Globule: A Sphere of Mind

The Sunset

2009-11-27T16:03:00.001-08:00

Preface : Understanding

*Two people are sitting on a hill, staring at a sunset. There's a large tree growing to the right of them, with a small swing hanging from it. The Sun is massive and about halfway set.*

Man on left: I've always wondered what it would be like to set. To dissapear from causing lumination for a massive group of people and leaving them for a period of time to go and do the same thing for another group.

Man on Right: It's probably like switching off a flashlight at the exact moment that you fall asleep, and switching one on in your dream, then turning that one off as you're just about to wake up.

*There is a pause as the two watch the sun set furthur*

Man on left: Then what about the split second between waking and sleeping when you've turned off the flashlight in your dream, and havent turned it on in the waking world yet?

*silence*

One : Commencement

*Man on left is at home, lying in bed with a flashlight turned on and aimed at a tropical fishbowl in the corner. It illuminates all sorts of colorful fish swimming around. The tank is filled with several plants and a small castle. The room that he is lying in is messy, with a bed against one wall, and a desk at the end of it, supporting the fishtank. A small computer monitor displays matrix code as a screen saver on a second corner desk to the right of the fishtank desk.*

*The man begins to fall asleep, and at the exact second of slumber, his muscles relax and he releases the switch, plunging the room into complete darkness*

*Scene changes to the exact same bedroom except all in black and white. As soon as the man realizes that he is in the room, he stabs his finger down, turning on the flashlight. Immidiately the room is filled with color, dazzling bright colors, pushing the imagination to imagine impossibilities. The fishtank is full of the brightest fish that have ever existed in anyone's wildest imagination. Satisfied, that his experiment has been completed, the man attempts to force himself to wake up. As his dream wavers, his finger slips off the button, turning off the flashlight. The colors vanish leaving black and white again...

... except for a small pool of red at the base of the fishtank...*

Two : Eternity

<12 hours after>
*An empty city, windows are shattered in all the buildings and the only motion is a spinning light on a collapsed police car, slowly moving around in a circle with a recorded announcement being played over the loudspeaker*

<...evacuation in effect.. zzzt.. iolaters will be quarentined-d-d-d-dd .. izzzzzzzzzztttttzt ..>

A motion.
An arm reaches out, grasps at the cement with bloodied fingertips.
A grip, a chance.
The fingers pull the arm, pulling the man forward.
The man is brutaled, missing an arm, and gashed everywhere. Fingernails are chipped and slashed, and once perfect hair is messed and full of dirt and ash.
He pulls himself forward slowly, closing on his goal, still forever away and infinately close.

In the west, the sun is setting, forever setting... never to finish. A shadow against the surface of the sun, caused by a figure on a skyrise apartment building behind and to the left of the man. Eternally watching.

In the man's mouth is gripped a small flashlight.

Three : Morning

The sun rises.
The man wakes and quickly flicks on the flashlight, filling the room with light. He nods, looking around the room quickly, and flicks the flashlight off.
Hesitation.
The man blinks once, and slowly moves his glance back to the fishtank.

*All the fish are dead, floating at the top of the tank in , all devoid of color. A pool of blood is expanding outwards on the desk from the tank, and is dripping down from the sides. The water in the tank is now completely red, diluted by far to much blood for the fish to have bled.*

The man stands up... slowly walking towards the fishtank. He dips his finger in the fluid. He raises his hand slowly and examines it, looking closely at the red liquid.

Drip.

He turns and walks out of the room, dropping the flashlight carelessly on his bed. The liquid slowly begins expanding up his arm...

Four : Delay
< 11 hours after >

Running as fast as he can, the man sprints through the empty hallway.

CRASH

A left turn and he explodes through a hotel room door...

It knows where he's going.
It knows what he fears.
It knows how it's growing,
And causing him tears.

... into thin air. Half of the SweetDreams Hotel is completely missing. Not simply crumbled or demolished, but gone. The man plumits down three stories, landing horribly akwardly.

SNAP

An ankle broken, a knee dislocated, a shin bone shattered, yet the man doesn't notice. His inability to walk is not going to cause him any delay in his quest. He shifts the flashlight to his mouth and reaches forward, dragging his body along the ground towards the street that he has walked every day of his life for years.

He will not stop.
He will not look back.
He can not fail.

Five : Suspicion

He walks out of his bedroom and a quick right into the bathroom. Washing his hands prooves completely ineffective. The blood refuses to come off at all. It crawls, as if alive, slowly, yet steadily up his arm, barely visibly moving to the naked eye. He scratches at it. No effect. He scratches harder. Pain, but no other effect. He walks out of the bathroom, slighty faster now, the blood on his arm causing him stress. He continues to scratch at his arm, ignoring the pain, trying to get the blood off his arm.

The man arrives at his friend's house, having taken then 10 minute journey south with his old, teal Ford Escort.

Knock Knock.

His friend opens the door and jolts.

"Your arm..." He starts.

"I know," replies the man, "I don't know what to do about it. It happened this morning after I tried to set."

Scratch Scratch

"Don't scratch at it. Come in, lets try to get you cleaned up."

The two men enter the house.

Six : Solutions

As his friend is in the bathroom preparing the dressings for his arm, the man sits on his friend's couch and turns on the tv. There is nothing but static. He glances out the large windows on the left side. There isn't a flash. Or more specifically, there is a not flash.

