Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Monday, September 18, 2006
A once more popular phrase, “Looking for intelligent life in outer space? We still cannot find any intelligent life here on Earth!” always lived in the philosophy of Derek Schmidt, a tired, bureaucrat going to his research building and answering wide eyed college student dreams with brochure-worded questions on what are the plans for the space program and how far has the research gone for the extra terrestrials. Like anyone working for the government, he knew diplomacy enough to be promoted into a spokesperson for a space program research who has no real plans of flying a space ship out in the sky, but to only fulfill every employees’ dream in that office, to keep getting their paycheck every 15 days until they retire, where they will get their pension.
It will be difficult to know what Derek really wants to say in his mind, as he keeps his false smile and sense of humor to answering our interviews, he seems to know how to evade all other questions, or make things vague, like a religious leader. But he knows something, and while he might not know much about what is their space program really doing, he has something in his mind he must have been keeping there, along with what all the other scientists think.
All it actually took was getting him out of the office, like a good friend, and two glasses of beer, he’s off to talking.
Apparently, the space program has only gone as far as making paper and aluminum wrap renditions of a space ship, they filled the bottom part of the space ship with enough fireworks to send the space ship a good 3 miles into the air, and placed the first creature to be sent to space, a hamster, on the cockpit. 20 seconds after, when the fireworks bought from
Chinatownstarted to show its colors, was just wonderful colors in the morning sky, just like the 4th of July. The spaceship was definitely obliterated, and the hamster fell disgustingly dead into a cake of a 7 year old’s outdoor birthday party. While this scared the kids, the adults ended up wondering where in the world did a blown up hamster come from, out the sky.
But more than the several attempts of shooting creatures from firework rockets, and the Lego model of “a more flexible way of making a spaceship” idea, was the ongoing philosophy found in a man who was once a wide eyed college student wanting to go to the moon, now, 20 years later, not seeing that happening apparently his whole life.
“What is the definition of intelligent beings anyway? We are not that intelligent, we are governed, like animals, in a more complex form of instinct, living off our need to survive and keep all the body organs happy. What would intelligence be, then?” Derek, like many rational scientists, do not seem to believe in free will. “In the infinite vastness of the universe, there had to be a more advanced group of beings somewhere, who also have a sky, and being more advanced, shot off themselves instead of hamsters into orbit, to visit other beings as well. But if the other creatures are not as intelligent, would they be visited? Is it possible, that in their search of intelligent being they have decided to skip our world as we are not as intelligent as we thought we are? Would we do the same?”
“What if they don’t have a sky to look up to? Or they never did look up? Would they ever wonder what is beyond their planet? What lies out there? Or do they ever care? WHY HASN’T ANYONE VISITED US? More confusingly, why are Americans the only ones who are seemingly being abducted and prodded in the anus all the time?”
He has been a rather frustrated scientist, who has spent his whole life dedicated to raising his family, his only remaining purpose, with his dream not becoming a reality after all.
The drive home was rather usual, just like every drive. It is a little more wary to look up the sky, as you don’t know what may fall on your face. But irregardless, when something would fall on you, it will fall on you, and you will still have to look up and wonder, like an idiot, on where it came from, without considering to properly go take shelter and watch from a safe distance, that it might fall again. But it is our hard drive on curiosity that has evolved us after all, the stupidity of going beyond our instinct to try to seek protection, and instead dream and wonder on what is out there, that has evolved us to who we are.
And it just makes us wonder, what was the hamster thinking a few seconds before the rocket blew up? Being miles from the Earth, looking into the sky.
“Ever been put in that scenario where you stare at the mirror and imagine a horrifying figure behind you while you brush your teeth? This scenario of the person looking at you just as soon as you spit the toothpaste and look back up the mirror, the image floats for 2 seconds and goes away. You imagine this just after you have watched a movie with a similar situation. If this image happens frequently enough, the next image you see in the mirror might either actually be real, because you channeled it, or you have thought about it so frequently it actually blurred the line between imagination and reality.”
This is one of the many strange and uncalled for discussions Dr. Grusse talks about whenever he is with a client. As a psychologist, he lets the client sit down and relax on the chair, he does the usual query but starts interrupting with disturbing ideas just before the patient will start discussing the problem.
Complaints have been filed against the doctor as more 10 year olds get disturbed more than what they deserve. Imagine finding a child trying to get over his parent’s divorce only to be given bigger issues on what will happen to him once all the world’s oil gets used up. Or the incident of a person scared of flying to learn that there have been incidents of plane debris falling over residential areas, which is to gain a higher chance of occurring with more chances of plane hijacking and bombing, now that many countries are fighting each other.
These patients don’t need to know all these problems, but for some strange reason, Dr. Grusse feels the same way himself. He feels no need to hear fears, anxieties, and troubling stories, as it is, according to him, giving him a headache and GERT.
Dr. Grusse has been a sort of a psychiatrist in his youth, listening to the problems in the world. They may not necessarily come from friends or family directly, but from the news, side comments and stories, and other useless venues where problems are floating around in the air like a cold virus. You will just catch it and it will disappoint.
With the idea that he can make a living listening to problems and trying to resolve them, Dr. Grusse becomes a psychiatrist, but not so far after he gets his office did he start losing interest in other people’s problems, and instead contaminate everyone else’s mind with what he thinks.
It is hard to just sit in one place and listen to people crying, sobbing, and complaining. It seems like, some day, the toilet cleaner wants to crap in a toilet bowl where someone will clean it instead, or the street sweeper throwing away his trash on the road without a care. When it comes to the dirty work, it is a thankless job, and can hardly be artistic or appreciated.
Imagine having to be an emotional wastebasket. Taking in bucketfuls of tissues filled with problems and anxieties. At some point, it gets filled up, and needs to unload.
And that seems to be the case of Dr. Grusse, now sitting alone in the bar with a drink, quietly staring at the crowd, and looking at his drink.
“What is in your mind?” asked the bartender, one of the many unlicensed emotional wastebaskets, handing out street advice to any drunk who pays the drink.
“Quite frankly my friend”, smiled Dr. Grusse, “I look around in more skepticism in this room than you do, and wonder if the next man in this room has had one of the worst day in his life, and foregoes logic and decides to let it all vent out by shooting around. Quite frankly, they would like to shoot bottles first, which are behind you. Knowing that the shooter is drunk, he will have a very bad shot, and guess who would be a bigger target? You would also have very little time to move if this person has just pulled out the gun and go for it. If you ask me, all I can say is, how lucky are you today?”
There goes another tired journalist wandering off in his room in circles. This is the fifth pencil he has broken, the second ream of paper he has crumpled and thrown to the trash can, as he stares back again and again on his notepad and his computer. He has done his investigative reporting and gathered enough data to prove his point, in a very factual basis. The only difficulty, though, is making it interesting for his readers to read.
He has already seen this happen, facts or boring subjects further made boring by the writer or the speaker. The greatest challenge now lies on how can a journalist make his article, however boring the facts may sound, become interesting. You see it happen everywhere in sports like golf and cricket. These men bring excitement to what a majority of the people find as a boring game. Every stroke, ball, spin or anything else has an emotion and a critic to match it along, and they have to keep their listeners glued to the radio for the next ball, the next spin. They bring in as much excitement as a promise or a near miss. “It is, it is, allllllmmoooooosssssttttt there”. This actually sounds familiar in a lot of situations. You get all hyped up or you are always shown that you have a better chance the next time around. You have it in betting in casinos, politicians voted into power, watching sports, and also in writing.
It is an art, and there are practically an innumerable amount of articles or books that are both educational and interesting. People have already fought through in anger over the fact that they were deceived into actually learning something. There does not seem to be any sense on them gaining additional knowledge, but they do seem keen on not knowing further in the first place.
This would go for women who would rather not know if their husbands have an affair, or people who would rather not have heard of new diseases in connection to their vices. There are some things better left unsaid.
But this journalist of ours has interesting stories. He has traveled through mountains, and hills, he has seen the most wonderful horizons and ventured through different cultures. He has faced countless near-death experiences through political turmoil or plainly some slippery road surface or being stuck in a car while in
India. He has had the most amazing travel.
But he does not know how to make his article, which is mainly focused on different animal mating calls and fornication procedures, be interesting to read over watching it in Discovery channel. This book has to hit well in the market if he wants to have another project later on.
But ideas can come, and he used the most universal idea of them all, make it a story. Tell everyone of how he got to places he had to go, and then describe what happened there.
It was still boring.
So here was a better idea, relate what is seen out there to how human beings are, that should definitely hit the spot.
And it does, it was known to be effective and has been used somewhere quite popular, educational channels.
So he ends up leaving the office a little earlier to get himself some coffee in a nearby café. He sits there and watches the world, waiting for some inspiration. A lady tries to hide her flatulence in her best way possible, but ends up making a noise, much like that of a duck mating call. Voila, inspiration, hit it to what is interesting in human beings, the popular being that through stupidity.
On why stupidity seems popular, the journalist cannot figure out, but he does suspect that it has a large role in it being so silly it becomes entertaining, or that it would occasionally be nice to know there’s someone else who has it worse than us, it makes us better off, a more desirable species over that guy in the book, just like in nature.
And so he ventured back to his office, excited and inspired to write his book, only to realize though, that he has forgotten his keys inside the office, so it seems like he might as well go home and sleep over it, get it done the next day. And the next day comes, as he ventures towards the office, he looks forward to human stupidity, for some strange reason, while we are all supposedly looking at improving and evolving the entire planet, we will always have the tendency to look forward for a sort of devolution among others, to somewhat ensure that we are better off, or are getting better than the rest, if you cannot go up higher anymore, just hope that others are slowly sinking in quicksand, that way, you’re a little more fortunate. Then again, that is but a natural instinct. And we might as well let this journalist friend of ours choose to think the way he is thinking, it amuses us, and will continue to amuse us, as he discovers that the human race is not a separate tree from the other animals, but rather, a branch on the animal kingdom tree (that was a cheesy way to end this little story here, but who really cares).
