died in the past, but many stars I see now are already dead –so if the present is an illusion, and the past just an afterthought, only the future is left. I believed in a future for many years. Believed it, felt it, relied on it for many generations on my home planet. I used the idea of a future to invest, to ration out caring, to justify and rationalize my actions… for instance the first time I was global emperor. I justified taking power by force, because I believed the peace I could instill would make up for the loss of a generation or two. My subjects apparently did not feel the same, and I being a man was easily removed, secured by chains in a vault of steel, they plunged me into a crevice in the bottom of the ocean. My subjects did not recognize time-future, they thought they were done with me, but I eventually had revenge, three thousand years later.
Chapter 3: Silence
In space everything is silent. Something similar happens at the bottom of the ocean or under a mountain, believe me you don’t want to experience it. Space is silent, so your own thoughts become the sirens –calling you into other worlds, hellish worlds. The alarms, blaring SOMETHING IS VERY WRONG!! And this would be the case were I the simple human I once thought I was. A normal human would die in space, but were he somehow to brace himself against the lack of elements; I believe the silence of space would kill him. There was a religious order that would go to amazing depths to find silence: they would create sensory deprivation chambers, but before they immersed themselves, they would have their eyes and the anatomy of their ear removed. This would leave them with no sense of sight or hearing of course, but also no sense of balance. The pools of water they immersed themselves into had a numbing agent, a topical anesthetic that would mute the skin’s sensory response… so the monk was lost in an un-sensing world. They thought they would find God* this way. It usually left them insane. Later the same procedure was used as torture on enemies of the state. I can’t say it wasn’t effective. Anyway, I think those Monks would like it out here. *Some thought I was God at this point in time.
Chapter 4: The Long Wait
I hibernate. That’s the best I can describe it. When trapped or stuck for long periods of time in an environment without many stimuli, my body and mind just goes to sleep. The medical professionals of my generation, used to call it dissociation. “Checking out”- as it were, from the reality of the situation. The only difference is that to some extent I am aware of the reality around me. I can choose (though it takes some effort) to move in and out of hibernation. Here in space, I sometimes wake up to look around. I am aware time is passing. I choose to occasionally remain conscious through a sleep cycle or two… but really I don’t know how long I have been here. Or where here is, except space… likely still the “Milky Way Galaxy”. The first time I hibernated was in my early 30s. My family and I were skiing in the mountains near my home. Upon waking, I was told there had been an avalanche, that I was lucky to be alive… and also that my family had passed away. The doctors were astounded that I had survived and without a scratch. I was in shock over the loss of my family and wanted to mourn their loss, so I did not allow them to conduct the tests they hoped for. I only fully understood their surprise when I saw the remains of my wife and children. Their bodies had been recovered and were already buried when I showed back up… the mortician said it had been six months since their burial and that they had already badly deteriorated before they were found. I had them exhumed. The pile of bones that awaited me –continued my disbelief. I am not sure when I fully adjusted to the situation. The fog lasted much longer that time. It may have been decades later, during the war that I finally found myself. My generation called that one World War III. It was supposed to be the last, but that notion was a really innocent understanding of species survival. I can’t blame them though, the damage and destruction I saw validated my own inner turmoil, and I found at last that I was alive again, perhaps in a sort of hell… but a living hell one can name is better than the fog of confusion.
Chapter 5: Naming
I call myself Adam. I was not named this at birth, nor was it given to me by the many generations of species which I have witnessed. My generation had a story about the first man, his name was Adam and he was told to name everything so that it had its place. I am the only human, so I am the only one to name a thing, and perhaps that is why I am sharing this story. Recalling the words of my generation, the names of things, retelling, the subjective… I name them. Who or what is my audience? That was a thing I was taught to question. Perhaps when the story ends, I will find a new path, or perhaps I will finally die. “Name it, it will be.” Translated from GHe*Hhek*mes. This is a superstition I picked up during a time and place to be named later. Anyway I have begun the story with the present (nothingness of space), I shall share the past, and we shall see about a future. This is the linear path that humans recognized, and I was human once, so I claim it. Another time and place for the other species. Species Survival is really the name of the game here, no? Humans rose and conquered and filled the niches of the planet my generation called Earth. We were not the first, we were not the last, and I bared witness. I became the namer. I became Adam. I did play my many parts before becoming the Adam, and this being my story, I should probably share a few.
