Day 114

Things to do tomorrow:

Wake up.

Everything after that is a bonus.

Day 109

The impossible hiding place:

That last space. It is called the last space because once all other spaces are gone, this will be the last one. We never go there, no living thing does. It is the unifies all things, this space. All things are connected in that all things are separate.
This is true whether counting the countless steps from star to star, or measuring the inconceivable gap between your finger tip and a mouse click. There will always be a space between us. This is an absolute in our reality.
This is the final hiding place.
And something is hiding there: between what is you and what isn't.
Don't be scared. It isn't a predator and it's not stalking you, there are far more convenient places to hide in wait of one's prey.
So why is this poor creature hiding in the last place in all the universe?
Presumably it has hidden everywhere else it could possibly hide, and yet still had to hide itself again. It as hiding and fleeing and jumping between little nooks for all of time, before finding this last resort.
It is understandable to have questions.
Don't get wrapped up in the silly little questions like what could do this, or how. These are distractions from the much more pressing question, whose answer will affect you more than any other in your life.
The more pressing question is why. Why has it hidden itself everywhere in all creation over all of time.
And how long before why places itself between you and everything else?

Day 108

Word. Some words. Some more words. Even more words. Afterwards. More words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words this after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words post after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words brought after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words to after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words you after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words by after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words procrastination after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words after words end.

Day 112

All the duties had been handed out amongst the house staff.

Cleaning, cooking, tending and mending both in and around the property.

Every house keeper hurried off to their assigned duties.

Save for 2 workers.

One who was new and one who wasn't.

Today, these two workers had a simple assignment.

Watch the west room on the third floor.

Do not clean it. Do not arrange, nor rearrange it.

Simply stay inside this room and watch.

The new worker was confused, but counted themselves lucky for a task of such ease. Their partner new better.

The experience house keeper knew why there were always two assigned to watch the room.

There was once a time when the job was tasked to a single worker, but after the incident it was agreed to always have two.

That way, one could bear witness, should the other be taken.

The new worker didn't know any of this yet.

Their partner knew it all too well.

Day 107

A woman, no longer a girl, stood beside a familiar lake. Her childhood lake.
Here memories hung on the air around her. Not unlike a nearby fog, gathering above the pale blue surface.
Just as the young girl she once was once did; she now stood upon the water's edge, skipping light stones along the surface. Disturbing the tranquil calm, allowing it to recede, only to thwart tranquility one more.
All who were once children, who held rocks near water, know this exercise in redundancy.
Some have set records for how many times they might cause a thin smooth rock to dance along a watery stage. Some can't grasp the physics, never seein more than a single impact of stone on water.
However, if any were to think back on a number of stone skips they had achieved, it is unlikely they would recall the number to be that of seven. Certainly fewer and even more than seven skips could be recalled.
However, if one found they had skipped a stone to a number of exactly seven times, they would not soon forget what came after.
Just as this woman would not forget.
Seven skips, a sad sigh and then: a distant song. Sung without breath and without lips, the melody could be felt shaking each of the bars making up her heart's cage.
The gentle mist that had been gathering that day seemed pulled by this music, towards the shoreline where she stood in awe.
It must have been the song, for no wind disturbed the water.
A woman, no longer a girl, no longer stood beside a familiar lake
A girl, no longer a woman, stood before a brand new world.

Day 106

I'm in a dream.
I'm in the woods near my house. Walking by myself.
It's night and the woods are quiet, save for the sound of crickets chirping.
I'm walking the path back as best I can. But it is dark. And I'm growing concerned.
I'm concerned because it's late. Too late to be out walking alone in a quiet woods, save for chirping crickets.
Because I feel like I'm not alone.
Also the chirping keeps cutting to static sounds.
And this isn't the woods near my house.
And my feet can't move in these restraints.
And this is not a dream.
And I am not alone.

Day 104

There was once an impossible house with an impossible number of rooms.
Each room held a memory, each memory had a door, each door a lock with a separate key.
Since So many keys could not fit a single ring, the homeowner elected to burn the building down.
As the past burnt around them, they stood by the front door.
Neither moon nor star shone on this night.
The only light to guide them, would be the flames they leave behind them, whilst walking away from the growing blaze into a dark cold night.