Trailing through this nice little village with a video camera brings us forth to a little house that is currently the most interesting thing to see here so far. There actually is a birthday party and the kids had their games and balloons, there were cakes, hotdogs, and whatever food kiddie birthday parties would offer. As far as it looks, this is another ordinary and happy birthday party, except for the fact that the clown looks sweaty and his hands trembling beyond grief. This is not his first time to go perform a birthday party, but the story here is slightly more complicated.
It was already reported to the clown the little “issue” the birthday boy currently has. The issue is, he and his friends just realized that there is no such thing as Santa Claus around 5 days ago, and that never mixes well with kids for quite some time. The discovery apparently happened when the child told his dad that he saw mommy kissing Santa Claus, aside from him pinching her ass. This of course, made the father laugh, as he was the Claus in disguise, but he did not say anything to the child, who later presumed that mommy kissing strangers is ok after all. And thus, he might as well report that his mom has also kissed the milk man, the post man, and the dad’s brother, who visits 30 minutes after he leaves for work. This would, of course, upset the father who later had a bitter argument with the mother, which, in the process, got the mother so angry as to take revenge to the child and blurt out that Santa Claus was played by dad, who is now living elsewhere as he refuses to live with the same “kiss-all-bitch” in one house. The mother, feeling guilty, though, threw a birthday party for the child to make up for all of the stress a 5 year old should not have in the first place, this plan took place 5 days ago. Now, the same level of stress focused its potency on the clown’s hand.
Turning our story away from here, we are reminded of a similar story somewhere not so far away, when a dentist also had hands this shaky while he was about to perform a tooth drilling operation on a middle aged and nervous woman. He just had to get one more espresso than the recommended dosage to stay awake. 5 espressos can actually screw you up in the head.
The same head which is malleable, like plastic, it evolves, like all brains out there, it learns to put more importance on what it knows well, and further depth on what is familiar. What is familiar is something that has happened frequently, the frequency gives the brain an assumed confidence, that based on all previous trends, the consequence remains constant. A person who fears snakes, but is slowly being taught, through slow but increasing pace, to approach the snake, and then touch it, and then carry it, and then play with it, will lose his fear in time, but it requires repetition and imprinting of a new data or information in a more constant and magnified manner. This is the main reason why advertisements are being repetitive, and that phrases are created, it sticks in the mind, and puts priority over everything else. The brain loves habit, because it knows the outcome, it loves monotony due to its predictability, thus ensuring you are still alive after performing the said task.
What does this have to do with the above story? Nothing, but you can just imagine how many visits that middle aged woman will need to the dentist after seeing a dentist with a shaky hand, nor will the story of the dentist who had 10 espressos and drilled a lawyers tooth, who is now very much fearful of lawyers the way the lawyer is fearful of the drill, but the lawyer will always be willing to take another chance, after all, he did make a good month’s fortune suing the dentist.
As for the clown, he screwed up the balloon animal which looks more like a snake trapped in a knot desperately trying to look like a dog, and TV shows have already shown all the tricks on how those illusionary magic worked. This is just not their day.
What else is there to say about their day? As far as it goes, the only person happy in this entire story is the lawyer, and not everyone seems to be in favor of the ending, but that is how life works after all, it might not work out as you wish, but it is rather interesting and educational.
Through a pyramid glass
Goes the sunlight
And its reflection, the rainbow
A spread of colors…
And to see that in it is an infinite array
Of colors in gradients, colors invisible to our eyes…
To see the comedy in divine grace
To the blessed goes the glory
To the blessed goes the glory
And the line reverberates on and on, as an old frail man plays on a necklace of wooden bead on the table, making shapes of anything, out of sheer boredom. He looks over the crowd of passers.
To the blessed goes the glory
And through the crowd stands out a thin, young man, curious, but passive, his slight pause throughout the crowd got the attention of hawkers and fortune tellers, just like our dear friend above.
To the blessed goes the glory
“Have your fortunes read, my friend, fame and riches might actually be in your way!”, replied our fortune teller character. The thin man smiles and stares away in disinterest. The old man, in knowledge of his craft, tries to convince, “To understand the future is to prepare the present for a better plan, and to prevent whatever ill might happen my friend, come now and sit.”, and the thin man smiled, replies in through the synchrony of the old man’s mind “To the blessed goes the glory”, smiles and looks away.
The old man, surprised at this, walked towards the thin man, in curiosity he seek to discover how did the thin man read the old man’s mind, in synchrony to what he said. Before he can reply, the thin man merely smiled and said. “To the blessed goes the glory, my dear friend, and in its very mystery, the future of self is but irrelevant to that of the future of the infinite. The strangest story can only be discovered and kept, it is then given to others the details on how to discover this story, for the journey in itself to discovery is part of the story, and as the journey gets closer, the story gets complete, upon which once discovered, all you can do is smile.”
“For the story is but mere humor, to which all you can do is smile, in its simplicity and the journey one has to travel to understand the logic behind can only be the reason we all remain curious. They who have discovered the story are smiling, and are still smiling, understanding the whole logic behind. You will find some of them anywhere and everywhere, even in mental asylums.
To the blessed goes the glory
And then walked away the thin, smiling man, towards the bus he was waiting for. The old man goes back to his chair and plays with the wooden beads necklace, in its next shape he discovered the story, and in its story he smiled. To the blessed goes the glory.
Subject 9542: Mr. Roland M. King. Claimed to have seen an alien in his backyard fixing up the yard before interrogating him in their spaceship. Apparently did a bad job in the cornfield with the rake and left some strange mess (known as crop circles). Subject due for interview on verification of sighting and complete description. Subject is a Protestant church member with no traces of hallucinogens in blood and urine tests. MRI scan is also clean but there are chances of some slight disturbance as his location lacks any entertainment. Client is seen to have been watching programs on Extra Terrestrials and might have a good chance of influencing him into perverting a possible dream into a reality. A further probe will be conducted.
With an excerpt from a report above, this would definitely not be the first time Dr. Smith has to interview another person claiming to have sightings of the third dimension. Facing the field of Mr. King, a regular farmer with an old TV, Dr. Smith takes Mr. King to the dining room and conducts the interview. Everyone in the house is now told to keep out. Being that Mr. King is a farmer with an old TV that breaks down once in a while, he would tend to have a lot of children.
“Mr. King, you claim to have seen an alien in your front yard”
“I have, as what I have reported”
“And he was cleaning your yard?”
“He wants to hide the evidence”
“People like you I guess”
“But what happened to the cornfields?”
“They messed it up, I guess they’re not good at fixing cornfields”
“Describe this alien to me” in a more bored voice, Dr. Smith feels this is one of those days again.
“He’s got some weird upside down egg shaped head. Tall and rather skinny, he seems to have some slight difficulty holding up his head with our gravity being different and all”
“Let me guess, he is green with large eyes?”
“Nope. He’s got those slanted Chinese eyes and his color looked like Mahogany”
“Have you kept the lid of that can open for a long time?”, inquired Dr. Smith, looking at a can of varnish on the side of the dining room. Mahogany colored aliens is rather the first time he has heard it.
“No Doc, I am not dreamin’ stuff up. He was real and I can tell you he was smart and all, like a computer. He was just curious with all this summer stuff we do and all. I had to defend why we all like to go to the beach”.
“And why was he curious about us going to the beach?”, now in a more curious tone. Dr. Smith is waiting for a story to laugh about. This can prove, in a way, that in some circumstance a farm boy will come up with some tall story with redneck words that would blow off the cover. Mr. King now narrates.
“He saw me, and waved his hands. I waved back and this alien approaches me. He holds my hand and looks up to this little bright light in the sky. I just saw things change in front of me. In one second. I was up in some space craft in a room with a window facing Earth. It was a little worrying and all as I thought he was going to get one of those alien whatnot and stick it up my behind. There was a chair and I was asked to sit down. In front of me was a figure and he started asking me
- Mr. King, are you comfortable? May we assist you with anything?
- I am all fine, but what is all this stuff about?
- We just have a few unsettling queries Mr. King. We’re pondering over your Earthly rituals.
- What rituals? I am a Protestant, all others are weird to me too
- Not religious rituals Mr. King, we have answers to that. We have already talked to the Dalai Lama, the Pope, and all others. They don’t seem pleased to be here though, and some of them seem to have lost their faith once they came up here. Odd enough, they all seem to cover their anuses for fear of us doing some tests. Rest assured, we don’t spend our time or be curious about putting things inside anuses. Your humanoid counterparts seem to have a strange fetish over anuses and found it rather interesting to talk about it. We suspect they were invented by a group of army or prison personnel. Who else would have such an interest. We are interested in your so called vacation, Mr. King. Kindly explain to me why your fellows find it amusing to pack a wicker basket with cooked food that will be brought along to what is called a beach. We cannot comprehend why would they want to go through congested roads for hours, scour different places for parking, and find a small area in this beach. What could be so amusing about covering oneself or musing over silicon chip raw material also known as sand, in the dreaded heat that causes regrettable skin peeling, or having to spend on sun block and consume topically and stay under the sun. They try to build a non-habitable sand castle near water that will wash it off, try to write something in the same place. And frolic in liquid not suitable for human consumption. This liquid, known as water, is also the same liquid where humans and sea creatures relieve waste in. This would also be the same liquid being mixed with incompatible foreign objects such as fuel from boats and such. What is to be gained from all this but a false mental illusion of peace and relaxation. Mr. King, does anyone in your planet have any logical explanation for such irrational choice of behavior? Doesn’t all the above defy what should be considered filth, crowd, hassle, and noise? Couldn’t there be anything more productive?
