Monica returned McCready's gaze with one of those condescending head shakes that some women are particularly good at. For all her insecurities, she could also be quite confident and self-assured. The two of them glared at each other for a few more moments. McCready's face began to transform into one of his many smiles. This time perhaps more of a playful smirk.
"Well, let's not wallow in our situation any longer. There might be other dangers lurking around here. And I just don't know if I can manage to keep them all at bay. I wouldn't want to see any of those pretty auburn curls harmed. I might lose some sleep over it." McCready's eyes sparkled and Monica stewed.
"Did you two used to date or something?" I chimed in. They instantly turned to me. McCready seemed a bit perplexed, but Monica rolled her eyes and gave another patented head shake, this time aimed at me.
"I'm sorry, I don't even know what I'm saying. I'm drunk. Wait. How am I drunk? What am I doing here? I've never had a such a realistic dream. This is great. Hey! Can I fly? I want to fly! I love dreams where you can fly!" I think I may have continued to babble on, but the others stopped listening when a tire-sized glowing orb hovered over to us and the scattered bodies of the guards. It seemed to assess the situation as a pale cream color shimmered within its glassy frame. Like icicles swimming in a vat of partially melted vanilla ice cream. Minus the vanilla beans. McCready looked at Monica and Orestes and gave a shrugging gesture with his arms. After a moment the orb hovered away, back into a nearby open door.
"Now what?" asked Monica. McCready began to walk towards the open door, but stopped when a large man built like an NFL strong safety stepped through. He wore a white doctor's coat, tight over his athletic build. He looked fairly young for a doctor, perhaps in his late 20s. His hair was nearly shaved and his eyes displayed a distinct wisdom and knowledge of many things. He never even glanced at the dead guards or the mess left by those who had fled. Instead he focused on each of us in turn, and then repeated the process. At some point I stopped my rambling and just looked back at him. I could have sworn I felt a rush in my head when he focused on me. And then I began coughing and laughing again.
"Good to see you, Jack. When you don't want to be found, you really don't want to be found." said McCready putting his hands on his hips, not all that far away from his guns.
"Hi, Jack." Monica added in a tired voice. Tommy Jack glanced at McCready before nodding his head towards Monica.
"Hello, Monica. It has been too long. I hope you are well."
"Ah, well, you know how it goes, 'the best laid plans,'" Jack gave her a knowing but compassionate smile and turned back to McCready. The evil cowboy from my dreams now leaned on his left hip and casually picked at one of his fingernails. Jack continued to address Monica.
"I never thought I'd find you in the company of McCready...at least not willingly. But then one night I dreamed of such things. Many things I never thought possible were suddenly becoming true. But it will take a lot more for me to believe in a redeemed McCready. A redeemed Blackheart, the Smiling Demon..." McCready had been biting his bottom lip and now suddenly drew his right-hand revolver and brought the barrel inches from Jack's forehead.
"Redeemed? You want to see redeeemed? I'll give you redemption! We'll all be able to see it right through the back of your head!" Jack never flinched. He cool gaze never wavered. Monica looked very alarmed and frantic again. Orestes was a dark blur above and beside me. I just coughed and laughed harder.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Volcano
After that my head tilted to the right for a while and could not seem to correct itself. For some reason this was amusing to me and I began to laugh in quick spasmatic bursts. Like turning your head and coughing for the doctor, but without all the discomfort and embarrassment.
After some time I became aware that we had stopped. My gaze shifted up and observed McCready and Monica exchanging heated words. Unfortunately my hearing had decided to go on strike and I could hear nothing. What a strange dream. Finally it seemed like the occupants of this hospital were taking notice of us. Nurses threw concerned looks in our direction while huddling around their stations. A few authoritative doctors stood some distance away, clearly disapproving of our presence and deliberating on the proper way to handle things. Only Orestes, who was now directing me around by the sheer will of his left bear-claw on the back of my neck, took notice of this new development. McCready and Monica were arguing with each other at increasing volume levels about this Tommy Jack and the Priest and infections and other things that made no sense at all.
"Tick, tick, tick...ticking away, the moments that make up a dull day," I said to no one in particular. But Orestes heard me and swiveled his head down to give me a quizzical look. I think I smiled and coughed another one of my laughs again.
