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Saturday, September 30, 2017

Chapter 3 rough draft

"Where are you?" a haunting voice beckons then falls silent.
The silence lasts an eternity.
Then again, "Where are you?"

An unfamiliar ceiling. Or is it? "That could be my ceiling." a dazed Riley thinks. "Maybe if it would stop moving for a second I could figure it out."
She rolls over in an effort to get up.
"Well this is definitely not my floor."
A cheerful voice rings out in the distance. It informs her of the aspirin on the table by her side and the glass of water with it. It lets her know breakfast is almost ready.
"Oh that's right. I went to Katie's place last night for movies and wine. I don't even remember what we watched." Riley rises unsteadily to her feet and takes the aspirin. Then saunters over to the table and flops into a chair, trying her best to will the outside world and her headache to disappear. The food smells like food. She forces herself to nibble at it despite the writhing protests of her stomach. "Katie is cheerful as always. She remarks about how I must have finished the bottle myself after she went to bed. I did. And I'd do it again. It helps me not think."

Riley responds appropriately to what Katie says. Then makes up an excuse and leaves. She walks straight home and crawls into bed. She dreams vividly for three hours. Her alarm wakes her and she changes her clothes, pats down her hair, and goes to work.

Work is uninteresting, soul-crushing even. Everyday is a rerun of the last. Nothing ever changes. No one ever understands. When asked to perform a specific task, Riley does the task exactly as asked. When she is finished, they tell her it was wrong. They admit she did what was asked, but she should have known to also do other things they didn't ask. Or to do things differently than asked.

Riley stares them dead in the eye without emotion. She asks how she would know to do things without being told those things need doing. They say it's only common sense. Anyone would just know to do it automatically. That she's strange for not understanding that.

Riley sees no logic in this reasoning. She nods. At eight o clock she leaves.

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

Chapter 2 rough draft

I've always thought of the act of writing to be an act of limiting. The blank page holds endless possibilities. Any story imaginable can be carved into its pristine void. Any word in existence can be the first word of the story until the first sentence is penned. After that, infinity collapses into one.

At school Riley was consistently at the top of her class. Not that it mattered to her. She was simply doing what was expected of her and had no issues understanding the material. That was her special ability after-all. It failed to give her great pleasure or great pain. It was simply a thing to be done.

Already Riley understood adults were mostly liars and automatons. They practically told her so themselves; solidifying a suspicion Riley had for years. Age does not equal intelligence.

She would do what was required. Nothing more. Nothing less. When her release date was reached, she would leave this torture camp and find her own happiness. Until that day the only goal was to survive.

Riley spent most of her time in deep thought. She was constantly observing the world and altering her theories. People were the easiest of all. Everything they did was just a show for each other to watch. There was no substance to it. All anyone seemed to care about is the manipulation of the people around them. Each one said or did things simply to further their own goals. And what their goals inevitably turned out to be were little more than the attention of others.

They earned money so others would pay attention to them.
They made art so others would pay attention to them.
They studied so others would pay attention to them.
They exercised so others would pay attention to them.
They made jokes for attention.
Cried for attention.
Got angry for attention.
Every thought and action with the same insubstantial goal.
The attention of others who are as weak and meaningless as themselves.
Do they think they can only be real if they all affirm each other's reality?

Either way, it was a closed loop. Nothing gained. It just keeps going around endlessly accomplishing nothing. There must be something else. Another way. So as Riley grew older, she paid attention to no one.

Tuesday, September 12, 2017

Chapter 1 rough draft

I would say this is my last chance, but that would be a lie, wouldn't it? For who can really tell which chance is truly their last? I've tried all my life. Every chance seemed like the last at the time. Then there was another... and another. What might feel like the end isn't necessarily THE END. More often then not, it is simply an end.

So let me tell you about an end. We can uncover its finality if and when the occasion arises. Until then, you'll be needing a background. The sequence and timing of events is crucial to understanding the situation we currently find ourselves in.

Riley was one of 8 siblings. During her early years her parents wondered if there might be something wrong with her. She did not begin talking until she was three years old, a full year after even the slowest child in the neighborhood. Yet, when Riley finally did speak she was far more elegant with words than her peers. (As elegant as a three year old can be, which turns out to be not that much.)

Only two years later, at the age of five, was the first time Riley considered killing herself.
"It was simple enough," she thought. "Just hop in front of a car or jump off a bridge, and there you go. Real quick and painless. If I do this I'm definitely not doing it the other ways."
The other ways were slow, and messy, and painful. She didn't want pain. She wanted out.

You see, Riley's mind was a special one. She had the ability to understand. She understood things like: Everyday is someone's last day. And what does everyone hope to do by their last day? Change the world? Leave a mark? Accomplish great feats and be remembered and loved by others? Find purpose? Yet, look at this world. It refuses to change. People constantly die unknown and penniless. They are forgotten, or hated, or an air conditioner falls out an eighth story window and smushes their head to bits. Pointless.

There is no grand arc to a person's life. No hero's journey destined to be fulfilled. There is simply nothing. You do arbitrary things until you stop doing arbitrary things and that's just the way it is.

Still, the thought of eternal torment in Hell terrified her horribly. Now Riley didn't really believe the words spoken by the adults at church. To be honest, they terrified her. She found the possibility that truly believed what they said to be the most frightening prospect of all. Still, she could not make this decision without first getting more facts on the subject. Once she understood the truth of the matter, she could make an informed decision.

Riley cried alone in her bed. Fully cognizant of the Hell of reality which stretched out seemingly endlessly before her, and begged any higher beings of any kind if they existed, to please help her.

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

Tired Today

I saw part of the eclipse before going to bed. I dreamed I was on a road. Sometimes I walked alongside it. Other times I drove upon it. It was my main road. I lived on it. I took it to work. I sat at it's side and watched time pass. And as I traveled back and forth on this worn, average road I heard a voice speaking to me.

It told me this was the road to greatness. It may look ordinary. It may be identical to innumerable others, but this here, was the road to greatness.

Every influential person in the history of the world traveled down this same path. They felt the mundanity of everyday life. Doubt overcast their works and actions. Not one of them felt particularly gifted or special. Yet they were all destined for greatness.

This is how it felt to be a world-changer. It felt like nothing at all. It didn't change fate to not feel destined for anything.

I was tired, aimless, and trapped by day to day life. I wanted it to end. I thought of ending it myself, but I stuck around. I stuck around because or hope and chance. Something could happen as long as I kept going. As long as I didn't give up. There were no promises of change, only the opportunity for it. So I waited.

The voice promised, despite all of this, that I was destined for greatness. I was an important figure in a grand plan I'll never understand. That I was on the road. I just had to keep walking it.

Saturday, February 4, 2017

Anal Wonderland

time. eternity in an instant
fantasies commingling in immutable dynamism
tomes scrit in search of a word
of a person
a feeling
the truth of a feeling

can a disparate collection
of moments and ideas
ever truly be loved
or love in return

I hate you all so dearly
you ragged husks of contradiction
with your antithetical missions
and self-defeating notions of triumph

gazing through a glass darkly
intentions disobeyed
vitiare in perpetuum