- Mr. alien, sir, I am just a farmer and everyday I watch my cornfields grow. I might not be the best person to answer but this is the best I can say. Being away from the daily chores with people you enjoy being with can help make life worth living. Working like a horse, as our phrase, would tend to make things stressful. More than fulfilling our purpose, we also want to appreciate the most basic and primal of everything, and that would be nature’s grand creation. While sand is indeed raw material for glass and computer chips, it also can serve a therapeutic and calming purpose when rubbed around the body. The waste products of animals, which makes the sea salty, can also be good for the skin. Moving around the cool waters in the midst of the summer heat gives two extremes we all enjoy to play with. The sense of relief does help a person’s body to relax better and let go of stress. Building sand castles and writing on sand expresses ones creativity and distracts the mind from everyday work. We tend to focus on creating something and the immediate sense of achievement can help a person’s mind feel the happiness of fulfillment, even for a short time. It is a mentally therapeutic venue, an excuse from stress. Sometimes you have to change your environment to forget work. As anything that reminds of work can burn a person out. This little recharging activity helps a person feel refreshed and work even further. How can we go the extra mile if we’re too tired to walk? We have to sit, relax, and gain some energy before we can run again. And this is a very important function for everyone.
- Thank you for your comment Mr. King, we will take note of that and review other comments. Thank you for your time”
“And then I was zapped back into my front yard as if nothing happened. I swear doc, I defended beach vacation”
Dr. Smith found the story impressive, from a farmer, this was a very logical outlay of words and reason. At one point, who knows, Mr. King might have actually met a mahogany colored alien with Chinese eyes who want to get an opinion from a farmer. Then again, why would aliens want to know what a farmer thinks, given that his formal education has been limited. But let us not forget that watching that cornfield grow can give someone enough time to reflect and ponder on ideas. Being too busy to reflect can sometimes lead us to become blunt. These aliens, if they do exist, did make a wise choice after all.
“Thank you Mr. King for your time, we will keep you posted”
Subject has been interviewed and needed report has been made, possibility of hallucination from varnish being called for consideration and possibility for sighting. While the farmer’s story seems too logical and advanced for his education, subject still has the very ability, like other humans, to dwell into broader fields of life and philosophy. More investigation might have to be conducted to prove or disprove sightings.
“She just snapped, like a pencil, dashing around in the plane in an erratic manner.”, “It was just plain crazy, and we had to make sure everyone’s ok. With what she did we thought we would die then and there. It was crazy. Thank God the captain came to the rescue”, “For 10 years she was never like this. In fact, she never even showed any sign of stress or erratic behavior. It just happened”
Standing outside is the most popular stewardess, as described by a few conversations above. She saw her fellow colleagues go inside and leave, giving her a frightened look as if she’s a grizzly bear or a lawyer who has had a bad day. She’s a mess and she knows going in there next will not help her at any point.
It just comes to a point where you have to face things as they are and accept it, bringing in the point on why it happened.
This is one of those situations where you wish to have been able to evade.
Staring intently on her shoes and wondering what to say next, wishing that an earthquake were to postpone her meeting won’t happen soon, even if she did stomp the ground real hard, making her look more insane as what she already looks like.
She gets up off her seat and stares on the floor while walking. It was noticed though, that the floor is kept clean. The janitor did an amazing job, and has always been doing an amazing job. Apparently, only people in trouble or have lost something realize this more than the rest. People who lost their contacts would have realized this had they had better vision, as to that they have lost their contacts, everything is a blur.
She steps towards the door to twist the doorknob.
More on what is happening in there after a few moments. As what is noticed, she must have done something really bad to have quite an introduction above. Here’s what happened that fateful day on a busy domestic morning flight.
But more specifically, 20 minutes after take off with the seatbelt sign turned off. She made her last announcement to the passengers on airline safety and was ready to push the tray. Nothing extraordinary happened and everyone was busy as usual. There were no hostilities or crying babies. In 7 minutes she will be pushing the cart back to the storage and get the next cart to serve the next batch. As usual, chicken seems to be a popular choice. On her way back though, she has decided that she has had enough of the plane and needed some fresh air, and tried her might to open the airline door. As her frantic tries gets her screaming and yelping, her colleagues help push her off the door, causing them to let go the food cart they were holding and getting it to crash to one of the passengers who just came out of the toilet, only to decide it might actually be a better idea to go back inside and clean up. Maybe even wait a while until everything settles down and take the cart off the toilet door. The stewardess then tried to go towards the front and maybe fly the plane off course to another area, any area for that matter. This was when the captain came out and put her on the chair, got her tied up and raised his voice, telling her to snap off it. She just ended crying all the way back to their destination. Everyone was shaken, and the business class passenger she is now seated beside is feeling rather uncomfortable with the arrangement of him having to sit beside her all throughout the flight. The whole commotion did cause some turbulence and got the plane to jerk up and down only once. This was enough to get the food to experience zero gravity for a moment, and choose their landing, which was usually on expensive clothing and laptops.
While the airline is now handling lawsuits and heavy cleaning of the airplane, they have decided to try to grill the hell out of the stewardess, who has caused all the mess, as she is now entering the room.
After being read the incident in a more polite and politically correct manner, she was asked one simple question. “What the fuck happened to you up there?”
To which she gave the following monologue.
“I have always watched airplanes on TV with happy stewardesses and happy passengers. I dreamt of seeing the world by being an airline stewardess and make people happy. And truth be told, I did get those. But who knew what was happening behind the curtain? The review of passengers on the plane, the repetitive review of airline safety, and passing the food, it just happens 3 times a day for the past 10 years.”
“I start off by reading the passenger roster and arranging appropriate food for appropriate diets, if requested. We have to prepare for special concerns accordingly. Once in the plane and everyone is reminded to fasten their seatbelts, the door is closed and the plane will start to move. I will then go in front and demonstrate safety tips while playing the video of the same damn thing by inserting the same tape to the same recorder. After the demonstration and announcement, I sit on my chair and await for the seatbelt sign to go off. Then we pass the food to everyone in the plane and get it back later on. There will be another announcement and check on passengers to ensure they’re following the fasten seatbelt sign. It is then that I make another announcement and greet them off the plane with a smile, knowing that there is another flight I have to prepare for.”
“It drove me nuts doing it over and over again. I look at the roster and see the same names. They all fly the plane like they ride the bus, it is a part of their schedule to their next meeting. It is no longer a wonder or awe for them, it is all taken for granted.”
“You do understand that there is a need for human being to develop and evolve through their own lifetime. In this course of time, we need to develop ourselves in some way, otherwise, we feel we have lost our value. The mind needs to evolve and develop. It needs to breathe and run free, it has to be creative once in a while. For some, it will just show this need out of nowhere. When this happens, it will nag and nag and nag. It will get bored and it will make decisions beyond what the board of directors are telling it inside. It then gets extreme to get itself to be free. It will want to make itself heard, even if the situation deemed would be considered totally irrational and dangerous. It needs to vent off steam.”
“At that point, out of nowhere, was a meltdown inside me, the warning signs might have been lighting and beeping but it was too weak for me to notice. I just had to let it off”
“No one on the bloody plane caused any commotion, no one brought a crying baby, or a racist neo-nazi. There have been no fights to stop or no terrorist to beat up. I was losing my significance to everyone’s eyes.”
“In that I seeked refuge in the extreme of all actions, and to this as much as I regret, I couldn’t correct that mistake, I am sorry.”
The psychiatrist looked at her and said nothing for the past 10 minutes. The mirror behind her had people who said nothing either, until a male executive quipped, “I needed to vent off my steam today so I did something different, I came to work today with no underwear”.
He did get sued for sexual harassment as the rest of the people in that little room were women. He also had a more spacious work area as most of the cubicle in his immediate area has been deserted by everyone.
The stewardess found interest in him and his problem and decided to marry him, even if his choice was not as extreme, it was plain stupid anyway. He found that after what he said, she was the only person remaining willing to talk to him or even show any sign of interest.
For the airline company, well, who knows, and at this point, who cares.
Here was a conversation that has transpired through the use of mental telepathy with the assistance of eye and lip edge movements. While others look at two of these individuals as couples smirking and flirting with each other, a rather intellectual conversation transpired between a man and a woman.
The man, Clive, in his mid-thirties, sits on a chair three tables away from Mandy, a woman in her early thirties. They have both been good friends for quite sometime and have found that this distance makes things more interesting in their conversation. On the other hand, again, it is a very disturbing sight for everyone else who notices this and wonders why Clive is not even making his move for the past hour.
“Where have you been all this time?” Inquired Mandy, to which Clive replied “To the more poetic venues of whose scenery is conducive to conversation, my dear. After all, nothing could be sought off to develop one’s motivation to be inspired in the field of philosophy and such in a venue filled with loud music, inconvenient seats, and overpriced drinks. You do remember I need my nectar to get into the dream state.”
“Should it matter that your venue be conducive? Less progress has been made by people native to these venues, dear. Ever considered that what is more important, therefore, is deprivation?” Quipped Mandy on a starting challenge to Clive, who tried mental telepathy on the waitress to follow up his order, and unfortunately got her to just mess herself on her underwear. The waitress, now embarrassed, wondered how she just decided to let go a mess on her underwear out of nowhere, and is now suspicious. Clive gets back to the conversation with the “drunken eyes” effect and states, “let us agree to a combination of both. If you look for it, you will cherish it when you see it, and let inspiration drive you, but you may also write about what you dream of, and what could be more colorful than what you don’t have, for you crave for it, and dream it, and describe it in its very detail and core.”