He blinks.

Nothing is there. His friend is saying something.

"... in the election. Just a sec, almost ready here."

The man looks out the window for another moment and then stands, walking into the bathroom. The sink is full of a whitish liquid, and there are bandages out on the edge of the bathtub.

"Stick your arm in there."

He does. It burns. A dull pain.

"We'll get it wrapped up in a minute. Now tell me what you did."

"Well..."

Seven : Sunder

The world is a delicate place, stronger than any other possible material that has ever existed. It can shatter at the slightest touch, yet absorb the strongest impact.

The issue is where the contact takes place...

Eight : Exploration
"... and then I turned out the flashlight, and saw the blood flowing out of the fishtank."

There is a silence. His friend hesitates a moment.

"I need to see."

The two leave.

"... will be a minority government or not. What do you think?"
The Tv drones on.

They Walk. Neither want to drive.

He glances from side to side, scratching idly at his bandages. The blood has expanded past the length of the bandages by this point, but he says nothing. They pass a building that he had never seen before. He glances up and reads the flickering neon sign. SweetDreams Hotel.

"Strange, I don't remember that being there." he says quietly.

His friend looks at him, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Silence.

It's dropped. The two continue down the street in silence.

Nine : Sunset
< 10 hours 58 minutes after>

Sprinting down the street, he glances over his shoulder.

No one is following.

He looks foward.

A Tsunami of red liquid is raging down the street towards him, full speed, closing rapidly with him.

No choices.

He turns and explodes through the nearest door, ripping it off it's very hinges. He darts into a stairwell and starts taking the stairs three at a time.

The door of the SweetDreams Hotel lies in ruin as the blood blasts past.

Ten : Sliippinnng

The two arrive at his house. They enter the bedroom.

He sees the blood dripping out of the fish tank, all over the floor, nearly to the door of the bedroom. As he looks towards the bed his friend speaks.

"Where is..."

He sees the flashlight lying on the bed. He picks it up.

"... the blood?"

He blinks and gestures at the floor, looking away for a split second then back at his friend.

A thin line seems to draw itself across his friend's throat. There's a massive explosion of red as his friend's head slides off his lifeless body and the exposed arteries splatter the room with life giving fluid.

*An image appears behind the decapitated body, flickering as if it was a television image with poor reception.*

Eyes open...

Eleven : Phantasms

He jumps out the window, tucking his head and forcing his shoulder to shatter the glass.

Tinkle Tinkle

He rolls, cutting his body in various places.

Drip Drip

Tiny bloodspots cover his body. He runs. Away from the home, forgetting that he is still holding the small flashlight.

He glances over his shoulder.

Nothing.

He slows his mad run and comes to a stop. Blood dripping down his face mixes with tears. Shed for his friend.

Emotions. Chemical reactions in the body provoke an appropriate response to the death of a comrade. Inescapable part of the human condition.

Shadows, moving, around his vision. Current time is not for mourning. He starts running again.

Twelve : Lost

The people are all gone.
No one around.
Gone.

He runs through empty streets, fearing to look back, not knowing where he is going.
He runs the paths he knows without thinking.
He runs his habitual paths.

Thirteen : Habits

Habits are strange things.

They can direct a person to do things without thinking.
They can help you to find where you need to be, while thinking about other things.
They can make you go somewhere you don't want to be.

He arrived at his friend's house

Fourteen : Tools

The door was open. They hadn't locked it. He explodes through the door, around a corner and into the garage from the inside. The door crashes inwards and he grabs what he had come for, even though he hadn't known he had come for it.

An axe. A brilliantly sharp axe.

A Quick glance down at his arm. The blood was still tracking up, slowly. It was long past it's dressings and nearing his shoulder.

He also saw his flashlight.

He flicks it on.

Fifteen : Salvation

The blood is gone.
The bandages are gone.
He isn't bleeding.

He walks outside, looking around.

People. Everywhere. He walks forward, slowly.

They ignore him.

His friend is standing in the street.
His friend is yelling something.

He runs forward to his friend, stopping directly infront of him.

"You're alive!"

"Zyzzzt ttzttzzyyz"

The flashlight batteries die.
He's in the garage.
He rips off the back of the flashlight and throws the batteries out.

The battery box in the garage is empty.

Sixteen : Hope

He runs towards the nearby store. He must have batteries.
A figure leaps out at him, baring blood covered fangs. Completely black except for the white fangs and red blood.

Swish

The axe slashes through it.

He runs. He must get to the store. He must have his salvation.

Seventeen : Realization
< 10 hours 45 minutes after >

The kitchen exploded.
He was thrown clear of the house, barely rolling in time to avoid damaging the flashlight, but it had word. The bloodied stump that had been his arm had cauturized, and was no longer spewing blood everywhere.

He stood up and glanced behind.

It slid out of the house rubble.
It's eyes opened.
It moved.

He ran, aiming himself towards his home.
Perhaps... batteries...

Eighteen : Empty

Thirteen figures have all been slashed in half by his axe.
Thirteen figures have all vanished at the moment of the axe clearing them.
The store is ahead.

CRASH

The axe shatters the windows and he jumps in.
Empty.
The store is completely empty.

