Day 269

Just a reminder that we adapt to our environments.

If you find yourself in the midst of things you despise and dread, you may very well become a creature capable of enduring it.

But then what might you be, then?

So please, whenever possible, remove yourself from the dark caverns.

Do not learn to live without the light...

Day 268

Several notes are discovered from a handful of humans, each notes from a person of a different age.

The youngest wonders what the reader may be like. They speculate and offer their versions of what the alien reader may look like.

"You have three noses, on for food, one for flowers and one for bathrooms. Also you like hats!"

There is charm in this naivety.

The older writers are more keen on asking questions in the hopes of answers.

They no longer care what the reader maybe or possess, only that they reciprocate.

"Dialogue can't be solitary!" An eager hand writes.

Desperation for some form of correspondence escalates as the senders get older; some go so far as to attribute everyday occurrences in their own lives as the reader's response in code.

"I felt as if you were that thrush of birds  escaping that fire storm. Was that you beside me I the evacuation?"

It was not. It never was you.

At a certain point, the goal of he letters shift, from wanting to have a dialogue, to simply wanting to leave evidence of having called out at all.

These would be found in the oldest of correspondents.

"I know now that I will likely never receive an answer, and the thought no longer troubles me. I also no longer dread that my musings may never meet another's eyes, though I should lament such a waste of ink and thought.

So with nothing more than hope of discovery, I write to you.

I will not expect a return, though I shouldn't mind receiving one if you are in the area.

I hope whomever you are, you appreciate that someone over. Here wanted to meet you very much. But will have to take consolation that I was simply too early for you.

A pity. I should have liked to have known whether or not. You in fact did like hats ... the number of noses is less prudent."

It turns out that every letter, every correspondence you've been pouring over, had come from the same person.

They had simply been writing you their entire lives.

Day 267

My god, when did you all stop being explorers?
When did the natural curiosities, which have brought you this far, dry up and leave you complacent?
Did the horizon lose its luster?!
What in this place and time, made you stop and say far enough?
I see in you no contentment. No peace. If you had peace, would you so rally around this fork tongued peddler, and his offers of a return to better times?!
What better times?!
The times have always been leading to now. They were never better.
Better was always the promise of the next part. The future.
What you reminisce on now, is the vision of today, not yet realized. Only looked upon.
An the sight of a thing can sometimes be more alluring, the farther away it is.
But it will never compare to being beside it.
Being in the presence of the moment itself!
So what does the next moment look like?
Not just for you or I: but for all?
Where will we go next?
That is what he cannot sell you, and why he doesn't even dare try.
Because no one can sell you tomorrow. It's up to you to take it.

Day 266

I want to be an optimist. Right now. In this moment. Hearing you say the things your saying - I want to believe that you're doing all of this for some kind of better world for anyone other than yourself.
That beneath the blatant selfishness of your actions, there resonates an altruistic spirit.
A genuine desire to see this world better off than how we came into it.
I want to believe it.
Truly, I do.
But every time you widen that gaping maw, I am overwhelmed by the flood of profanity that is "your frank opinion" about human beings; and I am left with no other option than to see you as you appear to be: a monster.

Day 265

I did it!
It only took off days/weeks/months of my life but I finally made it onto the online leaderboard of an online game, which I would know none of the other players by name or even sight, and my record will likely be beaten by someone who doesn't have to stop playing for work!
...
...
... I may have made an error.

Day 264

Long ago, when you were so very small and the world still very large - though, how large you could not yet know - you were cared for and look after by giants.
You may not remember. It was a very long time ago.
But they were there and so were you.
They held you in the palm of their hand. They covered you from falling rain and warmed you with sheets of fabric plucked from high places.
Everything you once were, was bundled up and cradled by the most powerful arms in existence.
You look around you now, no longer small, and you wonder where all the giants have gone.
Those titans of your youth, who held back a world of elements from your fresh skin.
Them that kept the wolves and fanged creature away from your tiny fingers and wriggling toes.
These great mammoths who could lift you up over any crossing, or place you down from insurmountable peaks.
They are not longer here ... and the realization will sadden you.
It should.
For an entire people that were once the most impressive thing in the universe has vanished.
It did so gradually and at the same time: all at once.
And you can't pinpoint the day between population and extinction.
You just, sort of noticed that you hadn't noticed until today.
So.
Really once must ask: where did all the giants go?