Mandy accidentally strayed her eyes and saw a customer’s shoe, which then decided to stay in place rather than moving, causing the customer to trip and wonder why his foot did not move that instant he ordered it to. He now joins the waitress who is looking around more like they are looking for magical elves without even believing in their existence.
“Getting off the poetic scene discussion”, stated Clive, “Today I have stumbled upon a concealer at work in one of the many everyday workplaces. He deceives and conceals what is supposed to be there with something else.” Mandy inquires with her eyes and accidentally stares at another man behind Clive, causing his drink to spill all over his food, when he had no intention whatsoever to do so. Mandy continues that look of inquiry as there are now more people becoming suspicious of a haunted café.
More of Concealers
Concealers work in some of the more interesting places. They take what is deemed worthless and shine it up a bit, adding more to what is there with words and color, adding music and smell, to overwhelm the senses before it sees any fault in what is in front of them. They do their work well on cars as car salesmen, or in insurance. They live everywhere and received inspiration from make up artists. They can be seen in movie effects, model ramps, and even clothes stores. In its sense there is no sin, as in the end without their wallpapers the wall is bland, without their touch ups the table is worth nothing, and without their speeches a good majority of religions won’t exist. They probably might be useful for something after all.
Going back to Clive, Mandy, and the disaster they are causing to the café with their accidental mental telepathy and eye and lip movements. The coffee is starting to cool when Mandy narrates on monotony.
“Ever been in airline and stare at the step by step procedures a stewardess has to do before take off, during the flight, and landing? Yet many people want to be in her shoes for the opportunity to fly. Just like in many things that we dream of becoming, there are actual monotonous movements and habits that happen day after day. It would be no wonder for a person to lose their mind if they do have any in such situations. If you can think, it will want to keep on evolving, and if it is hindered, it will nag, and when it nags, it will choose extreme measures to make itself heard, just to get a breath of fresh air. Anyway, that is another story, a long story, I have to move before they realize it was all us causing this disaster”.
And move they did, but people did discover it was them all this time, as while everyone either messed their underwear or other clothing, or fell for no apparent reason. They were both intact and smiling. Of course, someone had to make sure they join the group, and extended his foot in front of their path, making it suspiciously dangerous for any incoming client to even consider taking a seat in this café.
It is the first time to be put inside a mental asylum. With all logical hope of explaining squandered to mere simpletons in proving the case, there is nothing left but to stare at these walls.
These walls, staring back with their padding. Always being watched, even when isolated, with its false sense of security sarcastically surrounding as if it is a bubble from reality, protecting the occupant from the outside world, or is it the other way?
All that can be done is stay fuming mad and walk around the room remaining fuming mad. Mad at all those who still refuse to understand, mad at all those who get in the way to the final solution to the mystery, the needed answer, or a corrected guide to a map misguiding the rest.
But to what point does it make sense to stay fuming mad? If this ill-temper will help resolve the issue of being comprehended, then it is an efficient and purposeful action that will deem the results needed.
Otherwise it is a mere waste of time and energy. Energy which, by the way, everyone is wasting away.
If an average man burns a certain amount of calories getting pissed off, which is an equivalent to a cup of rice (an example as a very least amount burnt, although there would be more proof that more is consumed in a lifetime), and 6 billion people got mad, that would mean 6 billion cups of rice wasted on being angry without solving any purpose. We are such wastrels.
Pacing helps in thinking, thinking will bring back logic which might actually point to the following.
Insanity is a disorder in the brain in which one notion, logic, or emotion has gone dangerously off the chart of what is considered normal, and can thus cause harm. This imbalance is typically caused, surprisingly, by a good chain of events bringing a person to the state of insanity.
In some cases then, we are consciously or unconsciously involved in making someone who he is, a person whose logic or emotion going out of normal balance, with a possibility of causing harm not only to himself but to others as well, with the perfect notion and thought that he is indeed correct.
This could also mean though, that anyone who has ever harmed others or themselves to be justifiably insane.
But the insane person apparently has built a logic we cannot deem as normal and straight-lined. They apparently have books and books of different cases from several personality to God knows what.
And it might also be our fault they got there. Just listen to the psychiatrists. It all occurred due to an even in that person’s life that tipped the balance off a bit.
Everyone is insane, but to a certain extent. These are the same people who we cannot reason out to, and end up with the most extreme ideas. Unless of course it is us who they cannot reason out to either, and has thus caused the conflict.
But we cannot seem to accept that, could we?
And here comes the arguments, the fights, and we all end up in our mental asylums.
Our little rooms, the bubbles that protect us from reality, or reality being protected from us.
As resolutions are now being chosen, waiting and hounding that sarcastic wall, the world is listening. If only they knew what they did to put us here, staring at the window with that air of disgust over society and its influence to everything. We are all insane who hide in rooms further making us insane.
It has been almost five years since our hippie friend has decided to move into a tree house type of place in a province herein a 3rd world country. Nothing in his own country pleased him after the 70s Flower Power. Up to this date, in this present time, our friend has still dreamed of coming up with vehicles that run on hemp instead of fossil fuels. Everything revolves around hemp, fire, and Indian music, which has, unfortunately, changed into the worse/Western as he would term it.
Sitting in his little hammock, a little light trying to peek through a small opening in the window awning is noticed as it hits the glass bead curtains, causing a strange yet natural array of rainbow on the rough, sandy floor. Our tree hugging friend stares at it in a daily appreciation of nature and its wonderful beauty, until he sobers up from whatever he was smoking and proceeds to his computer and write for tree hugging magazines.
Looking through the world as if our eyes are staring through a Kaleidoscope can be very trippy. Everything is not exactly what it looks but it is either awesome for some as it is annoying for others. End of the day, no one will exactly have the same view. The day that Kaleidoscope is realized and taken off, either we will like or hate what we see. Strange enough, we have heard of these people who have professed taking scopes off. They can give some of the most amazing description of what is out there. Question is, are they for real man? Or are they bluffing. They are like the government man, all lies and shit. Uncle Sam is keeping us in the dark man and distracted with all these material stuff using Mother Earth’s resources. It’s heavy tough man, not fair on the soil we step on and the wind we’re breathing. They’re all different now man, all heavy and uncool.
And it may definitely be said by some of his readers, who did buy computers too and all its packaging. How these hippies can totally eradicate pollution is one story, but them being the safest drivers on the road after a little session is another. His VW Flower Van has more dents than a man who hasn’t paid the Italian mafia on time. He prepares the van for the next trip through town to sell his hemp shirts in the market while professing the evils of government. Not much progress has been made, and there is the utter confusion on saving the whales who ends up eating little fishes as it actually goes against the speech on big corporations eating up little mom and pop stores. They haven’t found vegetarian whales either, as the plan to grow apple trees underwater did not work out as planned.
And yet in truth to some of his speeches, as the world is indeed beautiful in little Kaleidoscopes and their distortions. We have indeed decided to keep ourselves distracted consciously or unconsciously with the strange shapes and colorful lights in this little tube. It seems to be a bee on Shrooms and Prozac in this world after all, enjoying the lightshow of things passing by.
Coming from a midst of a dark tunnel in creativity, Ernest has suddenly seen the light of inspiration and got his fingers focused on putting the following phrase, as discussed by his right brain.
“Even the darkest hour cannot overshadow,
the majesty of a flower blooming,
boasting its beauty revealed,
inspiring poetry into minds,
*scratch, scratch, scratch*
And more annoying scratches were heard in the usual side of the wall, turning inspiration into blunder. The right minds shuts off with a sarcastic grin and Ernest is back into being in the blank, annoyed, and angered. The mouse is still alive and literally scratching. Everything was tried and none seemed to have worked to rid of the rat.
In one occasion, an organic rat poison was used. It was, unfortunately, so mild, that the rat ended up with a constipation. This has caused some of the worse foul smelling excrements inside the wall with its only vent towards the rat hole. This has worsened the whole state which now includes damages on furniture, half eaten food, noises, and organic excrement, which was known to be a possible ingredient of nerve gas.
In another occasion, sticky papers, and rat traps were used. It has, unfortunately, ended up annoying Ernest more, who gets his toe stuck in both items at night.
It seems like the rat is here to stay, unless Ernest finds a solution quick. He dives into his pile and finds a telephone. Before reaching for the phone book, to look for exterminators, he decides to call a random number instead, and hopes it is a pleasant and helpful person on the other side, with all the time to spare, and give him suggestions on how to catch a rat. By the way, he lives in the city, so a friendly person on the other side with a lot of time to spare might actually end up being a person with psychological disorders and finds some sort of amusement using knives and other household items on human flesh. They too, are waiting for a phone call this instant.
Ernest ended up calling the author of this story, who had to step back for a while and answer the phone.
Now that he is back and typing the story, this is what transpired in the conversation.
Ernest: Hi, this is…
Author: Ernest, living in apartment with a rat problem that is keeping you from your work…
Ernest: How did you… How did???
Author: I know that? Easy, I created you with my head…
Ernest: That is just plain strange, and would gladly appreciate it if you give me some time to compose myself (37.45 seconds later, my choice). You created me?
Author: You are repeating what you have heard, and I was loud and clear.
Ernest: Well then, how come the rat still exists?
Author: Because you unconsciously chose not to kill him.
Ernest: You do not seem like the person who created me, if you did, you would have known that I want him dead with all these attempts..