Day 102

Think back to the first time you heard a word, before seeing what it was associated with.
Can you remember the image that came to mind?
Hearing about a dog person, before being told what a dog person actually was, comes to mind as a magical few moments in my life.
Expectation: a person who is part dog.
Reality: just some dude who likes dogs. My disappointment would be immediately curbed when in anticipation of meeting a dog.
Other words: Dragon fruit. This one is actually quite fresh as I'd only seen the epically named produce for the first time a year ago. I don't even want to eat it. Based on how underwhelming the appearance to the name was, I can only imagine how disappointing the taste should prove.
A chain letter! Imagine a letter written on a chain. Practical? No. Legible? Unlikely. But epic: very.
These are only a few examples of a time before I knew what a thing was, because I had only heard the name of it.
The mind raced to solve the riddle that was all of a sudden popped into my head. A mystery that, only moments before, never even existed to me and I didn't know needed to be solved.
As I've grown older, these mysteries have been harder to find, because in the past they found me.
What will the next one be ... and when can we meet up?
Gingerbread house: that was another one. Though technically what it proported to be, just on a more disappointing scale then I'd have wanted.

Day 105

A dear friend once told me that the saddest poem she ever had read, was a mere 5 words in length.

Upon welcoming their first child into the world, my friend and her husband found themselves buried beneath an avalanche of well wishes.

This was before the social media boom, mind you, so the majority of greetings came via gifts, cards, and the occasional phone call.

One letter, however, is imprinted in both her and her husbands minds of o this very day.

It was from a man that neither had told of the expecting child.

Be not mistaken, the decision to withhold news of their expanding family had not been an act of cruelty, but mercy.

They each loved the man dearly, who had even been at their wedding.

However, in recent years, he had suffered losses so great as to crush the hearts of any who might hear it.

Neither husband nor wife, now mother and father, had wanted to flaunt their fortune in the face of their friend still in mourning.

So both had elected instead to spare the man, until time might permit a more opportunity.

The hand written envelope attached to a gift wrapped box, dashed any hope that their ruse was believed.

The husband opened the gift. As he did so, each of his chestnut eyebrows raised in surprise. 

His face then fell as he read, re-read and read again the attached instructions. He imprinted the notes message unto the forefront of his mind.

He then looked to the most important people in his life, raised the newly unwrapped gift and snapped a candid photo.

My friend was only slightly annoyed, having been caught in an unflattering post labour pose. 

Yet all petty anger was forgotten, when he handed her their poor old friend's words.

A man who'd once been where they now were. Who had seen his way through late night feedings and early morning changes, and many memories far and away. A wretched soul who knew what it was to have what they both had and lose it all only an instant after; his words would echo through to the ends of both their lives:

"Remember to take some pictures"

Day 101

There's a story I want to tell.
It's about a woman on a quest to save her family from death.
But this lady is a knight, you see. On what any non-knight might call a fools errand. And what are fools, but knights without armour?
And what is death to her, this impossible woman. She won't let a little thing like mortality keep her from her quest.
She will find the means to defeat death.
It will carry her over rushing waters, through glass cites, above insurmountable peaks, and through the lowest pits of despair.
She'll go anywhere and everywhere and where it will ultimately bring her ...
I don't know how the story ends yet.
I'd be lying if I said I don't want a happy ending.
But as anyone who's ever written anything will tell you: it's not entirely up to me how it ends.
Just that it does end. That, and that it begins.
So. Let us begin:

She asked that I call her Diane, but assured me that she was born a Ruth.
She would then go on to explain to me that she didn't hate the name Ruth, but that she felt she had not yet grown into it.
And so, until she would age into Ruth, I should simply refer to her as Diane.
"And don't worry," she assured me "If I should become a Ruth, you'll know it without my having to even tell you."
First impressions are a funny thing, aren't they.