Day 190

Hey this is me/you sending a message from me (also you) to you (who is also me) 4 months in the future.

I'm still here, meaning you are still here. Meaning the world is still here. So try not to worry about that so much.
Okay?
Great!

Also, it is right now getting cooler outside, so I beat the heat.
Meaning you will beat the heat.
You will complain about it though.
I still do ... *sigh*

Day 263

There is no guarantee that you are not a dream.
That the world you embody is not simply the subconscious summons of a 30 year old author not yet ready to awake.
The only way to be sure, is when all this ends. You will either end, as dreams do, or awaken and forget all of this in time.

This scenario is not only beyond your knowing, it is beyond your control.
What is in your control, is the dream. This moment before waking.
So before Summer falls to Autumn, followed closely by Winter and spring, ask yourself this: will it be a good dream?

What if dreams occurred around us in the real world. Interacting with real people.
Just subconscious whatever s coming busting into the supermarket, you strike up a conversation and then: POOF! Looks like that IT person woke up from their power nap, back to work for them and you have to deal with the fact that you were making small talk with a subconscious projection.

Day 262

After just one night's stay, a man checks out of his modest motel room.
Upon returning the keys he compliments the front desk clerk on her accent.
She brushes he comment aside politely; not at all interested in a banal conversation about her life's path from an ocean side hamlet, to a road side motel that straddles the county line.
The man then asks if he should go there, as he is currently without a destination and a big body of water sounds appealing.
Humoring him, she answers that she's only seen the one ocean, but hears the other one might be better.
The man appears to think on this statement, before reaching into his pocket and flipping a coin. He catches it in the hand that flicked it. Upon revealing a heads side up result, the man seems to come to a conclusion.
He tells the desk clerk he'll let her know for sure the next time he see's her.
The man hops on a bicycle, and heads out. Apparently in search of an ocean.
The private eye who, will soon come to this motel in search of the wanderer, will assume all of this was a deliberate attempt to shake any would be pursuers.
This is untrue. As the wanderer has no clue so many people are seeking him.
He simply is a man in search of a destination.

Day 261

The kindly clock maker closes his shop just as the sun begins to set.
And as with most days, he descends to the basement to tinker with an ongoing project, a beautiful carriage clock he had been repairing for weeks. Not for commission, simply for the fun of it.
But just as his tools are laid out, and his bi-optics donned - the man's fun is disrupted by four distinct knocks.
The clocksmith calls out:
"The hour is late, and my minute hand needs tending."
A deliberate pause is felt, before a harsh voice replies:
"Forgive the hour, but my second hand is slowing and time is nearly out. Could the smithy be bothered?"
The old artisan sighed, before replacing his delicate instruments for tools of a clumsier make.
"No bother at all!" The old man replies.
He heads to the back door, burdened with purpose.
It is at this time, like every time before, that he must remind himself: a rebellion without bloodshed, is merely a tantrum.
He had skills, and they were of use to this cause.
And after all, torture isn't so different from mending watches.

Day 260

Waiting. The only thing worse than waiting for a stranger to arrive, is waiting in a greasy spoon that can't even get coffee right.|I try to stall as long as possible by looking over the crusty menu a couple more times,  but the pushy server keep rattling off the specials every time she overfills my cup of black tar.
I settle on the soup and sandwich. The server assures me that my sandwich is made with miracle whip instead of butter, because here they treat their diners. "Like what?" I don't ask.
Instead I check the watch on my left hand, while subtly dropping my right to the loaded cannon on my hip.
I make a note of the time, and vow to clear out the entire kitchen staff if my guest doesn't arrive in the next 15 minutes.
This is generosity on my part.
if the food arrives before than, I may have to start shooting then.
Better that, than actually eating the food.

Day 259

A street dancer, a spray paint artist and a living statue may seem like the setup to a weird dad joke - and it may very well be - but more than that: it is the team assembled for a divine purpose.
To steal from one of the most notorious money launderers this city has ever seen.
So maybe throw more than an empty condom wrapper in the hat next time?