Author: That are all futile. You chose the weaker and organic rat poison, knowing in a way those things don’t work. You have unconsciously chosen locations in a disturbing distance from your ref, from which you pass by at night to get a glass of water, always forgetting your rat traps. You are fully aware that your rat did not get his food from the fridge, but instead, from the bigger crumbs of food that falls off your plate while you pass your time talking to strangers on the net, who, by the way, are not 23 year old women, but 45 year old gay ex-convicts, so you know.
Ernest: But why would I want to keep the rat alive?
Author: You are lonely, Ernest, and need a companion, that rat is an excuse to keep you busy and pass your time. Besides, you are terrible at writing, and need to blame someone for your loss of creativity, the best would be distraction. I know, that is how I wrote you for this story.
Ernest: So I suck because you chose me to?
Author: You have a purpose and your life is a lesson Ernest. As long as you live the story, there is something for others to discover.
Ernest: And if I chose to jump off the window now? For which I am ready to do if I know I can never be a good writer.
Author: You won’t. Not in this story, as I choose that you won’t. Even that phrase was created by me.
Ernest: If I want to prove you wrong?
Author: You may, if I decide to let you
Ernest: What about you?
Author: A writer, like you, who knows, maybe a wrong number might get me to my author, or to psychologically perverted murderers with silverware.
Ernest: Unless I can outsmart you
Author: You are limited to as much as I know, and I can choose not to make you as intelligent as me, but you have the potential. My intelligence again, would be in its same limits.
Ernest: Just like putting two mirrors in front of each other and flashing your
Author: hand in the middle, yes.
And as planned, Ernest puts down the phone, completely confused and disoriented by the phone call, for which even his questions were created by an author who might actually suffer from some split personality in creating this story.
Ernest goes back to his poetry, unfinished and disturbed. Who is to blame? At this point, who cares. In a way, all he can think of would be his purpose. And then regret, which, by the way, is one of the most useless emotions, causing self psychological, physical, and emotional damage over the past. But there is nothing much Ernest can do, as he was chosen not to be able to do anything.
Staring at the blank hole, the rat’s den, Ernest decides to wait for the rat, and probably observe him. There is nothing he can do but while his time away with his only visible companion in the room, now that chatting to 23 year old women does not seem to be so motivational. Some mysteries are best left unsolved, unless you have a better choice.
(TV on mid volume in the background.) “Recent archaeological discoveries have found proof of the existence and unfortunate demise of Santa Claus. As per Dr. Smith of the National Museum, Santa Claus was found in a former Native American village turned casino. While dates are being confirmed, it was theorized that Santa Claus got in the middle of two Native American group battle after confusing smoke signals for a chimney of a “nice” toddler. Upon arrival to the scene, both groups looked up and screamed “White man! White man!” and shot him down with no mercy. Native American representative of one of the groups refuse to apologize, stating that “He deserved it with his toys made from Native American child laborers”. More on” *click* “…and in tonight's show we have…”
Nothing is always on TV on Christmas, which is why Frank turns it on to keep boredom off his back while staring at the window from a run-down apartment. It was a very bad idea to break up any point in time before Christmas primarily because there is no one to cook Frank a nice Christmas dinner. He was too drunk and stupid that New Year was over when he was so drunk and wasted that he broke up with his girlfriend, a tradition he strictly follows to make sure he does not get stuck with a nagger and yet get a good meal. He should have realized the difference between his neighbor's annual exploding Christmas lights and fireworks. He was so drunk he actually greeted his girlfriend a happy new year, gave her a hug, sang Aud Lang Syne and told her to get out of the apartment (It was actually longer and concerned certain profanities that involved the following words - Shit, Bitch, Fuck, Damn, associated to anatomical parts and relatives and their anatomical parts of his girlfriend). Frank later learned, after watching the news, that it was one week before Christmas, and this was not enough time to find another emotional victim.
Staring at the window has not helped either. Everywhere he looks he can only see couples. And strange enough, whenever you look for a single woman it always seems there's none around, and when you are with a woman, there seems to be better women walking around alone, irregardless of how appealing your woman is, there would be tons hotter walking in front of you. This is not a good time for philosophical discussions. In times of crisis, focus on your prey. Once done or tired would it be best to get a bottle of Vodka and talk like Plato (after being drunk from too much wine on a bath). It was, of course, a problem considering that he would be in a bath naked with other men. Rome seemed to be too gay for Frank, he might prefer Confucius, even if his grammar sounded worse than Yoda in Star Wars.
Things are not looking good for Frank, who has decided to give up searching and put on his coat, move towards the door, and get the hell out of his house. Walking towards the elevator, he was rehearsing lines to use on prospective women and checking his breath while simultaneously thinking of killing every “bastard” as he puts it, who came up with Christmas songs he would be forced to hear for this month. Getting out of the elevator, he hailed a taxi an old man was getting in. It did not matter if it took the old man a good 30 minutes to get one, or the fact that he is freezing and looking forward to getting to the nearest eat-all-you-can buffet and while away his life there. Frank's crisis, he believes, is larger, as he does not want to go hungry on Christmas, and decides to rush to the nearest bar with desperate women.
He could have gone for women who would only go out with him to marry him and get a resident Visa, and hopefully, a citizenship. But they cannot cook real food. As far as he can remember, the last meal involved a lot of sugar, rice, and stinky fish. She was immediately evicted from his residence, swearing to never date a woman whose name he has difficulty pronouncing. He has tried everything to make things convenient for himself, but end up with more complications and adventures he would have preferred not going through.
He has also dated a very modern woman, who refuses to cook for men on basis of gender equality. But in the restaurant, he had to pay the bill, considering that it was the least he can do. She too, was kicked out and erased from the list. As the list of adventures keep on getting longer, Frank kept on getting more careful, and choosy. He has a list that states, “Beware of the following signs, if you want a good Christmas and New Year's meal or a peaceful sleep”. The title was too long, but he knows all about the sentence, so he just wrote “Beware of”. Some of the things he watches out for are: Women with funny names, as discussed previously, modern women, ditto, big women, higher grocery bills, intellectual women, makes him feel stupid and would not go for him anyway, clumsy women, as one almost burnt his house, nature lovers, as they don't shave their armpits, and would probably be vegetarian, and he hates tofu, and the list goes on.
He has put a mark on what he wants to look for - Stupid, horny women who can cook. They merely have to be smart enough to read, add, and measure ingredients and cook him a good Christmas and New Year's meal.
This is all he is looking for, a good home cooked meal for Christmas and New Year's. He does not want to hang out with his friends, who would then be couples, and flaunt their “couplehood” in front of him, whether it be a marital or pre-marital relationship. They always flaunt their emotions as if it was a romantic movie. The worst part was when they decide to help him by hooking him up with blind dates. This was some bad news.
Blind dates are bad news because couples always choose crappy women to make sure they're still the more romantic and compatible couple. The woman would always choose a friend who desperately needs a guy and keeps on crying about it, she will find him a wonderful guy to fix up her self esteem. The man will make sure that his friend's date will suck so he will feel better off. End of the day, he ends up with a date who would have a small “flaw”, as according to his friend, who was setting things up. This was only to realize that the flaw involved a third nipple on her left cheek, which she fondly plays with given any opportunity, and would prefer to be kissed there during greetings. It looks disturbing whenever the weather is nippy.
Why is it so hard to get a girl to cook a good Christmas and New Year's meal? Why can't he just buy it outside? Or hire someone to cook for him? For the very simple reason that women are emotional beings, and express their artistry and passion through cooking. You can tell if a woman has a bad day by eating her cooking, and how much she loves you on a special event. There is something added or replaced to make things taste better for particular people. Meals made by women are tailor fit for men they love, and unless your friend's spouse or girlfriend loves you more, your friend is enjoying the meal more than you.
Special events, as previously stated, are times when women are exceptionally happy, and are thus in the mood to cook something special for someone they care. It is important though, that the woman has spent enough time to know and understand her man to understand what he likes, otherwise, some strangely named woman will end up cooking Kimchi or smelly fish for Christmas, which would not make it a nice meal.
Having two to three days of the year dedicated to the best meal is important for men, as it is like a vacation, where the magic of good cooking unwinds the man entirely. At this point in time, we do understand why men look for women similar to their mothers, entirely because they were brought up with their mothers' dishes. Play the logic from here.
Going back to the story, Frank is now on 23rd street, looking for a bar to go inside and get a girl to cook him a good meal. On the way, he has finally pondered on the above and saw a bus with a man and a woman being romantically entwined for a situation not suitable for children below 18. These children will have to contend themselves with naked women calendars found in any truck driver's delivery door.
He stops on the bus stop instead, deciding to head home to family for Christmas. It has been three years since he has last visited his parents but this is an emergency, as he longs for his annual meal. He meets up with the old man who he stole the taxi from, going to the buffet near the bus stop. He was greeted by the old man with the same use of profanities linked up with him and his anatomical parts. He merely smiles and greets him with his middle finger, the best he has shown this Christmas year.
20 years ago from tomorrow was the exact day Herman has decided to become a hermit. Professing his new ideologies in faith and his firm belief in superstitions and Bill Gates giving him money off by forwarding emails has made him a laugh of the town, especially after it was readily admitted that 1. Bill Gates would do no such thing, 2. The author admitted spreading the chain mail, and 3. Everyone has fallen for it twice and knows its fallacies. Herman clearly remembered the court case involving the author being sued by everyone who fell for the email with the notion that he will have to pay each and every English literate reader 1 billion dollars. He ended up settling with buying a round of tequila every week in a random bar for 50 years. This punishment has actually motivated more high school kids to acquire fake driver’s licenses and follow the author around wherever he will be buying tequila.