No people.
No products.
No registers.
Nothing.

Despair seeps into the mind.
No time for it.

He glances down.
The arm is almost completely covered to the shoulder.

He knows what he must do.

Nineteen : Measures

Back to the house.
Back to the memories.
Back to do what has to be done.

He arrives.
He rigs his pullies.
He tests it.
He resets it.

It is time.

The arm is down on the table, the bloodied part just slightly ahead of the axe mark in the table.

He releases the weight.

Twenty : Mistake

Immidiately he knows he has made a mistake.
The pain is catastrophic, yet he lets out no noise. The blood explodes outwards, filling his vision with red.
He knows that he must cautaurize the wound.
Now.

A gas stove.

Twenty one : Solution

The stove is on.
He stands at what he thinks is an appropriate distance.
He holds out the stump.
He throws the match.

Twenty Two : Eternity

<12 hours after>
*An empty city, windows are shattered in all the buildings and the only motion is a spinning light on a collapsed police car, slowly moving around in a circle with a recorded announcement being played over the loudspeaker*

<...evacuation in effect.. zzzt.. iolaters will be quarentined-d-d-d-dd .. izzzzzzzzzztttttzt ..>

A motion.
An arm reaches out, grasps at the cement with bloodied fingertips.
A grip, a chance.
The fingers pull the arm, pulling the man forward.
The man is brutaled, missing an arm, and gashed everywhere. Fingernails are chipped and slashed, and once perfect hair is messed and full of dirt and ash.
He pulls himself forward slowly, closing on his goal, still forever away and infinately close.

In the west, the sun is setting, forever setting... never to finish. A shadow against the surface of the sun, caused by a figure on a skyrise apartment building behind and to the left of the man. Eternally watching.

In the man's mouth is gripped a small flashlight.

Never again to hold batteries...

Prolog :

He shakes his friend's body.
"Wake up!"

After picking up the flashlight, he had collapsed. Unresponsive, but with eyes filled with a terror not of this world.

He slaps his friend, trying to rouse him, and failing. Then he tries a different approach.

He prys the flashlight from his friend's hand.
He has the sudden need to lie down himself.
He collapses on the bed, and aims the flashlight at the fishtank, flicking it on.

It illuminates all sorts of colorful fish swimming around.

He begins to drift off to sleep...

A Life

2009-11-12T22:20:00.000-08:00

A second is a wonderful thing, full of potential. Don't let it go to waste!
A minute is a wonderful thing, full of potential. Don't let it go to waste!
An hour is a wonderful thing, full of potential. Don't let it go to waste!
A day is a wonderful thing, full of potential. Don't let it go to waste!
A week is a wonderful thing, full of potential. Don't let it go to waste!
A month is a wonderful thing, full of potential. Don't let it go to waste!
A year is a wonderful thing, full of potential. Don't let it go to waste!
A life is a wonderful thing, full of potential. Don't let it go to waste!
A species is a wonderful thing, full of potential. Don't let it go to waste!
A planet is a wonderful thing, full of potential. Don't let it go to waste!

We've been given all of these things.
Don't let them go to waste.

Rejuvenation

2009-11-12T19:24:00.001-08:00

I find myself once again in need of a place for my thoughts and stories.

Again, this is it.

- Sphere

The Man Who Wasn't There

2008-09-09T18:58:00.000-07:00

There was a man who wasn't there;
He never did show up;
He didn't get to cut his hair,
He didn't get to sup.

He wasn't just invisible;
Instead, just plain absent.
He didn't (This I'll let you mull)
Go anywhere he went!

His style of non-arrivingness
Was not appriciated.
All his appointments he did miss,
And by his peers was hated.

So sons and daughters, listen here;
Of my words take good heed:
When you go places please be near,
And let your MIND be freed.

Alister in Wonderland : Part I

2008-08-27T18:51:00.000-07:00

"Recite," stated the Caterpillar.
"Shant!" Exclaimed Alister in the well trained reaction of a mischievous little boy.

The Caterpillar sat upright.

"Why?" it asked, sending a puff of smoke into the air.
"I don't want to," explained Alister, folding his arms defensively.
"Why?"

Alister was taken aback. He didn't really know how to respond to this.

"It's not fun," he ventured, unfolding his arms and standing a little straighter.
"That is not correct," said the Caterpillar. "I quite enjoy it."
"It's not fun for me," explained Alister.
"You?" spluttered the Caterpillar, "Who ARE you?"

Creature

2008-08-25T10:13:00.000-07:00

I call it the: Avioferreus.

The creature is a predator bird, with incredibly strong wings and claws. The claws however, are not used for damaging the prey or defending the prey. They're mainly for severing essential arteries on wounded prey which the bird is incredibly adept at targeting. The Avioferreus however doesn't commence kills with targeting arteries. It's wings are designed to envelop the bird and cover up all essential parts of the bird's body. It's method of killing begins with circling the prey from high up above. It then dives to within meters of the prey and then rotates it's body, while curling it's wings it, becoming something resembling a cannonball which, because of the speed at which it is travelling, can crush large mammal skulls.

The "cocoon" that it creates with its wings protects its almost completely from damage, and is important to the young since they develop the instinct almost immidiately, and it protects them from falling damage when they try to fly, and also protects them from predators.