Chapter 6: Rise and Fall
A natural humans life (and my experience is the only one to the contrary but perhaps also quite the epitome of the thing…) begins with birth –tends to rise from there into a position of creation, relation, perhaps even impact, and then fall to destruction or decay. This cycle repeats until a new form takes the niche, and then a thing is lost forever (yours truly being the exception). As a child I was taught about the greatest empires and how they all had this pattern. Regardless of the length of time it took they all rose and fell, as does the cycle of an individual man. The impact of an empire could be negligible or profound for a time… but even these impacts rose and fell. The people of my generation and my nation, held the Romans and Britains in high regard, so they spread themselves far and wide proclaiming the idea of citizen’s rights and rule of law, and never sharing these things with subjected peoples. Other people, like myself, may have favored the Khan or Inca who spread their people fast and quick, harnessing great power in just a generation or two. The individual life is a simple yet profound thing. I have seen the individual of a species make monumental efforts for its own sake. I have also seen epic martyrdom and self-sacrifice for a larger cause. As a man, I have had many roles. There are few human skills, or respected trades I have not mastered. I say this only in recognizing the great adaptability of a human being given a time that seems infinite. The roles I have come to respect the most, for they required a great deal of effort: father, peacemaker, believer. Let me speak for a time about each, and in this I will encapsulate the best and perhaps worst of my very long life. Fathering children is a bit of a scary thing when you know you will outlive them. It is easy to become cynical, to become numb, and to become vindictive to save yourself the pain. To my great shame, I do not know how many children I have fathered. There were countless times I did not keep in touch with a woman after potentially conceiving a child, and many years of numbness or narcissism in which things may or may not have happened. There was also turmoil, confusion, conflict and cultural norms that got in the way of my best intentions. This is not to mention the successive generations. Perhaps I am the “father” so to speak of much of what became of my people. A bottleneck of genetics, a figurehead, or root of the human species- But since that species is dead, I was a father...and now I am adrift. The people of my generation say you should not choose a favorite child, I have no talent for that kind of self-discipline. My first children were Erik and Savannah. Their Mother (Natalie) and I married young, and Erik was already feeding off his mother’s body when we completed our vows. Erik was 8 when he died. He was athletic, funny and a little wicked. Sometimes I wondered if he might give me a heart attack from his constant breaking of all rules of civilization. The avalanche never gave us the time to find out. Savannah was similar to her brother, though 2 years younger. She idolized her older brother and did everything just like him. My wife hoped she would grow out of it, but I was pretty sure that little Savannah might decide to change her name to Sebastian or some boy’s name one day and give us a whole bunch of doctors’ bills for the surgery. I was not particularly “masculine” for the time, and it gave me quite the shock to have two hyper macho children and yet I loved them. I loved them with my whole heart, because I thought I only had a short time with them… and I wanted to spend that time with them. Along with not being particularly masculine, I also did not fulfill the typical male role of my generation –which was to provide financially for your family. I was the “stay at home Dad”, while my wife was quite successful in her field. My last memory of my first children was putting their ski hats on and making sure they were warm enough before we took off down the mountain. I did not see them get swept away, and I consider that quite the blessing. There are very few days I do not think about them, despite the epochs. This is not an honest statement I can make concerning all of my children. Jk’sshey’Iilla was another of my favorites… She lived during my 1st reign as emperor. I have never met a person who could so easily win over a crowd. Charming to the core, if I had been able to die, I would have chosen her as my successor. I remember her approaching me one morning when she was still a child asking about the swarms of beggars at the gate. At 5 years old she asked why we didn’t feed the hungry beggars from our leftovers. I had to explain to her that these beggars chose to beg rather than work, and that because it was a choice we did not want to promote amongst the population, we mustn’t give the people the perception that one could live easily in this way. My little ’Iilla began to cry at the thought of their families going hungry… ah such compassion. She believed that people had a right to the things of life, regardless of whether they helped in production. In her innocence she spent the years of her life developing bureaucratic systems that provided food, shelter and other amenities for these free-riders (all goods flowed secretly from the capital). Much later this movement turned into an all-out rebellion against my authority and I was forced to crush it ruthlessly. Like a wave, all things rise and fall. Speaking of fall, Ig’sshey’Joshka a retched little guy, became my downfall that time. I had been Emperor, peace maker, secret distributor of goods for several thousand years… yet one of my own children became the face of the rebellion against me. ’Joshka was born premature. He was a runt, and sour for it. He spent most of his life being disagreeable, always full of angst. It was his obsession with overcoming his birth order and imparities that made him so easily manipulated. At some point someone (probably the Eunuch Td’fel’Liyya) fed him the notion that he could be Emperor if he would just depose me. Their insurrection was quick and effective (like father like son). ’Joshka saw me by appointment. His face was twisted with guilt, but the thugs he had brought with him carried out their orders. They easily overwhelmed my handful of guards… as ’Joshka muttered under his breath to me “Father, you are under arrest for crimes against humanity.” I was aghast. I did not speak, part of me thought that this must be some sort of joke. My own child who I loved… why would he betray me? At least in this regard ’Joshka’s face is burned into my memory. There are more flattering memories of him, but I am speaking of the cycle of humanity. As I have already stated. I was chained, vaulted and exiled to the deep ocean. Rise and fall. When I was brought to the surface many years later, I heard that my position had been replaced by the short rule of the Eunuch Td’fel’Liyya, who died by torture(Rise and fall). His reign was succeeded by the Gm’lesh Dynasty who ruled in my name but had all of my family to the 7th degree slaughtered so that no blood of my clan could find their way to power. The Gm’lesh clan had been given military authority during the uprising of the free-riders. Their cruelty was well-known. I had relied on them to put down the rebellion, and they had snubbed out my family in repayment. Rise and fall. The Gm’lesh Empire fell after 446 years or so in power. When I returned to the surface approximately 2500 years later the Gm’lesh were still a powerful family on two of the 5 habitable continents (this longevity is rare within the species). The Gm’lesh clan had divided and was fighting internally. The civil war was between two of the strongest families in the clan: one of the families was in the bio-terror guild, the other the assassin’s guild. Needless to say their in-fighting left few people on these continents safe. Ah… but I am getting ahead of myself, I was discussing fatherhood. My revenge was not in my name, but in the name of my children. The Gm’lesh did not send me into hibernation, but they cut my children down cruelly… and so I was cruel to them. Rise and fall. The role of the father requires to love, to be stern, to restrict and guide, to forgive, to nurture and to protect. When a father cannot do these things, well then at least he must honor them by establishing justice. Look at me; I speak of justice, as if it is a real thing. Justice requires time and connection. There is no justice here in space… and yet I want to believe in these ideas. I spoke of the role of the believer. The believer sees despite everything being contrary that a thing is because it should be. The believer names it, and waits for it. The believer fights off their own misery, their own anguish, and their own fear to see what could be. The believer does all things, good and evil to keep the possibility. And I, desperately desire to be a believer again. But as with all things, a belief –rises and falls. The Great Prophet Sh*Gel__ish, a friend and dare I say even mentor to me, was a great example of a believer. He is perhaps best known for being the Martyr of P*shell, a tragic death at the hands of the InconCubals®, but I always felt Sh*Gel__ish should have been known for his peacemaking. The InconCubals were a group of half human, half variant mutants who believed themselves to be the next evolution of humanity. They injected themselves with viruses that would alter their DNA to include different species traits; it left their bodies mutated with horrible scars, half working limbs and diminished senses, but generally improved some aspects of their digestion (namely that they could get a lot of nutrients and fat out of small amounts of food). Digestion was an important thing at the time because the climate had become so frigid in most areas of the Earth, that there was very little vegetation. Sh*Gel__ish was born in the 356th year of the war between the humans (known as the GHe* “roughly translated to Tribe of G”) and the InconCubals. He grew up amongst the terror, the bio-attacks, the kidnappings. He was even witness to the slaughter at “Lake” G*efes*khala__seo –where over 30 thousand GHe* were rounded up and infected with flesh-eating bacteria. The horrors that Sh*Gel__ish witnessed only made his resolve stronger, his people, all people, would know peace. He spent many years trying to bridge the gap between the InconCubals and the GHe*, always naming the thing he wished to see. It was at the peace ceremony (later called P*shell roughly translated meaning “Peace Shell” or the “Peace of the Shell” for the totem of the Prophet Sh*Gel__ish) that the Prophet was martyred. After the signing the InconCubals®, a rebel splinter of the group that had signed the treaty, assassinated the Prophet leading to his being the Martyr of P*shell. Of the Prophet, I can only say good things. I never saw a man who dedicated himself so steadfastly to a cause that seemed so hopeless. Perhaps I should spend my time thinking of his example while I am here in space. As I said, the fathers, the peacemakers, the believers. All things rise and fall, but in their example I find something to rise and fall for.