Anyway, Herman still forwarded emails on Bill Gates and came up with a new sector of Christianity with a base belief that God resides in everyone’s middle finger, after being shown the finger, without knowing that it was actually profane. He has been arrested a number of times for showing the finger to Kindergarten school children after saying “Bless you”, to church goers whenever he joins the choir, and to practically every priest and nun imaginable. It was only after realizing that Herman’s logic is slightly skewed to another galaxy in the right that people considered him a nut and ignored him. He was also in a lot of trouble when he was caught placing bags of red wine on top of blood bags because they were “the blood of Christ”. It was safe to say no one had to go through the whole ordeal of having to get a hangover before dying since the blood type had a cross mark on it instead of the regular letters. He was also able to profess that being Christian means one has to consume as much of “Christ’s blood” as he could to have Christ all around his body. He ended up running over Mrs. Coldwell’s Persian cat and several mailboxes and bonsai gardens. Apparently, being Christian was also synonymous to being piss drunk.
Herman left his town and decided to become a hermit. He ensured he will be “Christian” all his life and got a good number of wine bottles as what he can afford, he got a lot of “Christ’s blood potentials”, also known as grape juice, with the hope they will ferment.
20 years and Herman did not care, he was drunk with the worst notion possible and everyone laughed at him. Everyone in town used his “Being Christian” as an excuse of being drunk. It was no longer funny that it took several priests and daily visits to residents to insist on the whole symbolism of wine. The entire town was renamed “Alcoholicsville”. Things became normal 3 years after Herman left and Koreans with wine shops started migrating to other towns with plans to profess Herman’s religious ideology.
20 years and Herman opens the door to hunt for fruits, as he was too drunk to hunt anything that actually moves. It would still take him time to pick apples and other fruits as he has an accuracy of 20% spearing them. He doesn’t understand why they always seem to go in circles. He did catch a squirrel once, and this was by accidentally stepping on its tail as he was about to fall. Another occasion involved him falling on his back and sat on a rabbit, which then became very disabled.
But for the first time in 20 years Herman, a superstitious hermit, got a chain letter in front of his abode in the forest. It stated, in summary, that the if the bearer does not send this letter out in 2 days to 50 people, he will have unimaginable bad luck and run out of wine. If it was sent out, he will be the new archbishop of his religion and followers will flock to him.
It would actually defeat the purpose if a hermit would have the immediate ability to send this letter to 50 other people as he was not supposed to have any contact or knowledge of anyone else, but the prospective to prove himself right gave him the challenge to leave his abode and go back to the town he has not visited 20 years tomorrow.
He did visit the town and was quite surprised on the changes, music kept on getting worse, people come up with more terrible dances, guys are becoming too “in contact with feelings” and the whole women’s rights and equality have gone too far. It was, in a way, the usual trend anyways. From toasters that lasted one year they now last 10 days. Since everything was manufactured in China, and Chinese in China have terrible grammar and English usage (they almost got into war with the United States when it was suspected that the manual for the penis enlarger pump sounded like a secret message to go to war with the United States and that MSG is actually radioactive, the Chinese actually explained what the main message was and sighed in relief that they got away with the radioactive MSG, it was a supposed cover to send secret messages overseas on military plans. This was the first time that their only buyers, politicians and military generals, actually decided to read and comprehend the manual) everyone started learning Chinese. Now, not only was English bastardized, it became Confucian, imagine a Spanish sounding person speaking English like a Chinese, it was found to be unbearable.
But nothing else has changed, it all followed the same trend it has always been following. Minor upgraded happened in lifestyle, but no major changes in evolution. Herman got his written letters and dropped it off 50 different houses. The prank done by the author of the Bill Gates letter was actually moving around. The author was madly discussing over his new prank in the bar while buying a bunch of 15 year olds tequila shots.
Upon discovery of the prank, Herman took his case to the court, being that he still has the right to do it, just like half of the idiots who do it anyway. He was able to win the case against the drunk author and got the author to be his first disciple.
As far as it went, Herman was still the clown of the town. Realizing that he was better of drunk and hunting apples than stuck in a town with terrible music, dances, culture, and appliances, he left off and went back to his abode. According to the rules though, the author had to follow him along wherever he goes.
Herman and the author lived a relatively drunk life after, and since they both suffer the same hangovers in the morning, their schedule are quite synchronized as it is, just the way Herman liked it, and could not be any happier. For the author, he could not give a fuck, and blessed the entire forest with his middle finger.
A man in his thirties sits alone in a relatively quiet bar. It was his first time here and all he can think of is how to start a conversation with people who doesn’t seem to pay any attention to him whatsoever. At this point, while playing with the bar match sticks and tossing peanuts to his mouth (missing so far that it is best if he were to play toss the nuts on your neighbor’s drink and annoy him). He started to think, loudly and in an unwelcome manner.
“I would go out on occasions and realize the need of a drink. The only thing that sucks would be an invite to drink tequila, which I would consider nasty. Who actually enjoys tequila anyways? I prefer a nice smooth and calming descent of a good vodka mix, but Tequila crashes you. You’re gone in no time.”
At this point no one does care about what he has to say, being that they are annoyed with the peanuts in their drink, he continues.
“Women apparently have this passion for Tequila, now that they have all their designated drivers and all they can just go crazy. The strange thing is they go hyper and dance around like crazy, and do crazy things, like inviting me to the dance floor, where I know, by previous traumatizing experience, that I would suck in.”
Still alone and desperate, he increased his tone while shifting his legs as one of them fell asleep.
“Women do get drunk apparently, but find a very convenient location to “release the evil” a.k.a. puke, and that would be the car, and this could be a problem. You see, at one point, I thought women passed out or ended up puking because of my perfume, which made me think twice into changing from Hugo Boss to something more pleasant, like Glade. No one gets pissed off at Glade scents. But a man smelling like Glade Apple is not a good plan. You could be looked at as a sissy or someone very questionable “what in the world is that on you? Be a man! Even gays don’t put that shit on their armpits”, would be the usual tagline.
No, men need manly fragrances, they need the rough woodsy smell or some musk. Men have to smell like they came from the woods hunting or so, but in a cultured manner. It has to be “James Bondish” wherein a guy would go to the woods, hunt a bear for dinner, lay it on his Victorian dining table at camp and use the appropriate forks and knives in eating his dinner.”
Now he has gotten the attention of the barman, who also finds him annoying.
“Women want rough men, well built and masculine, which I am very much the opposite of. I just do not see the point torturing myself and paying for it (the gym). I do not see the purpose of having large muscles. Given the opportunity that things would go violent, I would get a gun, or a nuclear weapon, and point it at my muscular opponent, who, I would enjoy watching trying to catch the bullet. Who is the man now? I would ask.”
“But once in the bar all these largely built men flaunt themselves and their “ruggedness”, some a little too much you would expect that he would have a hat with horns in the house, waiting for his next pillaging event. I would prefer to just sit in the corner and have my drink, quizzing the opponent on which animal on heat smells like him. Listening to a band I have no choice of listening too, a band still going through puberty, not being able to appreciate the greatest classics of all time, U2, Depeche Mode, and the other bands of our era who make songs that are comprehendable, and not just a repetition of some song we have heard before.”
Done and impressed at his speech of intellect, he was given a rather fair treatment of being booted out of the bar by irate muscular men and pop-song singers.
Sitting alone overlooking the beach at one point in time, a man, of whose age has brought countless stories over the decades peers into the glass, reflecting on what would have been a discovery he did not realize all of his life, until now.
In its strange grace, like blessing, did sand exist. For all its simplicity and abundance have we taken it for granted, yet sand has evolved man into new strides beyond of which we would never have attained.
In its very first essence, sand has provided us the needed durability for shelter, one of the basic needs of man for survival. Without which, we would not have had a more stable abode.
To its second evolution came glass, glass has then evolved from being a mere reusable form of container into lenses. These lenses, made out of sand, magnify the universe and thus make our story visible within the comprehension of our eye. Now, we can peer into the outside and appreciate the glory of infinity, see neighboring planets and stars above us with the materials found below us. In its strange point, sand was once considered the smallest matter in solid existence, and has now brought forth an unimaginable view, as it has brought sight of both the universe and our own world.
The third evolution has come through the heart of all computers and electronic product. Silicon, derived from silica, sand, has brought machines practically responsible to a whole new way of information and discovery. Computers have enhanced our understanding of life, and our means of self-discovery and improvement. These machines focus their purpose and life to computing and evolving. It teaches us more about us as we make them more like us. In the idea of creating a mirror do we start to see ourselves better.
The fourth evolution, fiber optics, has instilled a very essential new web in the lives of billions, communication. Through the use of fiber optics has communication become so efficient and the dispersion of information more widespread. Our knowledge has spread its wings further through the bounty of the land.
Sipping through the cool glass in this mild morning sun, the man offers a toast to the ground, realizing that many of life’s greatest evolution is from resources abundant.
A repetitive, in an almost perpetual consistency of thumping could be heard in the next room of a very thin and poorly insulated wall. This does annoy Robert, who, by deciding to be a low profile writer, stays in a low budget apartment. This noise could sound like a man who seems to be banging his head to the wall, but that would hurt, a lot. In fact, that would hurt a great deal lot that even a drunk man would either pass out from being drunk or knock himself out in pain. Repetitive thumping noises of a certain length should not be possible for any human being, which could then mean one thing, it is not a man thumping his head against the wall.