Day 99

You woke up in a forest, near a lake. It was fall.
It doesn't matter why you were there, or why you spent the night. This place and this time of year means nothing to you. It doesn't matter why you were there, only that you were.
You were awakened by a single ray of light. It was morning, but an overcast of clouds meant the world was not yet aflame with sunlight. The clouds had thwarted the dawn, save for the gentle wisps of sun that moved sleep from your face.
It's warmth reminded you of the cold night you had just endured, and so you curled closer to the scarce luminescence.
But all to quickly, the pool of light vanished. Swallowed up by the upstart cloud clusters above.
Before you could lament the passing of this brief kindness, another pool of light appeared. This time slightly ahead of you. Little more than one pace away.
You were compelled to stand and approach, but just as you are bathed in warmth, the light vanished again only to reappear before you.
You approach and approach and history repeats itself, but you were not one to be bested by a childish game.
The light seemed to skip ahead of you as you found yourself chasing at a pace your early morning muscles could allow. You chased this playful sun beam all along the lake shore until you found yourself on an inlet. As if in applause for you determination, you were rewarded with a golden beam linking you to the heavens above.
You stood on a brilliant green patch of grass, unaffected by the autumn chill. You looked out on the grey blue waters of this lake you had come to as a child. You traced back the path you'd taken to this spot all the way along the shoreline to where you had spent the cold night waiting for ...
It doesn't matter why you were there that night.
It didn't matter why you were on an inlet looking over a lake from the past.
All that matters is you were there.
And now you're here.

Day 103

He was the sort of man who would insist he'd seen all that a place had to offer, even if he only visited in a dream.

And even in dreams, he never left the airport lobby!

Day 98

And within the ravenous creature was a gaping pit with no floor to speak of.

For years it consumed all in its path, but nothing would satiate it.

Until finally a sage pointed out that the hole was an impossibility.

So it. Must be treated paradoxically.

The pit is beaten, not by taking, but by giving.

Excess had attracted rot, where generosity would bring nourishment.

The creature regarded the sages words - before eating them, and then the sage in turn.

It is still eating. This is not a parable.

Hunger is a terrifying thing. Especially in those possessed of sharp teeth.

Day 95

Once upon a time a man was kind.

He was kinder than was expected of him.

He liked to be kind.

He did not like attention to be drawn to his kindness.

If one were to look too closely they may find out the man was not kind, simply being kind. He was not a kind man. He was just a man.

He was being kind, because he wanted to look back one day on his kind acts, and know that he was capable of kindness.

A day would come when he would not be kind.

When he would be unkind.

It wasn't something he looked forward to. He didn't have any intentions towards cruelty, but he knew that that one day would soon come.

Until then, he would practice kindness. While he could keep being kind.

Day 100

I don't get to dictate to people what they should care about.

I'm not a deity, that I know of, nor do I possess psychic abilities.

Unless I am and I do, in which case my powers and true form remain dormant until further notice.

Ultimately, I shouldn't be dictating what people care about.

I don't always know what I should care about.

Laundry should be a higher priority.

So should exercise.

Don't even talk to me about sleeping regularly.

No, I am not the one to tell others what they should care about.

But today, it'd be nice if I could. 

Just for one moment ...

Day 97

They told us to go out and conquer the world.

They neglected to tell us, however, that to own something wasn't the same as having it.

That you don't have to own the world.

You just need to see it.

Live in it. Love in it.

Then this world will truly be yours.

And nothing can ever take it from you.

Day 96

The dangers of reading bad writings before bed:

Between paragraphs of unremarkable characters passively describing a glass on a desk in a room, with absolutely zero intrigue or drama in sight; my body succumbed to sleep.

Far better to be unconscious than endure another word void of creativity.

However, the mind took up the strands, and from the room. Came something ... stranger.

The unremarkable character became aware of my reading his thoughts. Not one to be spied upon, his inner monologue took the shape of a face in the pages I was reading. The eyes remained dead, but the lips began to move. No longer was I conjuring a narrative in my mind from what I was reading, now the words were being broadcast directly into my skull.

The voice of the boring man implored me to set him free.

I answered back that I did not know how.

His displeasure was received in all caps, with bolded type.

FREE ME!

I jolt awake, tossing the real book out of dreamed up fears.

I hesitate to approach the fallen script, but do so. Picking it up, crack open the cover and fan out all the pages. I stop where I last was, and resume reading.

The droning mediocrity of a character without significance, in a story void of interest.

Pity. In contrast it might actually be better to be a tacked by a possessed manuscript...!

Day 94

The obstacle may be different, but the story is the same.

Forward: or back?

Behind her lies a forest, fully grown from the seeds of her misdeeds; sown and watered by repentance and remorse.

To go back and visit each tree, was certainly an option.

A far more attractive prospect compared to what lie before her.

A wall of shadow. No. Not a wall; walls are not in the habit of coursing and pulsating.

The darkness before our hero was viscous. To venture would, surely feel less like a step, more like a plunge. 