"Orestes. My friend. Did I ever tell you about when I worked construction? I was a carpenter! I helped build people's homes! And I hated it. I fried my brains out there in the hot sun and never wanted to be there. I think I may have fried out some important stuff, too." Was that concern upon Orestes' granite face?
Evidently someone had called in security to deal with the strange gun-toting cowboy and his accomplices. Five uniformed guards approached us from both sides. Most were rather doughy and unhappy in appearance. But something about their eyes...the way they looked at us. Something was not right about them. Maybe it was the drunkenness, but to me, they didn't even seem human.
"I don't care who I have to drag out of their peaceful slumber or even if I have to kill them! I'm not going to let him die. He dies, we die." said McCready.
"We don't know that for sure." Monica replied.
"You know damn well it's true!" McCready was incensed.
"I meant, we don't know if he even CAN die here! Look, I'm doing the best that I can. We're running around this stupid place, wasting more of our time and all you do is badger me!" During this exchange the security guards had tried reasoning with us and having thus failed, drew their weapons and began to close in. Orestes had moved me closer to the other two and was apparently planning to stare the guards into submission.
"If you can think of a better way to find the Priest, I'm all ears, sister!"
"He doesn't need the Priest! He needs to wake up and go see a real doctor in the Waking World!" McCready's expressive face contorted into overly pained exasperation.
"A real doctor? A real doctor?!" One of the guards with his dead eyes had managed to get within a few feet of McCready and Monica. Monica finally began to take notice of the situation and alarm flashed from her hazel eyes. Three of the other guards continued to near Orestes and myself, yet Orestes just stared back at them. I kept up my cough/laughs and occasional giggling fits. But McCready just continued, heedless to the armed figures surrounding us.
"A doctor in the Waking World -- whichever Waking World you might be referring to - is not going to have a flaming clue what to do with him. They probably won't even find anything wrong with him. They'll send him home and he'll go to sleep again and he will die. And you know what that means."
"McCready..." Monica tried to interrupt.
"I don't know if the Priest can do anything or not, but we don't have a better option right now."
"McCready!" Monica had backed against the corridor wall, one of the guards jabbering at her and reaching out to her. All of them were jabbering, it was nonsense. My mind just seemed to tone it all out.
"If the Priest can't help him directly, then he'll know what to do next. I'll make sure of that. Now quit your bellyaching!" With that McCready's guns seemed to magically be in his hands and firing away at the squad of security goons. Orestes had propped me against the wall and in one swoop had snatched away the nearest guard's gun, grabbed him by the shoulder and then casually snapped his arm like a carrot stick. The weirdest part was that the other guards (before they were struck down by McCready) actually shot at Orestes, but the bullets just disappeared when they reached his body. Like they ceased to be.
If I hadn't been in such a disorderly mental state, I might have made better sense of the complete chaos which then erupted in the hospital. Nurses screamed, doctors and transporters ran, papers fluttered everywhere. Patients in wheelchairs were abandoned helplessly in the middle of the corridor. McCready briefly took in his handiwork before putting away his guns, folding his arms, and leveling a that-settles-that glare at Monica.
After some time I became aware that we had stopped. My gaze shifted up and observed McCready and Monica exchanging heated words. Unfortunately my hearing had decided to go on strike and I could hear nothing. What a strange dream. Finally it seemed like the occupants of this hospital were taking notice of us. Nurses threw concerned looks in our direction while huddling around their stations. A few authoritative doctors stood some distance away, clearly disapproving of our presence and deliberating on the proper way to handle things. Only Orestes, who was now directing me around by the sheer will of his left bear-claw on the back of my neck, took notice of this new development. McCready and Monica were arguing with each other at increasing volume levels about this Tommy Jack and the Priest and infections and other things that made no sense at all.
"Tick, tick, tick...ticking away, the moments that make up a dull day," I said to no one in particular. But Orestes heard me and swiveled his head down to give me a quizzical look. I think I smiled and coughed another one of my laughs again.
"Orestes. My friend. Did I ever tell you about when I worked construction? I was a carpenter! I helped build people's homes! And I hated it. I fried my brains out there in the hot sun and never wanted to be there. I think I may have fried out some important stuff, too." Was that concern upon Orestes' granite face?