Since the claws are not necessary except to complete kills, the feet are created more to carry heavy loads and thus, in combination with the strong wings, the bird can support enough food for many offspring at one time. The female and the male both take turns looking after the young and hunting since there is no obvious difference physically in the two of them besides coloring. The male is typically black with bright red and blue markings, while the female, a more simple brown and white coloring.

Wonderland?

2008-08-20T19:08:00.000-07:00

Something I've been thinking about recently. What would the Wonderland of a little boy have been like?

Stay tuned for bits and pieces of "Alister in Wonderland."

The Adventure :: Part III

2008-08-20T16:00:00.000-07:00

If you're not carefull I'll push you in.
The pool is shallow with several varieties of colorfull fish swimming around in it. The bottom of the pool is covered in pebbles, incredibly smooth and almost as colorfull as the fish. There is only one plant growing up from the bottom of the pool, directly in the center. It grows about half way up the depth of the water. The stem is solid and conical and several leaflike expansions expand out from the stem, bright green with the edges tinted slightly black.

>look sign

{*****************************************}
{ Once I see, between the trees
{ All that can be, or will not be
{ You venture there, Alone the best
{ Reality tear, or best: unrest.
{ So should you choose too walk that path
{ Prepare yourself for unknown wrath
{*****************************************}

> look north

There's definitely still an exit there like I told you. Idiot.
The northern path is somewhat ominous. It's into the darker part of the forest. The foliage hangs over the path and blocks out the sunlight. See? I would have made the path nice except you got all uppity about me repeating you. Mess with the narrator? See you lator.

> that was lame

Yeah, kinda dropped the ball on that one, but you get my point.

> get plant

As you reach into the pool to try to take the plant, the fish suddenly all orient on your hand and begin to swim quickly towards it, looking considerably less happy and considerably more... toothy. Fortunately, you are quick enough to get your hand out, but the fish seem to be acting more restless now. Wouldn't try that again if I were you.

> go north

The trees bough down, covering you in the folliage. They seem to be actually moving to close in on you. It appears that the trunks are even leaning towards you, close to crushing together with you inbetween them. The path is becoming less and less like a path, more and more like a dirt skid through the earth... a track barely travelled by. It continues to the north where the trees seem to consume the path. There's also always the pool to the south, sweet freedom from the horror that is this path.

> go north

Are you sure? It's probably not a great idea.

> go south

Much better choice. You owe me one champ.
You're back in the clearing with the pond. I can repeat all that if you want, but I figure you know it already. If not, just scroll the hell up and reread it.

> bitter much?

Perhaps a little. How would you like it if all you did all day was explain to half-witted adventureres (present company excluded of course) what they're looking at, and which ways they can go and which useless ass items are lying around on the floor for them to pick up to try and complete whatever crazy quest they're on? It's not exactly a rewarding profession. My mom always said I should be a lawer... I should have listened to her.

> minuslifestory

You'll pay for that. No more help from me.

> go east

The Adventure :: Part II

2008-08-15T09:09:00.000-07:00

You go east.
You stroll through into the forest, leaving the road behind. The sound of birds chirping flows through the trees while small animals skitter around the woods just outside the path. The forest is made up of all different kinds of folliage, mostly green, but with a spattering of blue and violent in flower patches. In one particular patch, there's a spattering of yellow mixed with the blue, and sunlight hits the flowers blanketing them gently in a soft glow. The path continues to the northeast, and exits the forest to the west.

> examine flower patch

You examine the flower patch.
The flowers seem to shine in the sunlight, and there seems to be something lying in the patch. Upon closer inspection there is a wooden doll lying within the patch. Shaped like a bowling pin and about six inches high, it's hand painted and delicately crafted. There is a small line around the circumference of the doll, halfway between head and foot.

> open doll

You open the doll.
The doll is empty.

> close doll.

You close the doll.
The doll is whole again.

> stop repeating my commands

I'm going to stop repeating your commands now. Jerk.

> go northeast

You... right, no repeaty.
You stroll through the forest, idly whistling and humming a happy tune. How do I know that you were doing that? Because I'm watching you. Anyways, you come out into a clearing with a crystal clear pool in the center of it. There's an exit back to the southwest and a path to the north. To the east of the pool, there are two enormous oak trees, one of which has a sign posted on it.

> look in pool

The Adventure :: Part I

2008-08-12T12:14:00.000-07:00

You are standing on the side of an abandonned highway in the grass. Beside you, pulled off the road is a light green 1994 four door Escort with the driver's side door open. This is no surprise since you just got out of it and still have your hand on the door. Way to run out of gas in the middle of no where. The road stretches out ahead of you to the south and out behind to the north. There is a dirt path that leads into the woods to the east.

> verbose

Maximum verbosity.

> look car

Nessie is looking mighty fine today. Except for being out of gas of course.

> look in car

You look in Nessie.
A comforting gray interior greets your eyes. This well built standard may have a lot of kilometers on her, over 250 thousand, but looks brand new on the inside. The keys are still in the ignition and there are several maps, all open on the dashboard. In the foot area for the front seat passenger is a spare gas can, sitting there, completely empty and somewhat morose looking. There's also a bottle of Ultimate Extreme Caffien Booster Power sitting closed in one of the cup holders.

> get can

You get the gas can.