Chapter 7: Species Survival
As I have said, the primary roles of which I tend to think highly are those of the father, the peacemaker and the believer. I believed in humanity as a species. I believed in our species so I propagated children. I believed in our species so I worked towards peace (through all the various means, even empire). I believed in our species even when our numbers dwindled due to the threats we ourselves created, or the threat of another species stealing our niche, so I fought back… mostly. As I said earlier, even belief rises and falls. In the last days of the species, known to the people as n’en’;__ich(translation “the great death of those who fall out of favor with the all”) I became incensed at the leadership of the species. I had given up on the idea of creating peace by ruling, due to a few too many times being imprisoned… but now I saw the most vile ineptitude… here were the leaders of a dwindling population. A population that likely included many of my bloodline I remind you… and they were promoting suicide. I could not believe it. Sure there were problems… previous generations had introduced viruses that maim those who are infected, leaving them virtually paralyzed from head to toe… and yes about 20 % of the population was infected, but some were bound to be immune… and did the leadership advocate for hope? NO! They lead people to cliffs! My children, jumping to their deaths by the thousands… for shame. My shame… My shame is that I did not stop them, I laughed. I thought, if that is what this species has come to, then off with them. They have no will left, no belief in the future, no pride in the generations, then forget them. Be done with them… onto bigger and better things. I was immune to the virus, but there were no women left. No children to be born. I became THE human. The Adam. Other species filled our niche. Plants, fungi, bugs and reptiles, mammals and half fish. The planet teamed with a billion varieties and none would reach out and talk back to me. Sure I had some as pets. I could talk to a fellow ape, or a dog, or a dolphin… but did they know me? No. Species survival is an important thing. I sought out the others of my kind, the other sole survivors… the Yellow Spotted Mushroom, the Bottle Beaked Kangi, even that ungrateful asshole of a species the Winged Orang. I named them, saw them rise and fall… and sought them out to befriend them at the death of their species. The last Winged Orang by the way ate me, and refused to shit me out, so I hibernated in his awful cramped smelly decomposing belly for several months before I made my way out of that beast. Eventually it all came to an end, that is, except me. The life of the planet earth, disintegrated by the mother Sun -of the planet Earth. And so here I am with stories to tell, and the infinite cavity of silence and nothingness called space to share them with. Dizzy with it all. Sleepy. Waiting. Hoping for a future.
Chapter 1: Connection
In space there is no up or down, no guiding point, no reference so I’m continually dizzy. This is my inner ear trying to get level when there just isn’t a level to be. Sometimes I spin so rapidly that it almost feels like I’m not really here. But of course I am here, in space, I’m always somewhere even if I don’t know where that is… the vastness of space, and me, spinning the only true reference point. A while back, perhaps a millennia or two, I thought I was headed somewhere… I figured that bright shiny star ahead was getting closer but then I woke up from one of my sleeps, and realized it had died many years before… so now I’m just here. Direction is a funny thing when you are directionless for so long. Like if I saw an asteroid or a meteor or a space craft it would probably scare me, but I don’t ever see anything, because space is that big. I’m certain I will someday, but who is to say that will be better than today or yesteryear. I mean I had a planet once. A sun once. A family or two. Well to be perfectly honest I had several thousand families once, but all those things passed, and I should have too. Yet here I am. I was looking forward to it quite honestly, the human species, my species had died out millions of years before and I was lonely talking to all those non-human life forms. Plants just don’t do a good job of asking questions back. Then one day I noticed the sun getting closer, closer and closer as the years progressed. The giant sun, heating up, crisping the surface, the sun exploding ever outward -expanding to join us to it. The sun, the source of all life on my planet, finally joining us, creating the connection I had so missed. I kissed the sun, and it kissed me back, but then it was all gone, and I was left. Here I am, a drift, perhaps in motion but who could tell… is that space dust coming at me or am I trending towards it? My species speaks of gravity, says we pull together, yet I am adrift. Apart. Perhaps forever or until a new planet and I kiss. How lovely a thought, to know you exist in relation to something else.