The noise was in fact his neighbor thumping a Judge’s mallet on a table, or actually more of a cheesy wooden artifact he regrettably bought overpriced in his recent trip to the next town. Now, the whole vacation doesn’t matter much as it has nothing to do with Robert, who, incidentally, also got a cheesy wooden statue from his neighbor. No, his neighbor was trying to pretend to be a judge, for, after all these years of being a lawyer, his dream of being a judge passed of as a mere dream now that he was forcefully retired due to old age, which wouldn’t be much of a problem if he didn’t usually forget everything, including going to court during the cases, or even the cases he was supposed to defend, or prosecute. Yes, the judge would have a very bad tendency of forgetfulness that only a man who wants to go to jail, or get a good laugh, would like to hire him.
This is not about the judge. No, this is about Robert, our special main character who is suffering a mental block. Since Robert is suffering a mental block, he tends to be so boring that his retired lawyer neighbor would seem to be more interesting. Even his cheesy statue would be more interesting, had it not been abstract, we could actually describe it, all that could be said about the statue is that it is abstract, brown, and disturbing. It seems to be more of a petrified cow dung shaped like a dog’s dung, however, it would be best to ask a dung expert to analyze this further. If you do find a dung expert though, as an advice from this author, DO NOT SHAKE HIS HANDS.
The lawyer gave another disturbing petrified dog dung looking statue to Robert’s other neighbor, who is now dead. Incidentally, he died at the start of the story, apparently, his life was so boring that the thought of someone writing a story about him excited him so much he died of a heart attack in the process. Nothing much could be said about him now, except that he’s dead on the floor, and not holding the statue.
Had it not been for the administrator figuring out who are still alive in this God-forsaken apartment could they have found out about the dead neighbor. The administrator/landlord actually knocks on everyone’s door at
8 PMevery night. he waits for an acknowledgement before proceeding. This is his only way to find out if he should call the medics. But this does not necessarily the best way to save lives. An old cat lady was shocked to death by a knock in the door, considering that in her previous apartment she had no one knocking in the door for almost 20 years, she never did keep friends or relatives more of staying alone. She did find it surprising to get a knock on the door all this time, and expected it might be death, and decided she should go on before he does the job for her.
Getting back to the writer, who is still holding his head and thinking of what to write, quite truthfully, he is rather dull, and there’s not much to speak of about him except that he hasn’t even written a word. In some strange way keeping to himself has not brought him any new books or articles. Keeping of the outside deprived him of something to write about, a new experience on everyday lives, about the neighbors, the landlord, or even the statue. Robert actually has a very bad imagination and keeping himself trapped in the room doesn’t help.
Eventually the story is running out of anything interesting to describe. The sun is setting again, just like it has yesterday or the days before. The neighbors go on with their usual lives, be it peculiar and strange, in some way, someone else is living the exact same life somewhere, and is starting it off as the sun rises on his side.
The day has weaved its way through the memory into a mere dream, collected and kept in a chest inside the mind. Reflections and transitions flow tonight with an interpolation of experiences gained and compiled. As work has done its due tonight along with the sun, and the moon is on its height to inspire with its beauty, the mind conjures its poetry in courting its muse.
It is ten in the evening and this side of the world has become silent. Void starts listening over what is to come, what is to exist. In reality though, it has already existed, it is only to realize of its existence that excites.
Through the flow tonight poets clear the way of the day and leave it all void. The mind needs space to display its vanity. Colors shine throughout and music plays its sweetest tone. Nothing gets sweeter as transition occurs. The shift in framework on what the mind will now work on focuses on pleasure. Pleasure of the senses that sparks curiosity on what would have been unimaginable is now imagined.
It is important that the venue be conducive to thoughts. External surroundings and its effect on different senses should be looked into. Any minor disturbance will pervert the mind into focusing on said disturbance. The external surrounding has to be least obstructive.
Tonight’s show focuses on prioritizing transcendental thoughts. In all that is most enlightening and pleasurable, spiritual excursions and reflections do have the highest rating.
And nothing would be more feasible than spiritual thoughts before the whole transition. Proper terminal thoughts would indeed create a better foundation for the upcoming dream, the real journey.
As in all terminal thoughts, reflections of the day weaves through with dreams, for which the day has now become a part of.
And in every second, everything is collected in the memory, as time passes, it gets recorded and kept. These will be the vital ingredient for something most wonderful, and the world will be waiting.
Thus done, it would now be time to shift to dreaming. The day is done, and now the night will reach its peak. Assured will be that the moon is watching us and our dreams together in the same journey. Sleep tight.
Mr. White is an aerosol insecticide salesman. But he is not really white, he is a little reddish, like his parents and those before him. Although this would be a strange way to start a story, we are talking about him anyway, and is really proud to be the first aerosol insecticide salesman to be talked about in the story.
While lawyers, doctors, engineers, and some other occupations are usually discussed in stories, no one has ever dwelled into what an aerosol insecticide salesman has to say. It usually seems uninteresting, and it probably is. But Mr. White has a strange interest. Mr. While likes to read stories on ordinary people or certain special people, on how their day went before they passed away. This type of story is usually being discussed in eulogies in funerals. Mr. White actually attends funerals of strangers and listens to these stories. He does like the whole idea that it all seems ok in the end. The person meets his maker after what would be called a very wonderful day, and when the person did pass on he typically seems to have had no difficulties whatsoever. In this respect, he avoids newspapers who discuss certain methods otherwise.
Living an uneventful life of going to supermarkets and promoting insecticides, Mr. White would try to consider his life as something “stable”. Nothing strange happens to him and his town, and is not necessarily bothered by this. A predictable life is an easy life, it is easier to expect what would happen next and, know that it will all be ok. He feels he will leave at the age of 77, as what the average life expectancy of his town is, but has a feeling it may prolong if medical technology will improve as expected, or shorten due to the harm being caused by his insecticides, irregardless, 77 is a safe bet at this point.
Although life is “stable”, there was one occasion when everything was better than usual, and this terrified Mr. White. This morning, Mr. White woke up a little happier than usual, had a better prize in the cereal box, got a raise from his boss, and got the chance to leave for home earlier to celebrate. This was a very worrying day for Mr. White.
It may seem like a great day for us, but for Mr. White, he feels his death is impending. A day too good than the usual reminds him of the funeral stories, this is not what he was expecting at all. Mr. White cursed the fact that he had a wonderful day. He hated it today, and will curse it all eternity in his afterlife, after he dies tonight, as what he believes will happen.
How can you prevent a good day to happen when it has too? But what if it is too good? He panicked, and suddenly regretted the environmental impact his products are causing to the ozone layer, as that might be the reason he might go to hell. Forget all those church visits and morning prayers, no, Someone up there is upset over his contribution to the damages to the ozone layer that he might be given the punishment of standing beneath a hole for eternity, smelling like insecticide.
But nothing could be done, he decided that while many of these people died in their sleep, it would be best to stay awake. He is terrible at doing this though, and at latest, stayed awake until
8:33in the evening, 3 minutes after his usual time of sleeping of
The next day Mr. White woke up with a sort of curiosity over the idea that he might be already dead. He tried walking around the yard naked to see if people will notice him. He could have still done this with clothes on and be greeted by neighbors. Instead, they stared at him with disgust and surprise as they called the kids back in to the house, no longer curious about his only secret. Here is a man who has no secrets anymore in his neighborhood, but it was not one of those things people will keep staring at, it was really best not to look.
Realizing he was alive, Mr. White felt a sigh of relief, and utter stupidity and embarrassment. He later explained the same story to his neighbors, after the police, who later forgave him and inside felt good after all that something different actually happened in their town. This was a story worth talking about in their town, apparently, and Mr. White became quite proud for his stupidity, which entertained his neighbors.
His wife thought otherwise, now and will always be embarrassed over her husband’s logic. But is still happy with his raise anyways, and found that it would be a good idea to put a bell near the bedroom door to ensure she knows when he will be leaving the room and check if he is clothed. Mr. White did live long and is still alive and kicking at 76.
While it would be typical for any message to be comprehended through a logical line of thought, where steps are explained in its traditional fashion, with the chain described part per part, until the link is shown to the end. Messages seem to appear in its different forms, as chaos on the different stories show its stranger color, stranger as it seem when it doesn’t connect, the bigger picture seems to play otherwise. These are stories that doesn’t play in the same line of thought, and it would be expected that they won’t even complement each other, but there is a connection somewhere, like in everything else, the web has its many features.
To which the story points to an old man who has just opened the door to the attic in his little apartment. Dusty would be the first word describing the aged and fragile surroundings, the age of the building is yet older than the man, who, in his 80s, keeps himself busy moving his mouth. It is theorized that he is saying something, others would state he is eating, but its secret would be kept until the book of world records would declare him the man who has moved his mouth the longest, a good 68 years.
More than this, this fragile man has been expecting his own demise for quite some time now. He has been waiting for the cloaked to visit him, of whom he suspected has lost his address, or has missed it out. He puts his hands on his pockets as he views the window in the attic, overlooking a well-preserved and historic city. Noise could now be heard from his moving mouth, as he is addressing the window with another observation.
“Beauty, could only exist, if its creator has put effort to make it beautiful. Beauty is limited though, to the limitations of the creator. In effect, beauty made by an infinite creator would be beauty unimaginable. Beauty, like truth, should be able to surpass the boundaries of time, and still be considered beautiful, otherwise, there was no effort to make something truly beautiful, for which reason it is later found plain, or even worse, unpleasant. Beauty is, in its very core, pleasing to the senses, as it is to be intended. Beauty is only appreciated by those who are being targeted by the creator, but it can surpass its blessings to others as well.”
“Beauty, like truth, is truth, like beauty. Beauty proves that truth does exist, if one can indeed see beauty that surpasses time, he can understand that truth can exist. Truth exists in nature, as does beauty has demonstrated. Like truth, beauty is not beauty if it isn’t timeless.”