> get keys

You get the keys

> get bottle

You get the bottle of Ultimate Extreme Caffien Booster Power

> inventory

You are carrying:
A gas can (empty)
Keys
A bottle of Ultimate Extreme Caffien Booster Power
Your wallet
The weight of the world on your shoulders

> close door

You close Nessie's door

> lock car

Nessie is now safe and sound.

> go east

Which are you?

2008-08-10T21:09:00.000-07:00

Senses flow, experiences.
The material, it's favorite seat feels good.
It tastes good.
It is full.

The grasshopper prepares to leave. It doesn't manage to leave.

Eyes watching, staring from the darkness.
The creature stalks it's prey.
Silently in the night, the motion has attracted it's eyes.
It hides in the bushes, readjusting it's feet, preparing to leap out into the clearing.

The kitten leaps on the grasshopper but never makes it

Bright light, shadows...
Circling upon the air currents, staring down.
A sudden blur of motion, a leap, a creature has started to run.
It falls, diving, speeding towards the ground, the end coming from up high.

The eagle hits the cat at full speed, claws on.

Stupidity and the practice thereof

2008-08-09T18:56:00.000-07:00

I've figured something important out that we've been told all of our lives. It would seem strange to declare that I've figured it out, but by experiencing it first hand.

The brain is a muscle. A very strange muscle.

I am not exercising mine and thus it makes me feel dumb. I am much more stupid for having started working at Zellers. The job is so amazingly mindless that I don't get any practice at all, thus when I get home, I feel more stupid. I need a job that exercises my brain. Maybe one that helps with my body as well since I'm flabby and weak again.

It's difficult to find a job that does those two things, physical exercise is generally considered to be your own responsibility outside of work. Mental exercise during work, and relaxation on your own time.

My problem is I live in the present while terrified of the future. (I used to be haunted by the past as well but I'm getting over that.)

Thus, in the immediate present, relaxation takes over from physical exercise. I'm also afraid of not having enough time to do all the things I want. I'm afraid of routine, but I need a routine that makes me money so that I can live.

I want a job that is traveling all over, with exercise both mental and physical, and doesn't involve shooting people or being shot at.

In an ideal world of course.

Looks like it's time to decide what's really important to me.

Between

2008-08-03T11:37:00.000-07:00

There is a place where Demons creep;
Between your waking, and your sleep;

Where faeries live and goblins roam;
Where inspiration makes it's home;

Some go and stay, inside you see;
They "suffer" from "insanity";

Some pass right through and won't admit,
To their experience in it;

They live and die without a word;
For they are just part of the herd;

But me? I like to stop and stare;
To just enjoy what I see there;

I will not stay forevermore;
For then my grip on life'd be tore;

Occasional trips in my mind;
They occupy, help me unwind;

So there I'll go, and will not stay;
Until I leave this life some day.

Another Time Round

2008-07-27T17:00:00.000-07:00

In approximately 4 hours as of the beginning of this post, I'll have achieved somewhere around 24 rotations of Sol on this crazy rock hurtling through space that we call Earth.

It's not a bad way to hurtle through space at something like 67,000 miles an hour.

That's pretty fast. At least comparatively. For us, the fastest man made vehicle (considered to be the Space Shuttles) can travel around 9, 528.12 meters/second in the atmosphere or more, which is about 6 miles a second, and thus around 6*60*60 = 21600 miles an hour.

Then again, light travels at 299,792,458 m/s in a vacuum, which is a big ass number in miles/hour.

So compared to our puny definitions of speed, based on what human beings have been able to travel at, the Earth is the one to beat. When compared with light though. It might as well be standing still.

The reason I'm going through this (somewhat) tedious speed analysis is basically to draw a little mind picture of perspective.

We are small. Very small. Incredibly small. Some would say we are insignificant. I agree that we are incredibly small, moving on a rock through space around one of billions of stars with the next nearest star to ours, Alpha Centauri (which is actually three stars) approximately 4.37 light years away. Remember that light travels at around 16,108,252 times the speed of our Earth. For earth to even travel the distance that light travels in one year, we'd have to have a planet around three and a half times older than it is. In order then for it to travel to Alpha Centauri, it would have to be nearly 16 times older than it is (Assumed at around 4.5 billion years). Lets keep in mind that a generous estimate of the earliest humans is put at 200,000 years ago. That implies that we've been around for around 1/360th of the time needed to traverse the distance to the nearest star to ours on the fastest vehicle we have: the Earth.

That's only the closest. No one knows the true expanse of the Universe, although it is generally agreed through rampant estimation that there are around 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 stars.

Alpha Centauri and Sol make up four of those.

Here's another way of looking at it. Lets say we live 100 years and that all stars are equally spaced (They aren't due to the distances between galaxies, but this is for simplicity's sake).

In order to visit one star that is not ours, we'd have to live 720,000 times longer than we do. In order to visit all stars... we'd have to live, assuming perfect course choice among stars, 720,000 * 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 = 720,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 times longer than we do. Seven Hundred and Twenty Septillion times longer.

We are incredibly small.

I would argue that we're not insignificant. We can in our heads visit the end of the Universe. We can travel at speeds overtaking anything that nature can do. We can create and destroy our ownUniverses, we can do amazing things.

All by just closing your eyes and imagining it.