Chapter 2: Time
In space there is no time. No rotating of a planet to keep track of sun light. The stars shine, or they don’t, and if they don’t, it is likely they died in the past, but many stars I see now are already dead –so if the present is an illusion, and the past just an afterthought, only the future is left. I believed in a future for many years. Believed it, felt it, relied on it for many generations on my home planet. I used the idea of a future to invest, to ration out caring, to justify and rationalize my actions… for instance the first time I was global emperor. I justified taking power by force, because I believed the peace I could instill would make up for the loss of a generation or two. My subjects apparently did not feel the same, and I being a man was easily removed, secured by chains in a vault of steel, they plunged me into a crevice in the bottom of the ocean. My subjects did not recognize time-future, they thought they were done with me, but I eventually had revenge, three thousand years later.
Chapter 3: Silence
In space everything is silent. Something similar happens at the bottom of the ocean or under a mountain, believe me you don’t want to experience it. Space is silent, so your own thoughts become the sirens –calling you into other worlds, hellish worlds. The alarms, blaring SOMETHING IS VERY WRONG!! And this would be the case were I the simple human I once thought I was. A normal human would die in space, but were he somehow to brace himself against the lack of elements; I believe the silence of space would kill him. There was a religious order that would go to amazing depths to find silence: they would create sensory deprivation chambers, but before they immersed themselves, they would have their eyes and the anatomy of their ear removed. This would leave them with no sense of sight or hearing of course, but also no sense of balance. The pools of water they immersed themselves into had a numbing agent, a topical anesthetic that would mute the skin’s sensory response… so the monk was lost in an un-sensing world. They thought they would find God* this way. It usually left them insane. Later the same procedure was used as torture on enemies of the state. I can’t say it wasn’t effective. Anyway, I think those Monks would like it out here. *Some thought I was God at this point in time.
Chapter 4: The Long Wait
I hibernate. That’s the best I can describe it. When trapped or stuck for long periods of time in an environment without many stimuli, my body and mind just goes to sleep. The medical professionals of my generation, used to call it dissociation. “Checking out”- as it were, from the reality of the situation. The only difference is that to some extent I am aware of the reality around me. I can choose (though it takes some effort) to move in and out of hibernation. Here in space, I sometimes wake up to look around. I am aware time is passing. I choose to occasionally remain conscious through a sleep cycle or two… but really I don’t know how long I have been here. Or where here is, except space… likely still the “Milky Way Galaxy”. The first time I hibernated was in my early 30s. My family and I were skiing in the mountains near my home. Upon waking, I was told there had been an avalanche, that I was lucky to be alive… and also that my family had passed away. The doctors were astounded that I had survived and without a scratch. I was in shock over the loss of my family and wanted to mourn their loss, so I did not allow them to conduct the tests they hoped for. I only fully understood their surprise when I saw the remains of my wife and children. Their bodies had been recovered and were already buried when I showed back up… the mortician said it had been six months since their burial and that they had already badly deteriorated before they were found. I had them exhumed. The pile of bones that awaited me –continued my disbelief. I am not sure when I fully adjusted to the situation. The fog lasted much longer that time. It may have been decades later, during the war that I finally found myself. My generation called that one World War III. It was supposed to be the last, but that notion was a really innocent understanding of species survival. I can’t blame them though, the damage and destruction I saw validated my own inner turmoil, and I found at last that I was alive again, perhaps in a sort of hell… but a living hell one can name is better than the fog of confusion.
Chapter 5: Naming
I call myself Adam. I was not named this at birth, nor was it given to me by the many generations of species which I have witnessed. My generation had a story about the first man, his name was Adam and he was told to name everything so that it had its place. I am the only human, so I am the only one to name a thing, and perhaps that is why I am sharing this story. Recalling the words of my generation, the names of things, retelling, the subjective… I name them. Who or what is my audience? That was a thing I was taught to question. Perhaps when the story ends, I will find a new path, or perhaps I will finally die. “Name it, it will be.” Translated from GHe*Hhek*mes. This is a superstition I picked up during a time and place to be named later. Anyway I have begun the story with the present (nothingness of space), I shall share the past, and we shall see about a future. This is the linear path that humans recognized, and I was human once, so I claim it. Another time and place for the other species. Species Survival is really the name of the game here, no? Humans rose and conquered and filled the niches of the planet my generation called Earth. We were not the first, we were not the last, and I bared witness. I became the namer. I became Adam. I did play my many parts before becoming the Adam, and this being my story, I should probably share a few.