The man quiets down as his curiosity is aroused by a man on the street, he picks his binoculars to observe the man, who has now put a soap box down on the walkway, and stands on it. We are now brought to the man on the soap box, who, at the top of his lungs, declares, “Ladies and Gentlemen, I do exist, and am not a ghost. I walk these streets everyday, and yet no one notices my existence. Yet when our dear mayor walks along, his presence if noticed and reciprocated with a greeting. What does it take for a man to exist?”, these are all said while the world is still actually ignoring him, and is still ignoring him, except for the beggar on the street, laughing at another nut on the road, as he is getting used to meeting their types in his occupation, to which he has replied the following.
“Fear not, for you do exist, and are not a ghost. Just like the other 6 billion people. But to acknowledge and be aware of their existence is a different story, for you are just the rest. Awareness would greatly depend on your substance, as that of the rest of them. You have to convince the rest to notice your existence through your substance or story. And it is only when you have given sufficient people sufficient reasons on why you exist could you truly exist, otherwise, join me here, and exist solely to yourself, it is not as bad, and you can observe the world without the need of the hassle of having to communicate with the rest of them. Unless you really are interested in their thoughts, do not talk to them, it saves a lot of time and effort, and you can then focus solely on what you would like to do best, for me, it is to beg. Strange as it may seem, I did dream of being a beggar once, and was given the utmost opportunity to be born one.”
Of course, like all crazy beggars, after a good mouthful of words has been poured out, it has to be sifted and filtered for sense, which is again subjective to what you want to learn, to what you don’t know, and what you really want to hear, as demonstrated by the two men sitting on the park with their coffee on their hands, quiet about the whole ordeal. These two retired men sip their coffee, realizing this day could have been better if someone actually remembered to bring the chess board. Anyway, what is done is done, and they now take another sip, observing the crowd from their chair, while the less senior comes up with something to say.
“It is a sin for two retired men to sit on the park bench drinking coffee without their chess board. In fact, it is beyond sin, it could be a grave criminal offence with a death sentence. It is a strange sight for two old men not to have their chess board in a park bench and would make people wonder. This is sin and boredom combined. And when there’s a boring sin it is a very regrettable sin indeed. If the sin committed did not feel worthwhile during its implementation and in fact was very boring, then a good half hour of our lives was spent in a total useless fashion.”
“Go back home to your wife then”
“You don’t understand, when men retire the more they don’t look forward to meeting their wives, as it is our only way for being punished for our sins.”
“Go back and get the chess board then”
“And meet the wife, as said, and I strictly refuse to take the sacrifice, for I have done so all my life. Working is working, and was always working. Now that I do not have any plans of giving anything back in society, I do not see any sense in getting stuck to being punished for being old. How long would it take evolution to change these leaves to have checkered marks?”
“It would be strange indeed that we wait for evolution to do adapt to our needs, as it has always been, when we have reached that point that we have knowledge to adapt to whatever is in our environment. We have started to devolve to having to wait for evolution to make our chessboard leaves and different berries shaped at the different characters in chess. What is more ridiculous would be sitting and ranting, or standing on the soap box and ranting, when silent actions can also bring results. Ranting without suggestions would also not help, for we are waiting for someone to come up with an idea to our problem, the problem which we have no idea to solve. It would be more interesting and effective if we propose the solution too, and keep it logical.”
“Fine, I’ll get the chess board”
And so the man took the bullet of meeting his wife. In his journey he left his comrade to sit on the bench all alone, staring at the walkway, sipping his coffee. Moments after the cotton candy cart passed by, a group of Hare Krisnhas passed by chanting and dancing. He did remember a few decades ago, when he did take in some curious interest in their teachings. Like many of them, he left and went back to where he was. But he does know and understand that at some point he has learned something from all the teachings he has gone through, and as he goes through his life, some of the teachings that he found sense in unconsciously was being put into use. In the midst of their travel, he was given a flower for which he did reciprocate with a smile and a “Hare Krishna”.
Another café, another writer. It seems to be a standard in some cafes to have writers who would sit in their own spot in some strange place indoors or outdoors. It would also seem strange that the outdoors would typically be occupied by a woman reading a novel, in a strangely noisy and non-conducive area. Anyway, away with the reader we’re talking about this messed up looking writer and that’s who we will talk about all along. This messy, confused, and passionate writer who is now currently taking interest in the corner hinge part of the door, in fact, the left hinge, as he stares intently, as if there’s something interesting.
If you were to think he’s completely out of his mind, you’re probably right. After all, what does the corner hinge have that is so interesting, he has just got another waiter confused, staring with him intently, awaiting some image to pop-up, like those 3D paintings that has a good half of us wishing there was an open window to throw it off. He stares at the hinge and then he starts writing. He’s got the waiter so confused the waiter went outside with the tray and crossed the street, giving the latte order to some bystander on the other side waiting for the taxi. Upon realizing this, however, the waiter apologized and asked for the coffee back, swearing to never stare intently at the door hinge again.
But the writer writes, and writes. Irregardless of the weather, he writes. Irregardless of the fact that riots are happening outside the café, he writes. Or the fact that the woman outside, reading novels at a noisy street, comes in to look at his work, is now staring at him intently, to ask to read the first page. She is ignored as he writes. She, by the way, is now staring at the hinge he was, and is found utterly confused. She now knows he is a total nut, and she has to read his writings even more.
And he writes, and he writes, and he writes. Irregardless of his state, he writes. His passion for the door hinge has got him writing. And the owner is starting to get irritated over a writer getting people to stare at the door hinge and thus making them confused. What’s worse, he hasn’t even bought any coffee for the past week. He just comes in, sits on his table, and writes about the door hinge.
At long last the opus has been completed. In this time he has written two versions, one for the owner of the café, and the other for the rest of the world to read.
The owner of the café got a letter thanking him for his hospitality and patience for giving a location he found most conducive for writing. A request, though, was asked, that he will be allowed to have his book signing on the table, once the book is published.
And that the door hinge be oiled once a week for its generous service of handling the weight of the door, and its service of opening and closing the door for the customers of this café.
His book, is never about the hinge, but it did get special mention, along with the other hinge and the floor mat. The window got more credit though, because it was the main instrument on which the reflection of the woman reading a novel in an inappropriate location was seen, just beside the door hinge.
The book was entirely based on a poetic inspiration derived from the woman reading a book. Anyone who has such beauty, and passion for a book, to actually want to read it outside a café instead of inside, must be waiting for someone, as the book seems to be a romance novel. She is waiting, and the writer wishes he is with her, sitting in front of her, buying coffee from the neighboring café which, in his opinion, has better coffee, convincing her to buy a decent book, while intently staring at her eyes. He does not have the guts though, and found that when she came in and almost got a conversation from him, all he said was “I’m busy, wait until it is published”. His ruined opportunity was blamed on time since he was getting to a better part of the book, but it is all over now.
Book signing came, and the café owner got his copy signed, and he had to pay for his copy. Irregardless, he’s quite satisfied to be bestowed the honor to have the book signing in his café, little knowing how badly his coffee was described in the book.
Now arrive the woman, he smiles as he signs her book with his mobile number. She knows that it is about her, and gets more excited in getting to read the book. Barely any conversation could be brought up as there is a long line of women reading books in different cafes in noisy locations lined up to get their books signed. She will call him, she promised.
And indeed she called him, a little irritated, for having her taste in books described as “pathetic” and her choice of location as “even more so”. Nothing could be described with her choice of coffee, except “as bad as the book and the location put together”. And felt that if he was just interested with her looks, he should just go and pick girls up in a bar, which he has indeed decided as a better idea after all.
As words would fly through the surrounding area of the reader, converting walls to windows viewing busy urban streets a fictional table appears below the book with a checkered tabletop that of a French café. That to which nothing has been real all throughout, but the senses does see it clearly, and the noise of all the world’s story revolves throughout the establishment. The scent of African brewed coffee beans hints the renowned reputation of the place.
With nothing but a view of the book, and that of a café, conversations across different tables seem to matter. A man with his watch stares at both the time on his watch and that of a clock, holding his phone in a rushed conversation whilst taking the affection poured on his coffee for granted. Yet, nothing less of its kind would ever compromise. Time has its very essence, making it most efficient to meet his purpose, or so he believes in, the purpose of what he believes he existed for, and for whatever that would be, he doesn’t seem to have time for the rest of the world of things his purpose might have been for.
But in his virtue of dedication he is willing to forsake tact to the world as he this would in dire need for a client of another vernacular. Building a bridge with instructions not understood does take time, but not impossible.
And while his interesting persistence on time, efficiency, and purpose, the vacant seat that was not noticed moments ago in front of the table is now being occupied by that of a man. A patient being who looks at the book with no curiosity but expectation of its existence, with eyes the color left to the discretion of the reader. This man’s age is subjective, as with the color of his skin, his beard, and his vernacular.
But in which point the appearance does not matter, should not matter, as it is all within the choice of the reader to describe him. All he does is stare, and smile, leaving the reader to put down the book and look up.
But to which the reader could not, for by putting the book down, the being disappears. As he is only visible while the reader reads. And that is if the reader chooses to see him through the book.
And so he sits patiently, in him exists all the answers ever to be asked. While staring at the book, sitting patiently, his purpose, maintenance of the universe, is being taken care of. And yet he keeps silent, smiling at everything with the calm of a retired man who feels he has done his purpose, and takes it day by day.
And so, as expected, the last paragraph is now being read, and the chair is vacant again, in fact, there is no chair. The words now take images along with them, away it goes with the windows displaying the busy streets, the checkered tabletop, and the African Coffee Beans.