Imagination is what makes us significant, for even though we may never physically visit the furthest stars, probe the deepest secrets of the Universe, we can already do it in our minds. Anything that can exist, the mind can contrive of, there is no limit on human imagination.

Push yours once in a while.

As I reach what is (nearly) a quarter of my life by my assumed standards I like to think that I've lived more than many people get to in their whole lives. Who knows what will happen in the future for sure? I know that I see a future in my mind for the human race. It's private, my ideal society.

I also have explored more than many others will get to. Exercize your imagination... be light! Be a wave and a particle at the same time and blast through space. Or be something more! Be a spiral, a springloaded beam of intelligence speeding up and slowing down as you compact and spring out through the depths of eternity. Fly around the sun, take a trip to Mars. Go anywhere you want.

I've got (maybe) another 76 trips around Sol on this planet.

I intend to enjoy every single one of them.

Creature

2008-07-22T08:57:00.000-07:00

I call it the: Cylomortis.

It's a scaly creature, about the size of a football, and somewhat pod shaped. It has four legs at the back and two at the front, as well as a pair of claws which stick out the each side at the front. It's head is muzzle shaped supporting it's carnivorous/scavanging nature. It has the appropriate teeth, and simple slits on the sides of it's head which serve as ears. Again, simple slits for nostrils, but great big eyes. The eyes are most effective since the Cylomortis can swivel it's head about 270 degrees in both directions. It has a long tail, used for balance when running or jumping.

The most interesting thing about the Cylomortis is it's reproductive style. The females lay eggs, and the males come by and pick them up. They store them in a special protective sac and the eggs remain unfertilized. At the moment of death, the Cylomortis explodes spikes out of every side of it's body. The spikes are about an inch apart and 5-9 inches long, and usually serve to kill any animal capable of killing and eating the creature. At this point, as the spikes fire out, the eggs that the male has collected (up to 5 depending on size and availability) are all fertalized and released. The purpose of this, is upon hatching, the young have two corpses to feed on, usually holding them for long enough for them to develop into a reasonably defensive state. It takes the young about 3 days to become capable of supporting themselves.

This all came to me just randomly by closing my eyes and watching the images float by.

Random Night Thoughts

2008-07-17T09:57:00.000-07:00

I was lying in bed, just taking some time to think, and it occurred to me to wonder if the ratio from an acorn to an oak tree is the same as an egg to a human. I thought on this for a while, trying to do the mental math, but the answers stayed just out of reach.

Is the night sky black? No. It appears black or dark blue to us sometimes, but it doesn't have a color. It's more the absence of light, which is kinda neat.

That's all I really remember. After that I must have slipped into that sweet state between sleep an awake, where the subconscious and the conscious minds fight for control. It's a wonderful place, so many amazing things go through my head... I wish I could remember them all. I need to keep pencil and paper by me when I sleep so that I can write down these things.

Meanwhile, maybe I'll meet Julia Roberts there.

Waste

2008-07-14T09:50:00.000-07:00

Don't waste your life.

Just something that's on my mind. If you have something you want to do in life, do it. Don't let society's way of urging you to spend your whole life working 9 to 5 to buy more things prevent you from doing what you want.

I like thinking. I want to do it, but I don't want other people telling me what to think, especially arrogant people who think they know everything or think that art should be critiqued based on how scientifically correct it is. Especially those who think that those who create comedy that isn't exactly right and true need to be taken seriously and shut down as people who aren't as worthy as them.

Maybe that's what really bothers me. People who think they're better than others. Everyone is a person, no matter what. Some are more intelligent than others, some are more talented at other things, but we're all people.

[selfexperience] Congratulations, you know the difference between a meteor and a comet. That's a good reason to act all high and mighty when it comes to an obvious work of comedy, and shut it down as nothing. [/selfexperience]

For those who happen to read this before meeting me, if you're stuck on yourself, don't expect me to even bother listening to you. You're a waste of my time, and I'm not even remotely interested in listening to your self serving garbage.

I've got one life, I'll have who I want in it, I'll be friends with who I want to (which is most people) and I'll do what I want to do.

Don't waste your life, and don't waste mine.

Creations

2008-07-11T15:54:00.000-07:00

I had an amazing experience the other day, initiated by me walking into a small, out of the way used book store.

There were thousands of old books there, wrinkled, bent, worn. It's amazing how many people have created these things, and I've maybe heard of one or two of them.

It occured to me, as I was sitting there with this incredible feeling of awe at the creations made by all these people, that there is absolutely no way for anyone to experience all the creations.

People don't create so that everyone will experience what they've created... they create so that some will experience it. We're all connected by what we experience together and apart. I've read a book that you've read, then lots that you haven't. Others have read some of those and some that I haven't read. It's like, collectively, as a species we are made to experience all art. We're all connected through it. I'm mainly talking about books because it was a book store that prompted this, but the same goes for movies, songs, paintings, all creations.

I found a book in a small shop beside the book store that was all creations done by people around my town. This book was approximate one inch by two inches and hand crafted, pasted together. There were several copies of it, each individually made, and so I picked one up and flipped through it. One of the pages had a simple phrase on it.

"Did you find me?"

Yes. I found you. Your creation has been experienced by me, someone you don't know and probably never will. It's entered the flowing ocean of experiences, and is connected through me to others now.

