Day 227

And on that day, when the lights went out, a child placed a message in a bottle.
The bottle carrying the message, was of little value, but it carried within a mighty howl.
For help, for deliverance, for the need to just be heard!
To be heard, if nothing else, by another living soul. Someone who could sympathize with a child who had nothing. Now, not even light.
With that in mind, this commonplace bottle containing a desperate cry, was thrown to the waters. No destination whatsoever, in the senders mind.
Simply find someone.
Such a simple wish, containing such a fraught invocation may not be able to defy the oceans ebb and flow, but it can hide from it. If only for awhile.
Long enough to be pulled by another little miracle.
A summoning by a girl, no longer a woman, who skipped a stone in the lake behind her once family home.
A stone skipped a total of seven times. The seventh skip collided with water concealing glass. The sound rings out, and the message finds a receiver.
An opportunity for the girl, no longer a woman, looking out at a brand new world.

Day 226

A Do you know why you're afraid of thunder?
B I'm not afraid-
A You are. Everyone that ever was has been afraid of thunder. Denying it doesn't help, only understanding it. Now: do you know why?
B ...
A You are afraid of it, because it shakes you. That simple.
B Wow. You come up with that on your own.
A It's true.
B Sure sure.
A It's true. Something you can not see, nor touch, comes at you very suddenly and fits itself into the spaces between the blocks you are built of and lives there. It invades you. Even if is just for a moment: you are invaded. And it doesn't matter what you say or what you do, you cannot prevent it. This thing does nothing to you, but you are frightened all the same. Imagine something that wanted to harm you. Imagine thunder that bites.
That's the universe you live in. And that is what you are afraid of.
B ... so you telling me this, this means I'm not afraid of nothing no more?
A Oh no, you'll be afraid regardless. But now you'll know why.
B ... fantastic.

Day 225

When indecision strikes and you wait until it is out of your hands, when time or circumstance makes a choice for you: there's a moment of relief.
Relief and release.
And if you're lucky, it will be enough to numb the shame of your cowardice for at least a moment.
Life is not lived in doorways.
Rooms are where life happens.
You lingering there will result in two things: either you will continue to linger, or the door will be closed, keeping you out.
Wither way, get out of the doorway.

Day 224

The now not so distant crash drew nearer, still.
And our protagonist remembered in himself that ancient fear. An inheritance left to him by his ancestors, who once looked to the dancing lights above in awe, only to withdraw to their caves in deference to the echoing roar.
His own childhood trauma of counting down the beats between flash emerged from time.
To think of thunder as a rolling drum, rather than the crashing footsteps of a behemoth, bent on crushing an innocent child.
One mississippi. Two mississippi. Three mississippi. Four-
Again. Closer than than it was before.
Closer himself to childhood than he'd been in decades.
A grown babe, clutching at anything to fight off a world bigger than himself.
No shelter from the noise.
No parents to stop the storm.
Nothing.
A child. A storm. And nothing else.

Day 223

A new service, provided by your local penny-farthing rider.
They will peddle down your local street, bringing with them an assortment of big balloons.
You'll know the rider is coming, by the sound of his unusual bell: that of an auto-tuned lynx.
When you hear that sound, you will see a great number of adults take to the streets, and should you continue to watch; a bizarre sight will be beheld.
At the front of the line of eager adults, an individual will be seen fitting their whole head into wide end of  gramophone horn. They inhale deeply, and by all appearances release a great roar.
I say by all appearances, because no roar will sound out.
Instead, the sound will carry through a series of tubes, each branching off and winding round several contraptions, before being siphoned off into various different balloons.
Relieved, the adult shall leave the line and return to their home, so the next in line might unburden a scream or a shout.
Each shout will fill up each balloon by a different amount, because each shout is composed of a different value.
Only the Penny-farthing rider knows the exact color coordination.
Just know that by the time every adult in the neighborhood has released their roars, the penny farthing rider will take their newly inflated collection of balloons away from your town.
And what they do with them ...
We haven't quite figured that part out yet ...!

Day 222

Because we cannot choose what will be remembered or recovered long after we are gone, and if this should be one such passage recovered from what will by then be considered ancient history:
There are very likely some misconceptions floating around, that I should like to clear up.
To start: we did not resurrect dinosaurs. Nor did we kill them after resurrecting them, neither for sport nor for food.
Dinosaurs aren't actually good hunting sport as the most adept tend to become the hunter themselves.
And dinosaur meat, as it turns out, cannot be cooked to a satisfying culinary temperature.
Furthermore, we were not privy to time travelers from the future. Only from the past - and they all got here the same way: the long way round.
Finally, I must shatter any illusions you may have regarding our discovery of any number of sleeping horrors in the depths of space.
I repeat, no slumbering ancients, leftover from a time when thought and form were still one and the same, have ever been discovered by the people of this time.
So if anyone in future days should be seeking such things out: cease and desist.
You are wasting your time.
There is nothing to look for.
Nothing to waken.
Nothing to find.


































Please stop looking for it.

Day 221

Log:
Today I thought the pile of dirty clothes had somehow gotten smaller, caused only by my own sheer force of will.
In reality, the pile only appeared smaller, because the nearby stack of dirty dishes had itself grown in size.
The ongoing quest to shape my reality without physically acting upon it, continues ...