What creature possessed of its sense would ever contemplate going forward?

Were she merely making a pathway in leisure or curiosity, she should not go into this cavernous maw of her own volition.

Should she turn back. 

Become a gardener again? Tend to the trees?

The air is still. No wind will choose for her.

She looks back at what has been behind her all this time.

The flora cannot chase her, it can only remain.

She looks forward at what must needs be chased.

The hunt is her garden. She shall tend it with a nurturing zeal, in hopes of a great yield.

One step forward, and she is plunged into the unknown.

Day 93

The final song is due for review.
A great ear has requested an early play through.
It is unclear what will come of such a preview, however the last time this occurred there was calamity on such a level as to warrant words like extinction, annihilation and cataclysm. The old favorites.
What is the final song, you may ask?
A collaborative composition that has been worked on since the dawn of time.
It is a soundscape created for the sole purpose of being performed on the final day of existence. When all life and non-life comes to its eventual end, a tune shall emerge.
Imagine the universe reduced to the maw of a swan and, in its dying, releases the last of its existence in the shape of sound. The last gasp after an eternity of breathing. In a melodic death rattle the echo of all eternity will be replayed and the last listener will be filled by the vibration of it. Overcome by the enormity of it all.
This listener will be moved. Inspired, and set out to replicate what was heard and felt.
And so, existence will find a second life, as the audience becomes the final collaborator and the final song continues on.
And on.
And.
On.

Day 92

A prophecy:
In the future, much farther away then next week or even next year, our people develop a technorganic plantlife that will come to be known as parrot moss.
When originally designed and implemented, this will not be its name initially; rather it will be assigned a serialized mashup of numbers and letters that are both boring and forgettable. This bio engineered flora will be cooked up by an intelligence gathering agency, in attempts to grow unassuming recording devices in public spaces. Not necessarily for use in espionage or political gain; in all likelihood it will be all part of a marketing campaign.
Regardless, the devices will start to malfunction.
They will do as they will be meant to do, which is to record the conversations of the unsuspecting, but they will also do what they should not: broadcast what they have record.
Hence the name parrot moss.
Upon discovering the flaw, the greenery will be removed and destroyed from public spaces, save for in one location: an indiscreet patch growing in a particularly charming public park.
This patch of parrot moss will remain in the park until humanity lives past its need for parks.
It will record snippets of walking dates, parents running their children to the playground, concerts at twilight, outdoor plays at dusk, bird songs at the dawn. An audio record will exist of all the sounds of life that have gone on around a patch of unassuming grass.
It will malfunction on occasion and begin to echo back all the samples stockpiled over the decades and the once charming park will be labeled as haunted.
A field of ghosts. That really is all ghosts are, echoes of another day.
But these firings of sound will be completely random, and those brave few who walk the abandoned park's paths will be treated to some singular auditory experiences. Half conversations being answered by long lost symphonies while dogs bark at a poor soul trying to recite Hamlet. No two encounters will be the same.
Finally, on doomsday, the last earthling will come to this remnant of a long lost society and rest their weary head upon the ancient moss.
And at that moment, the sounds and voices of civilization past, will all come together. And, despite being dead, their voices will rise and the song of silent ends will begin. A composition that only plays when a world ends.
And this will guide the last earthling into a blissful extinction.

Day 91

New game:

Made up folk knowledge attribution (only for fun, not for profit)

In this game, you make up reasons for everyday inconveniences in your day to day life.

Examples include:

When someone sneezes two times in a row, you may congratulate them, and assure them that it is a sign that a faerie curse did NOT take ahold of them.

If they sneeze a third time, you may offer condolences, and quickly leave their company.

If your lower back starts flaring up with pain, assure someone nearby that the sun may be rising in the east this morning, but it wishes to rise in the west.

A writer can ascribe their sudden burst of inspiration to a book falling from it's place, somewhere in the world, and falling open! Writer's block occurs when a book falls and does not open. You can imagine which occurrence is more common.

When the wind gust hits you, it means you've forgotten something.

If you see the first raindrop in a downpour, expect to have an important conversation soon.

If you find a flower growing through concrete, you can expect a big choice is coming your way.

Finally, when a ray of sunlight crosses your face, smile. Know that it means you're being thought kindly of by someone, somewhere in the world.

You win if one of your faux folk attributions gets picked up and the world smiles more.

You lose if you start a cult.