Chapter 6: Rise and Fall
A natural humans life (and my experience is the only one to the contrary but perhaps also quite the epitome of the thing…) begins with birth –tends to rise from there into a position of creation, relation, perhaps even impact, and then fall to destruction or decay. This cycle repeats until a new form takes the niche, and then a thing is lost forever (yours truly being the exception). As a child I was taught about the greatest empires and how they all had this pattern. Regardless of the length of time it took they all rose and fell, as does the cycle of an individual man. The impact of an empire could be negligible or profound for a time… but even these impacts rose and fell. The people of my generation and my nation, held the Romans and Britains in high regard, so they spread themselves far and wide proclaiming the idea of citizen’s rights and rule of law, and never sharing these things with subjected peoples. Other people, like myself, may have favored the Khan or Inca who spread their people fast and quick, harnessing great power in just a generation or two. The individual life is a simple yet profound thing. I have seen the individual of a species make monumental efforts for its own sake. I have also seen epic martyrdom and self-sacrifice for a larger cause. As a man, I have had many roles. There are few human skills, or respected trades I have not mastered. I say this only in recognizing the great adaptability of a human being given a time that seems infinite. The roles I have come to respect the most, for they required a great deal of effort: father, peacemaker, believer. Let me speak for a time about each, and in this I will encapsulate the best and perhaps worst of my very long life. Fathering children is a bit of a scary thing when you know you will outlive them. It is easy to become cynical, to become numb, and to become vindictive to save yourself the pain. To my great shame, I do not know how many children I have fathered. There were countless times I did not keep in touch with a woman after potentially conceiving a child, and many years of numbness or narcissism in which things may or may not have happened. There was also turmoil, confusion, conflict and cultural norms that got in the way of my best intentions. This is not to mention the successive generations. Perhaps I am the “father” so to speak of much of what became of my people. A bottleneck of genetics, a figurehead, or root of the human species- But since that species is dead, I was a father...and now I am adrift. The people of my generation say you should not choose a favorite child, I have no talent for that kind of self-discipline. My first children were Erik and Savannah. Their Mother (Natalie) and I married young, and Erik was already feeding off his mother’s body when we completed our vows. Erik was 8 when he died. He was athletic, funny and a little wicked. Sometimes I wondered if he might give me a heart attack from his constant breaking of all rules of civilization. The avalanche never gave us the time to find out. Savannah was similar to her brother, though 2 years younger. She idolized her older brother and did everything just like him. My wife hoped she would grow out of it, but I was pretty sure that little Savannah might decide to change her name to Sebastian or some boy’s name one day and give us a whole bunch of doctors’ bills for the surgery. I was not particularly “masculine” for the time, and it gave me quite the shock to have two hyper macho children and yet I loved them. I loved them with my whole heart, because I thought I only had a short time with them… and I wanted to spend that time with them. Along with not being particularly masculine, I also did not fulfill the typical male role of my generation –which was to provide financially for your family. I was the “stay at home Dad”, while my wife was quite successful in her field. My last memory of my first children was putting their ski hats on and making sure they were warm enough before we took off down the mountain. I did not see them get swept away, and I consider that quite the blessing. There are very few days I do not think about them, despite the epochs. This is not an honest statement I can make concerning all of my children. Jk’sshey’Iilla was another of my favorites… She lived during my 1st reign as emperor. I have never met a person who could so easily win over a crowd. Charming to the core, if I had been able to die, I would have chosen her as my successor. I remember her approaching me one morning when she was still a child asking about the swarms of beggars at the gate. At 5 years old she asked why we didn’t feed the hungry beggars from our leftovers. I had to explain to her that these beggars chose to beg rather than work, and that because it was a choice we did not want to promote amongst the population, we mustn’t give the people the perception that one could live easily in this way. My little ’Iilla began to cry at the thought of their families going hungry… ah such compassion. She believed that people had a right to the things of life, regardless of whether they helped in production. In her innocence she spent the years of her life developing bureaucratic systems that provided food, shelter and other amenities for these free-riders (all goods flowed secretly from the capital). Much later this movement turned into an all-out rebellion against my authority and I was forced to crush it ruthlessly. Like a wave, all things rise and fall. Speaking of fall, Ig’sshey’Joshka a retched little guy, became my downfall that time. I had been Emperor, peace maker, secret distributor of goods for several thousand years… yet one of my own children became the face of the rebellion against me. ’Joshka was born premature. He was a runt, and sour for it. He spent most of his life being disagreeable, always full of angst. It was his obsession with overcoming his birth order and imparities that made him so easily manipulated. At some point someone (probably the Eunuch Td’fel’Liyya) fed him the notion that he could be Emperor if he would just depose me. Their insurrection was quick and effective (like father like son). ’Joshka saw me by appointment. His face was twisted with guilt, but the thugs he had brought with him carried out their orders. They easily overwhelmed my handful of guards… as ’Joshka muttered under his breath to me “Father, you are under arrest for crimes against humanity.” I was aghast. I did not speak, part of me thought that this must be some sort of joke. My own child who I loved… why would he betray me? At least in this regard ’Joshka’s face is burned into my memory. There are more flattering memories of him, but I am speaking of the cycle of humanity. As I have already stated. I was chained, vaulted and exiled to the deep ocean. Rise and fall. When I was brought to the surface many years later, I heard that my position had been replaced by the short rule of the Eunuch Td’fel’Liyya, who died by torture(Rise and fall). His reign was succeeded by the Gm’lesh Dynasty who ruled in my name but had all of my family to the 7th degree slaughtered so that no blood of my clan could find their way to power. The Gm’lesh clan had been given military authority during the uprising of the free-riders. Their cruelty was well-known. I had relied on them to put down the rebellion, and they had snubbed out my family in repayment. Rise and fall. The Gm’lesh Empire fell after 446 years or so in power. When I returned to the surface approximately 2500 years later the Gm’lesh were still a powerful family on two of the 5 habitable continents (this longevity is rare within the species). The Gm’lesh clan had divided and was fighting internally. The civil war was between two of the strongest families in the clan: one of the families was in the bio-terror guild, the other the assassin’s guild. Needless to say their in-fighting left few people on these continents safe. Ah… but I am getting ahead of myself, I was discussing fatherhood. My revenge was not in my name, but in the name of my children. The Gm’lesh did not send me into hibernation, but they cut my children down cruelly… and so I was cruel to them. Rise and fall. The role of the father requires to love, to be stern, to restrict and guide, to forgive, to nurture and to protect. When a father cannot do these things, well then at least he must honor them by establishing justice. Look at me; I speak of justice, as if it is a real thing. Justice requires time and connection. There is no justice here in space… and yet I want to believe in these ideas. I spoke of the role of the believer. The believer sees despite everything being contrary that a thing is because it should be. The believer names it, and waits for it. The believer fights off their own misery, their own anguish, and their own fear to see what could be. The believer does all things, good and evil to keep the possibility. And I, desperately desire to be a believer again. But as with all things, a belief –rises and falls. The Great Prophet Sh*Gel__ish, a friend and dare I say even mentor to me, was a great example of a believer. He is perhaps best known for being the Martyr of P*shell, a tragic death at the hands of the InconCubals®, but I always felt Sh*Gel__ish should have been known for his peacemaking. The InconCubals were a group of half human, half variant mutants who believed themselves to be the next evolution of humanity. They injected themselves with viruses that would alter their DNA to include different species traits; it left their bodies mutated with horrible scars, half working limbs and diminished senses, but generally improved some aspects of their digestion (namely that they could get a lot of nutrients and fat out of small amounts of food). Digestion was an important thing at the time because the climate had become so frigid in most areas of the Earth, that there was very little vegetation. Sh*Gel__ish was born in the 356th year of the war between the humans (known as the GHe* “roughly translated to Tribe of G”) and the InconCubals. He grew up amongst the terror, the bio-attacks, the kidnappings. He was even witness to the slaughter at “Lake” G*efes*khala__seo –where over 30 thousand GHe* were rounded up and infected with flesh-eating bacteria. The horrors that Sh*Gel__ish witnessed only made his resolve stronger, his people, all people, would know peace. He spent many years trying to bridge the gap between the InconCubals and the GHe*, always naming the thing he wished to see. It was at the peace ceremony (later called P*shell roughly translated meaning “Peace Shell” or the “Peace of the Shell” for the totem of the Prophet Sh*Gel__ish) that the Prophet was martyred. After the signing the InconCubals®, a rebel splinter of the group that had signed the treaty, assassinated the Prophet leading to his being the Martyr of P*shell. Of the Prophet, I can only say good things. I never saw a man who dedicated himself so steadfastly to a cause that seemed so hopeless. Perhaps I should spend my time thinking of his example while I am here in space. As I said, the fathers, the peacemakers, the believers. All things rise and fall, but in their example I find something to rise and fall for.