Along those lines, I had an idea recently... what if we were to create a forum in which everyone finds connections to other people through the books they've read? Write a list of your say, top 10 or top 20 favorite books or series and then other people can see books they've read and enjoy others that you have too. Perhaps I'll start this one day, or, if it already exists, join it.

Treasure your experiences.

You are an essential link in the chain.

Sphere

2008-07-06T17:23:00.000-07:00

http://technology.newscientist.com/article/dn14229-roundest-objects-in-the-world-created.html

Perfect spheres... the ultimate in perfection, yet still not completely achievable. Nothing is nature is perfect, nothing is absolutely flawless. Some things are close, but everything has it's problems.

It's an imperfect world in which we live.

Good.

Courtesy

2008-07-02T14:12:00.000-07:00

I've been sitting here, in a coffee shop, listening to people talk.

There are some really loud obnoxious people in this world. I'm fairly certain that at least one, check that, I'm positive that one of them was drunk (he just said that he was). The conversation they chose to have started with.

Big words.
Antidisestablishmentarianism
What does it mean, and how can 'Anti' and 'Dis' be combined in that way.
Then on to people wasting food at tables and how they had chosen to eat said food.

They were talking about all these things in really loud voices, with liberal use of the word "fuck" while a baby was at the table, not two feet away from them, and the other patrons were starting to look at them.

I understand wanting to have free speech, and the ability to talk to each other freely. What I don't understand is how they don't feel embarrassed about them in front of a tiny baby. In a public coffee house. At five in the afternoon.

Seriously, yell all you like. Drink all you like, no brain cells out of my head. Do your drugs. Just please, have a little bit of common courtesy and stay away from public places when you're yelling fuck every two words.

Ignorance is bliss I guess. When all you can care about is yourself, when you're ignorant of the feelings of others, it must be a good time.

I for one can't turn those feelings off.

I'm glad.

Flow

2008-07-01T23:47:00.000-07:00

'Twas brillig, and the keen eye sees,
Between the forest and the trees;

A flowing dance, with leaps and jumps,
While dodging trees; evading stumps,

Intricate moves; simple ones too,
That hypnotize you, through and through;

The dancer moves, it's muscles swell;
Knows naught of Heaven, nor of Hell;

For to be free, to feel the call;
You cannot be tied down at all;

Not fearing from hell, all the flame;
Nor hope from Heaven, sweet reclaim;

Forever on, the dancer moves;
Consumed within the song's deep groove;

Eternity, the length of it;
Around and round; lifetime commit;

The flow of life, inside the dance;
Fulfilling way to spend your chance.

Judgement

2008-07-01T08:00:00.001-07:00

Running through the forest, dodging trees, leaping over rocks, speeding away and laughing.

Murderer ran.

Killing was not just a way of life, it was a job, a passtime, a pleasure. Victims lived on only in a small book, kept well hidden.

A river... deep... too deep to cross without swimming, and cloaks are hard to dry.

Running along the banks, trying not to slip, but with a solid pace and excellent balance. Top physical form was required for this profession, absolute precision in all things.

A bridge yet... how is that possible? A bridge with the waters not only running under it, but encircling it, flowing around it before continuing the trek downstream. The color of the water... bright, clear yet deep blue and are those creatures swimming around it? How can it be? It is only perhaps a meter in diameter.

Stopping in front of the bridge, a sign catches the eye.

*************************

A soul goes through;
Will one come out?
Be judged as who
You are; don't doubt...

For should you fail,
Your death awaits.
The water stales,
For those who hate.

*************************

Murderer smiles. Hatred is a waste of energy and time. It is easier to feel pleasure.

Across the bridge, stopping under the waters, looking around. Where is the judgement?

A glint; sunlight reflecting off the water. Then it is gone, the sunlight. Complete darkness, blinded by pitch black. Nothing happens. Murderer grins, awaiting the end of the test.

From the outside, a figure stands unmoving on a bridge, more still than should be possible, for a few, brief moments before tumbling sideways into the water.

For a sliver of time the arcing waters around the bridge turn bright red, then black; cleansing themselves. Then they return to the color they had been.

The only indication that anyone had ever been there was a small book, drifting off down the river, making the journey home.

Magic

2008-06-29T19:22:00.000-07:00

Watch closely now, I can make your life pass before your eyes. On the count of reality...

It occured to me today, an effect that consumerism has had on people. This is probably old news to some, but it may be worth the read to others.

In a world where everything is fake, every toy you buy is plastic and made by someone else, probably not lasting more then a few weeks before it's old and garbage.
In a world where everyone is fake, with people trying to be exactly who they're not.

Boys trying to be men, strong, attractive, like a peacock, strutting around with it's tail in the air. Except the tail is an ignorant attitude towards women (or men), and a general air of self satisfaction. They do it because it's what the television, mainly commercials, tells them to.

Girls trying to grow up and be hot, be the one who gets all the guys, be the one who drinks (and has people buy her drinks) and parties all the time while still striving for the plastic, fake hollywood look.

Alcohol being consumed in vast amounts simply because it's easy. It takes you out of reality for a while. A few hours of sweet ignorance in which nothing really matters, and it's all a little surreal.

"I'm not like that!" I hear you cry. Chances are you're almost as fake. I know I am.