Day 258

"Never, never, never get in a fight with an ugly person. No one ever tell you that? You know why don'tcha? They got nothing to lose. Case in point my acne scarred forehead vs your divinely shaped nose - like that's a beautiful nose. Do you breathe through that thing, or is it purely decorative? Doesn't matter. Now I head but you: centre of your gorgeous mug, It's like throwing a turd at a painting. The turd - my face - is still a turd. But that work of art - your face - has depreciates. Irreversibly so. Now you may beat me, you may even kill me. No loss, I've already buried my mother - may she roast in piece - but you. If you start this, I guarantee you'll remember me every time you have to do a double take at a reflective surface. Cause there's no way that can be you, right?"

Day 257

A night at the symphony should be a pleasant affair, at worst. Certainly if one is attending while seated in their private box.
But had this patron known this would be the final sound he would hear, he might have spent less time ogling the second chair violinist, and more time enjoying Holst's 32nd Opus.
He may have even found some somber amusement at the irony he should die during a rendition of "Saturn, Bringer of Old Age.
I say may have, but my uncle rarely put that kind of thought into things.
More likely such an observation would have to be pointed out to him.
Probably by me.

Day 256

A man's debts catch up with him.
The beatings inflicted by his lenders will not be enough, this time.
And so he is used in experiment, to test whether humans, under duress can fly.
They conduct this by throwing him off a tall cliff to the rocky waters below.
The results are predictable for the most part, as the man plummets to an impending end.
In the brief moment before the liquid surface is broken by the falling mass, however, a miracle occurs.
No, he does not sprout wings.
But he does hover, the moment before impact, to come face to face with his own reflection.
This suspended moment is accompanied by an unfamiliar voice, offering a deal.
The terms: swap places with the man you see, and you will be spared the impact of the fall.
Accustomed to taking on deals without questioning the possible fallout, the debtor accepts.
He is now his reflections, and he is no longer falling towards the surface, but being pulled away from it, on the inverse side.
Even though he is surrounded by water, he does not fear drowning.
He fears very little.
He has dodged another debt, but where will this one lead?
How far will this one drag him down. Or up? It's hard to tell on this side of things.

Day 255

A freshly tailored suit is worn after a luxurious pampering: a shave, a haircut, a pedicure, the works.
The man was not used to such indulgences, but the occasion called for it. He was attending a party, after all.
He had an invitation, despite not being invited, to a fundraising gala at one of the most elegant homes in the province.
The glamour and exclusivity of the event, meant little to the suited fellow.
The guest list, however, meant a great deal.
Particularly four names.
As he tested the sharpness of his concealed knife, the man wondered whether he should bring a gift ... or would that be weird?

Day 254

A late night on a not so busy city street; the faint whines of a cell phone is barely heard through the downpour of rain.
A body - not yet a corpse - struggles to drag itself to the nearby ringing, where only a moment ago their business associate stood. Alive. Complaining about wet socks and running noses. Good times.
A ringing phone is a torturous sound at the best of circumstances; this was that but as a three act play by Pinter. Torture over moments uncountable; insistent of its own significance and necessity, but ultimately just long and agonizing. And frustrating.
Each precious inch of ground gripped by the wounded figure, came at a cost.
Paid in effort. Paid in pain. Paid in blood leaking out of the numerous holes, freshly inflicted.
The only way in which this could get worse, is if the insistent caller on the other end, turned out to be a robo-dialer offering air miles.
An appropriate end to this cluster fuck of an evening.

Day 253

The man sat upon the final piece of land the locals had afforded him: an overgrown patch of wood not even the animals would inhabit.
Before this they had removed him from a house on the outskirts of town, before that they had ejected him from a house in town. And judging from the noise of several armed men approaching, even in this they could not leave him.
He looked around him, as before, for some semblance of understanding for his would be evictors.
But out here he could find no pity for them.
All that he could see was the fire before him, and the wood surrounding him.
And so, with no empathy to be found, our man set out to welcome his pursuers with all that was left to him.

Day 252

It was not at all like the movies have represented it - getting mugged.
For one thing, it was a lot quieter with much less dialogue than I had come to expect.
For another, the panic in the three hooded strangers was very palatable.
Don't get me wrong, they were also intimidating, sticks and clubs in hand while steadily encircling me.
But my fear of them was over whelmed by my pity for them.
The panic I felt in them.
I felt it when the first one lunged at me, I felt it when I when I broke his nose, I felt it when I broke the second ones neck, I felt it with every shuddering impact as I beat the third one to death with his own club.
All I could feel was their panic and doubt with this scenario.
I'm sure if they weren't dead, they would agree: this was nothing like the movies.
I suppose because this isn't a movie.