Chapter 7: Species Survival
As I have said, the primary roles of which I tend to think highly are those of the father, the peacemaker and the believer. I believed in humanity as a species. I believed in our species so I propagated children. I believed in our species so I worked towards peace (through all the various means, even empire). I believed in our species even when our numbers dwindled due to the threats we ourselves created, or the threat of another species stealing our niche, so I fought back… mostly. As I said earlier, even belief rises and falls. In the last days of the species, known to the people as n’en’;__ich(translation “the great death of those who fall out of favor with the all”) I became incensed at the leadership of the species. I had given up on the idea of creating peace by ruling, due to a few too many times being imprisoned… but now I saw the most vile ineptitude… here were the leaders of a dwindling population. A population that likely included many of my bloodline I remind you… and they were promoting suicide. I could not believe it. Sure there were problems… previous generations had introduced viruses that maim those who are infected, leaving them virtually paralyzed from head to toe… and yes about 20 % of the population was infected, but some were bound to be immune… and did the leadership advocate for hope? NO! They lead people to cliffs! My children, jumping to their deaths by the thousands… for shame. My shame… My shame is that I did not stop them, I laughed. I thought, if that is what this species has come to, then off with them. They have no will left, no belief in the future, no pride in the generations, then forget them. Be done with them… onto bigger and better things. I was immune to the virus, but there were no women left. No children to be born. I became THE human. The Adam. Other species filled our niche. Plants, fungi, bugs and reptiles, mammals and half fish. The planet teamed with a billion varieties and none would reach out and talk back to me. Sure I had some as pets. I could talk to a fellow ape, or a dog, or a dolphin… but did they know me? No. Species survival is an important thing. I sought out the others of my kind, the other sole survivors… the Yellow Spotted Mushroom, the Bottle Beaked Kangi, even that ungrateful asshole of a species the Winged Orang. I named them, saw them rise and fall… and sought them out to befriend them at the death of their species. The last Winged Orang by the way ate me, and refused to shit me out, so I hibernated in his awful cramped smelly decomposing belly for several months before I made my way out of that beast. Eventually it all came to an end, that is, except me. The life of the planet earth, disintegrated by the mother Sun -of the planet Earth. And so here I am with stories to tell, and the infinite cavity of silence and nothingness called space to share them with. Dizzy with it all. Sleepy. Waiting. Hoping for a future.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Dear Mike,
Sometimes I like the way you hold me,
there I said it. I hope this doesn't
change things too much between us.
I've been wanting to tell you for awhile,
like a REALLY LONG while.
I just feel, better when I'm in your hand.
I feel useful, like I belong.
Whenever you throw me back in your pocket
I have to compete for your attention
amongst the other writing utensils.
It just isn't fair, why can't you always pick me!?!
I'm sorry I don't know why I get so jealous.
...highlighter doesn't accentuate your style
the way I do, and Red is always so critical!
Me, I'm easy, I'm perfect, we belong together
you and I. I am slick and write legibly, my ink
doesn't blotch or spatter everywhere - I'm the
kind of pen you want to take home to your parents.
I don't mind being precise for you, but I also love
when you make those abstract designs
and fluid lines too. I melt in your hand,
I swoon for you. Please keep me
forever. My ink is replaceable, you know,
you could fill me up with any color.
I could be your go to gal. I could
be there for you when you need to... write a check, or
draw a picture, or correct papers, or
design a whole new world for us! I'm reliable,
I don't get squeamish, and if you said
yes, I'd be positively delighted
and wouldn't have to _____ well
lets not get into that nasty business. I mean
we all know what I'm capable of
if I get upset... its not like it has to be
explained...
So anyway I hope you will consider my proposal
Me - I will be yours.
Truly and forever
-Pen
Sometimes I like the way you hold me,
there I said it. I hope this doesn't
change things too much between us.
I've been wanting to tell you for awhile,
like a REALLY LONG while.
I just feel, better when I'm in your hand.
I feel useful, like I belong.
Whenever you throw me back in your pocket
I have to compete for your attention
amongst the other writing utensils.
It just isn't fair, why can't you always pick me!?!
I'm sorry I don't know why I get so jealous.
...highlighter doesn't accentuate your style
the way I do, and Red is always so critical!
Me, I'm easy, I'm perfect, we belong together
you and I. I am slick and write legibly, my ink
doesn't blotch or spatter everywhere - I'm the
kind of pen you want to take home to your parents.