Many of us live in a world of computer games, unreal worlds that exist only because people have created them to do so. We spend hours staring at a screen, sitting almost completely still, just as I'm doing now, writing this.

Ask yourself, when was the last time you went for a walk for no reason? Not to get fit, or to meet people, just for the joy of walking?

We've replaced our world with a fake one, a world created out of a twisted, greedy minds full of makeup and body spray that can make you 100% more attractive. Full of monitors and keyboards, television screens and chairs that you spend hours in, just letting your mind melt.

People are at an all time low when it comes to personal happiness and fullfillment. Why? Because true fullfillment isn't found in a computer, or a television program. It's found in our contact with nature.

I'm a hypocrit for typing this. I live my life in a world created by someone else, but there is still time to change.

One day perhaps everyone understands.
One day perhaps we see the error of our ways.
One day, when death catches up to you, and you look back on your life, will you see something you're proud of? Or will you see that you were too busy escaping from life to live it?

One...
Two...
Reality.

Writing

2008-06-28T09:42:00.000-07:00

Reading is one of my favorite passtimes, and just recently I decided to have a go at writing. Now I'm not sure how other people write, but I have to assume that most people have an idea of what's going to happen next.

I think it's more fun to not know.

Obviously you need some idea of what events are going to happen, but page to page, I think it's a whole lot more fun to not know exactly what's going to happen. It makes it far more interesting and gives you a reason to write more.

Some might argue that you shouldn't need to have a reason to write more, but sometimes it's hard to bring out what you're thinking, and this provides some motivation.

This method also helps you get more in contact with the characters, since you don't know what's about to happen, you have to make the characters react as they would. It's a bit of a challenge that way, but something fun to try.

Every Story Has A Beginning

2008-06-26T10:33:00.000-07:00

Citelia is a city. There is no denying this. It has a keep, a palace, outer and inner walls and throngs of buildings in between. It has a big double gate, always guarded, and soldiers patrolling throughout. People who saw the city for the first time usually said things like:

“Now that’s what a city should be!”

“You see the size of it?”

“Please stop treading on my toe.”

“A masterpiece of modern thingy.”

There was only one problem: Citelia didn’t like being a city.

Perhaps I should explain. When the site for Citelia was being chosen, there had been a disagreement between builders and designers. The builders had wanted a nice simple site, something in the mountains, maybe by the sea. You know; a respectable place for a city.

The designers would have none of it.

They were the dreamy type of people who could usually be found curled up under a tree reading about someone who spent his time going by trails in forests that hadn’t been properly cobbled and that not many others would go due to the high volume of Gnats, Mosquitoes and Mosquats¹. In short, they were a bunch of hopeless romantics. They insisted that the city be built in a more romantic place, the center of an enchanted forest.

The argument had raged for days until finally the builders agreed that they would build the city there as long as the designers would promise not to sing anymore songs about how great and romantic it was going to be.

The problem with cutting down a solid percentage of an enchanted forest to build a city is that a whole lot of leftover magic with no idea what the hell to do with itself is hanging around. It built up in the construction site, and when the last brick was laid, a consciousness appeared in the city.

For a moment, let’s assume that reincarnation is what happens after we die. Now try to imagine this: You’ve just finished up a fun life as a mosquat, having bitten many of those artistic jerks on their path less traveled by, and you reincarnate to find yourself a massive stone construction, unable to move or do anything about all the weird creatures wandering all over you. It would be the equivalent of waking up and discovering some of the more naughty biological orifices have suddenly become anthills.

This would make any sentient creature with orifices² permanently uncomfortable and moody as it did Citelia, so Citelia would occasionally crumble this, crack that or drop a few of those in a half-hearted attempt to get the creatures to stop living there. They didn’t of course, it just added to the spice of life.

This story, contrary to what the introduction may have implied is not about this city. It does however explain something very important that is about to happen to a certain unlucky thief, plying his trade in the midst of a dark, moonlit night...

1 Think Muscrat that buzzes, flies, and has a rampant thirst for blood.

2 There are two specific species without orifices, neither are very happy with their lot anyways.

Begin

2008-06-25T19:04:00.000-07:00

Imagine complete nothingness.
A darkness so dark it makes pitch black seem like midday in the middle of the desert.

Now picture a massive sphere of water, gorgeous blue, starting off somewhat light, but getting darker and darker the closer to the center you get. In some places, waves swirl around the outside of the sphere, creating crashing, violent waters; while in others, absolute peace and calm resides.

Fish live in these waters, strange fish of all different sizes and colors, some bright, displaying all the brilliant colors imaginable (and some that aren't), while others are plain, sinking into the background of the waters. Some speed by with incredible intensity, shooting through the waves at breakneck speeds, exploding out of the surface in a fantastic display of agility. Others prefer to glide gently along, not bothering about impressing but instead choosing to remain safely anonymous. Many travel in schools, depending upon each other to create a sense of one being instead of many, while others choose the solo route, carefree and happy to just play in the waters.

These are the idea fish.

They live in the spherical ocean that is my mind.

Perhaps it is best to stay on the surface, look at all the beautiful fish.
Perhaps it is best to stay away from the center, where everything gets dark, and the unknown abounds.
Perhaps it is best to let you choose.

Swim as you will.