Day 251

In your dream she is driving, while you rest in the passenger's seat beside her.
She is concentrating on the road, but steals a glance in your direction when she feels you staring at her.
In your dream she smiles sweetly at you before asking you to "say something nice."
Before you can answer her, there is a sudden and terrible crash: there are no survivors.
This is true to life, as well as in your dream.
The only difference is you were never really in the passenger's seat of the car, because she had was driving alone while you were in your home.
Wishing, between long drinks, that you could have told her something nice.

Day 250

Snow falls heavily upon what, only moments ago, was an autumn trail.
The traveler slips upon the slick incline, while struggling to protect their precious cargo: a delicate bundle wrapped in cloths.
The newly minted messenger checks to make sure there is no harm.
They risk a moments breath, before stealing a glance at the parcel.
Satisfied, they tighten their flimsy cloak and defy the elements.
Making silent vows to no one and everyone, that they shall deliver this package.

Day 249

A man awakens in an empty coffee shop.
His mug is empty, which is understandable, since he'd had to fill the first cup himself.
The man leaves a generous tip upon exiting; mostly out of habit. But who knows, someone may need to start work immediately after the rapture ...
As he starts his car, the man takes a look at the desolate town, now void of populace.
The sight might summon tears in the man, except he'd ripped the last of them out of his eyes the night before, when he buried his wife in their backyard.

Day 248

A kindly old man in a sharp white suit holds a door open for a mother and her two children, before making to board his train.
This genteel fellow smiles and hums all the while, giving any onlooker the impression that he is, at worse, an affable eccentric.
Unless this hypothetical onlooker should closely inspect the sizeable ring upon the gentleman's left hand.
Those who wear jewelry, habitually remove it when washing or scrubbing their hands.
Even if they were wearing the ring, while beating to death a group of would be assassins, they may habitually remove said ring.
And blood gets everywhere.
In contrast, the suit was heavenly white.

Day 247

It was so easy, to a child's mind, to reach up and grab one of the brightest stars, then hold it close tho their chest in a warm embrace.
So why couldn't they just do that?
The child pondered and pondered and came to the following conclusion: the star was too far away and their arms were too short.
So the child reasoned, that they simply had to find a closer sky and reach it with longer arms.
Well nighttime waters, look an awful like the night sky up above. And the child's sister could reach all the highest shelves in the neighborhood.
All they needed to do was have their sister reach down and grab a star for them!
It couldn't fail!

Day 246

As I continued to slog through the manifestation of futility, known as cleaning my room, more and more I was faced with a disturbing notion.
That this may not actually be my room.
I recognized the eclectic collection of do-dads and accessories both as they were and where they came from. I can recall a time when I wore these strange combinations of outfits, though the memories were rarely recent.
Entire sections of my humble library were made up of unopened books. Scraps of paper upon which was scribbled in my had; words whose origin I cannot determine. Were these my thoughts once, or a message recorded at the behest of another.
Whose life had been living with these things?
What stranger occupied my space?
And what was more: who I was to feel such a foil to this nonperson?
Where was I to be found in all of this unrecognizable rubble?
And so, with all of these assorted nick-knacks and trinkets scattered about, I set out to assemble the puzzle that the pieces should show me.
Anything, to avoid actually cleaning my room...

Day 245

Don't forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he always wanted: he lived happily ever after."
And then the half mad genius with the giant heart flies off into the clouds with our hero as credits roll.
And the child I was, watches it all with a little sadness.
Because it's over.
They lived happily ever after.
And yet I'm sad.
I'm sad because it's ended.
Endings are sad. This is implanted in me from a young age, and whether I'm aware of it or not, I keep this notion with me.
But something else is linked to this bizarre notion: happiness endings are sad. Therefore: happiness is sad.
I fear and avoid happily ever after.
Because ever "ever after" is just another way of saying "till the end" and endings are still sad.
So, how do we embrace happiness?
Don't worry about the ever after, because that comes after. Just try to live happily.
Live for that flying machine.

Day 244

Oh eff it!
I'm a li'l bi drunk and a lot tired. So why not write anything.
I don't know has bee coming to mind more and more.
What do you want?
I don't know.
What would you change if you could change anything?
I don't know.
Where do you want to meet for coffee-
GODDAMMIT rule of three: I DON'T KNOW!