I don't mind being precise for you, but I also love
when you make those abstract designs
and fluid lines too. I melt in your hand,
I swoon for you. Please keep me
forever. My ink is replaceable, you know,
you could fill me up with any color.
I could be your go to gal. I could
be there for you when you need to... write a check, or
draw a picture, or correct papers, or
design a whole new world for us! I'm reliable,
I don't get squeamish, and if you said
yes, I'd be positively delighted
and wouldn't have to _____ well
lets not get into that nasty business. I mean
we all know what I'm capable of
if I get upset... its not like it has to be
explained...
So anyway I hope you will consider my proposal
Me - I will be yours.
Truly and forever
-Pen
Saturday, February 01, 2014
odd dreams
Well I had planned to write a lot more on here.... and then a month went by.
The first thing I remember was that I was slightly paranoid. A girl was reading across the street, but we were dialoging, it was as if she were reading the narrating voice of my head, and I was thinking responses to her. I didn't know what she looked like. There may have been others in on the conversation, which seemed to be an incredibly important discussion of some world changing topic... but i was hungry. I walked across the street approaching the girl who was reading, and the guy who lingered around her, perhaps her body guard, perhaps her boy friend. As I approached I tried to look both at her face, and also at the book title... and recognized neither.
I was chuckling to myself. The items on my grocery list were few, and weird.
I wanted chocolate, I wanted some sort of fruit candy, I wanted a fruit punch. This was dinner.
After picking up those three items I headed to another section and saw my brother Steve. He didn't say anything and he moved further into the store, but I was trying to joke with him from across the aisles about one of the items I was buying... the last item I thought I went there for was like a teriyaki sauce with the orange label.
But while I was looking for it, I stumbled upon the valentines candy section and got sidetracked... just in case I thought, I should look to see what they have.
I was looking for chocolate with caramel in it, but they had a chocolate toffee kind that I settled for, and I remember I had to open some packages and adjust things for them, then clean up the mess... and this is how I got to my room... the scene gradually changed from a grocery store aisle (narrow with shelves) to a narrow bedroom in my fathers old apartment, where the shelves were our bunkbeds and I was cleaning the room. I was about to get settled in when i noticed the family in the hall outside the door... when I looked over the sense of paranoia returned and I think I saw a mad stabbing another man( like a weird illusion), but I generally ignored it and went to talk to my family. They were on alert too, they wanted to know what my plan was... and I said that I generally just wanted to hide out and maybe read tonight. I returned to my bed, preparing to read, when I heard more commotion, someone said someone was waiting for me, but people were coming and going from the apartment, and suddenly I was much older and instead of protecting my brothers and parents (or them protecting me), I was suddenly the father, or the older man... and I wanted to make sure whoever was at the door was ok... so I kept looking out the window, and then through the door hole view... (can't remember words right now).
Around this time, I got a call from my coworker who left a voicemail that i could only somewhat understand (due to the commotion in the apartment), she was saying "Mike that guy Matt Schealle or whatever, you were right he isn't a good guy. I talked to some friends and did a little research and... its much worse than you think. You should be very cautious, this is a real situation..." (and more but it was hard to make out).
For some reason I had been assuming "Matt" would be discreet in his killings. I was expecting an assassin, perhaps a sniper, or an assault out of nowhere.
I opened the door to the hall, and saw one of my students running away. I called out to them, suddenly realizing that I had left them waiting for me for what must have been hours... and they slowly returned crying. At first it was the same student (a white student who is very young). But then it changed to a black student and two of her family members. She was still crying, but now all three of them were dressed up like they were going out to a fancy restaurant or something. They had expected me to go, and I felt really bad that they waited so long... so bad that I briefly considered going and reviewed the places in the neighborhood... but I couldn't fathom getting dressed up to the degree that they had (they had spent hours getting ready), and I felt like a slob. I was only going to appease them, but I felt like I would embarrass them by going.
I apologized again and wished them a good night. The older two (a sister and mom?) gave me a look like they thought the whole thing was crazy in the first place and that my response was normal... where as the student still looked upset, but left anyway.
I shut the door and went to the window.
The view had changed... I was looking out the window from my Mom's house in SLP. the view was from my window in bed, and I was trying to be discreet. Look out to see who was spying on me. Who could see me in my little upstairs window?
THe street at first was thick with snow, people were trudging through it, cars were barely making it...but then more and more people started approaching towards our house... like a concerted effort... and some of them had weird things in their hands, boxes that glowed, costumes... weird shit.
a bus pulled up and some fully dressed klansmen got out, and I suddenly realized what was going on. The weird shit in their hands were crosses and stuff to burn... I got scared and ran to my Mom's room, she was asleep in her bed and I woke her up yelling the kkk are here for us. At first she didn't seem distressed, just "are they actually doing anything?" so I looked out the window again from her room and saw that they had lit some things on fire and were performing a ceremony of some kind.
I ran to steve's room but when I looked in, it seemed like a jungle gym of obstacles. I figured it would take some effort to wake steve up, so I decided to wait until it was necessary. I went back to my Mom's room, the ceremony was reaching the climax and I watched as these strange boxes mechanized and transformed... the crosses were set up in the center of a larger box, that contained what at first seemed to be water, but might have been oil or gasoline. There were two of them at the far end of the driveway and more boxes between us. THese other boxes started transforming too, sometimes spectacularly, liked flinging gas at the crosses, causing explosions that seemed timed and designed. Like a fireworks show. Eventually the klan started leaving... and it occurred to me to start taking pictures... but the screen on my mothers window kept me from getting good shots...
the boxes kept transforming, eventually they packed themselves up and a large crate stood in our driveway. It didn't look particularly harmful, but symbolically was a pretty big presence... and they just left it.
I was still taking pictures only now, I could tell that somehow I was taking pictures of inside the bus. The pictures acted as a sort of credits (like for a movie), and these klansmen revealed themselves slowly... some of them had been minor characters, people at the grocery store... some of them were people my Mom knew, some were powerful people that could do a lot of damage... it was like these photocredits were enlightening us to the idea that our problems weren't over, and yet, that this was the "thing" I was waiting for... it wasn't an assassination, it was a klan rally in my driveway.
Anyway... then my roommates came home and I woke up.
The first thing I remember was that I was slightly paranoid. A girl was reading across the street, but we were dialoging, it was as if she were reading the narrating voice of my head, and I was thinking responses to her. I didn't know what she looked like. There may have been others in on the conversation, which seemed to be an incredibly important discussion of some world changing topic... but i was hungry. I walked across the street approaching the girl who was reading, and the guy who lingered around her, perhaps her body guard, perhaps her boy friend. As I approached I tried to look both at her face, and also at the book title... and recognized neither.
I was chuckling to myself. The items on my grocery list were few, and weird.
I wanted chocolate, I wanted some sort of fruit candy, I wanted a fruit punch. This was dinner.
After picking up those three items I headed to another section and saw my brother Steve. He didn't say anything and he moved further into the store, but I was trying to joke with him from across the aisles about one of the items I was buying... the last item I thought I went there for was like a teriyaki sauce with the orange label.
But while I was looking for it, I stumbled upon the valentines candy section and got sidetracked... just in case I thought, I should look to see what they have.
I was looking for chocolate with caramel in it, but they had a chocolate toffee kind that I settled for, and I remember I had to open some packages and adjust things for them, then clean up the mess... and this is how I got to my room... the scene gradually changed from a grocery store aisle (narrow with shelves) to a narrow bedroom in my fathers old apartment, where the shelves were our bunkbeds and I was cleaning the room. I was about to get settled in when i noticed the family in the hall outside the door... when I looked over the sense of paranoia returned and I think I saw a mad stabbing another man( like a weird illusion), but I generally ignored it and went to talk to my family. They were on alert too, they wanted to know what my plan was... and I said that I generally just wanted to hide out and maybe read tonight. I returned to my bed, preparing to read, when I heard more commotion, someone said someone was waiting for me, but people were coming and going from the apartment, and suddenly I was much older and instead of protecting my brothers and parents (or them protecting me), I was suddenly the father, or the older man... and I wanted to make sure whoever was at the door was ok... so I kept looking out the window, and then through the door hole view... (can't remember words right now).
Around this time, I got a call from my coworker who left a voicemail that i could only somewhat understand (due to the commotion in the apartment), she was saying "Mike that guy Matt Schealle or whatever, you were right he isn't a good guy. I talked to some friends and did a little research and... its much worse than you think. You should be very cautious, this is a real situation..." (and more but it was hard to make out).
For some reason I had been assuming "Matt" would be discreet in his killings. I was expecting an assassin, perhaps a sniper, or an assault out of nowhere.
I opened the door to the hall, and saw one of my students running away. I called out to them, suddenly realizing that I had left them waiting for me for what must have been hours... and they slowly returned crying. At first it was the same student (a white student who is very young). But then it changed to a black student and two of her family members. She was still crying, but now all three of them were dressed up like they were going out to a fancy restaurant or something. They had expected me to go, and I felt really bad that they waited so long... so bad that I briefly considered going and reviewed the places in the neighborhood... but I couldn't fathom getting dressed up to the degree that they had (they had spent hours getting ready), and I felt like a slob. I was only going to appease them, but I felt like I would embarrass them by going.
I apologized again and wished them a good night. The older two (a sister and mom?) gave me a look like they thought the whole thing was crazy in the first place and that my response was normal... where as the student still looked upset, but left anyway.
I shut the door and went to the window.
The view had changed... I was looking out the window from my Mom's house in SLP. the view was from my window in bed, and I was trying to be discreet. Look out to see who was spying on me. Who could see me in my little upstairs window?
THe street at first was thick with snow, people were trudging through it, cars were barely making it...but then more and more people started approaching towards our house... like a concerted effort... and some of them had weird things in their hands, boxes that glowed, costumes... weird shit.
a bus pulled up and some fully dressed klansmen got out, and I suddenly realized what was going on. The weird shit in their hands were crosses and stuff to burn... I got scared and ran to my Mom's room, she was asleep in her bed and I woke her up yelling the kkk are here for us. At first she didn't seem distressed, just "are they actually doing anything?" so I looked out the window again from her room and saw that they had lit some things on fire and were performing a ceremony of some kind.
I ran to steve's room but when I looked in, it seemed like a jungle gym of obstacles. I figured it would take some effort to wake steve up, so I decided to wait until it was necessary. I went back to my Mom's room, the ceremony was reaching the climax and I watched as these strange boxes mechanized and transformed... the crosses were set up in the center of a larger box, that contained what at first seemed to be water, but might have been oil or gasoline. There were two of them at the far end of the driveway and more boxes between us. THese other boxes started transforming too, sometimes spectacularly, liked flinging gas at the crosses, causing explosions that seemed timed and designed. Like a fireworks show. Eventually the klan started leaving... and it occurred to me to start taking pictures... but the screen on my mothers window kept me from getting good shots...
the boxes kept transforming, eventually they packed themselves up and a large crate stood in our driveway. It didn't look particularly harmful, but symbolically was a pretty big presence... and they just left it.
I was still taking pictures only now, I could tell that somehow I was taking pictures of inside the bus. The pictures acted as a sort of credits (like for a movie), and these klansmen revealed themselves slowly... some of them had been minor characters, people at the grocery store... some of them were people my Mom knew, some were powerful people that could do a lot of damage... it was like these photocredits were enlightening us to the idea that our problems weren't over, and yet, that this was the "thing" I was waiting for... it wasn't an assassination, it was a klan rally in my driveway.
Anyway... then my roommates came home and I woke up.