Evidently someone had called in security to deal with the strange gun-toting cowboy and his accomplices. Five uniformed guards approached us from both sides. Most were rather doughy and unhappy in appearance. But something about their eyes...the way they looked at us. Something was not right about them. Maybe it was the drunkenness, but to me, they didn't even seem human.
"I don't care who I have to drag out of their peaceful slumber or even if I have to kill them! I'm not going to let him die. He dies, we die." said McCready.
"We don't know that for sure." Monica replied.
"You know damn well it's true!" McCready was incensed.
"I meant, we don't know if he even CAN die here! Look, I'm doing the best that I can. We're running around this stupid place, wasting more of our time and all you do is badger me!" During this exchange the security guards had tried reasoning with us and having thus failed, drew their weapons and began to close in. Orestes had moved me closer to the other two and was apparently planning to stare the guards into submission.
"If you can think of a better way to find the Priest, I'm all ears, sister!"
"He doesn't need the Priest! He needs to wake up and go see a real doctor in the Waking World!" McCready's expressive face contorted into overly pained exasperation.
"A real doctor? A real doctor?!" One of the guards with his dead eyes had managed to get within a few feet of McCready and Monica. Monica finally began to take notice of the situation and alarm flashed from her hazel eyes. Three of the other guards continued to near Orestes and myself, yet Orestes just stared back at them. I kept up my cough/laughs and occasional giggling fits. But McCready just continued, heedless to the armed figures surrounding us.
"A doctor in the Waking World -- whichever Waking World you might be referring to - is not going to have a flaming clue what to do with him. They probably won't even find anything wrong with him. They'll send him home and he'll go to sleep again and he will die. And you know what that means."
"McCready..." Monica tried to interrupt.
"I don't know if the Priest can do anything or not, but we don't have a better option right now."
"McCready!" Monica had backed against the corridor wall, one of the guards jabbering at her and reaching out to her. All of them were jabbering, it was nonsense. My mind just seemed to tone it all out.
"If the Priest can't help him directly, then he'll know what to do next. I'll make sure of that. Now quit your bellyaching!" With that McCready's guns seemed to magically be in his hands and firing away at the squad of security goons. Orestes had propped me against the wall and in one swoop had snatched away the nearest guard's gun, grabbed him by the shoulder and then casually snapped his arm like a carrot stick. The weirdest part was that the other guards (before they were struck down by McCready) actually shot at Orestes, but the bullets just disappeared when they reached his body. Like they ceased to be.
If I hadn't been in such a disorderly mental state, I might have made better sense of the complete chaos which then erupted in the hospital. Nurses screamed, doctors and transporters ran, papers fluttered everywhere. Patients in wheelchairs were abandoned helplessly in the middle of the corridor. McCready briefly took in his handiwork before putting away his guns, folding his arms, and leveling a that-settles-that glare at Monica.
Echoplex
In all the worlds and all the realities, there's only one man I would trust to hold a gun to my head. That man is McCready.
Of course, during the specific time I am referring to I was drunk. Or at least I felt like I was drunk. To the Waking World I slept in my usual fitful and restless state. But in this particular dream world, I stumbled along between McCready and Orestes' large and purposeful frames. McCready seemed a little more tense and sweatier than usual. Orestes, as usual, radiated calm, resilient ultimate danger. Everything was jumbled to my sense of consciousness. And that should not have been so.
Tommy Jack. We were searching for Tommy Jack. Through endlessly tilting and twisting hospital corridors. Perhaps they only tilted and twisted to my own mind. I think I laughed a lot, too.
And Monica was there! Strange to dream about her. I haven't seen or even talked to her in ages. How long has it been? In fact, she seemed to be leading the whole expedition. She looked a little different, though...but it was still her.
What did McCready always say? "You can think on your feet or you can die on them." When the elevator doors first opened, he turned and said that to Monica. Her face paled about a shade and a half and then she began to take charge. Why did we start out in an elevator? How did we get there? Why was I drunk?
Into the first corridor we shuffled, McCready's firm grip on one of my arms and Orestes' massive meatclaw clutching my other. Monica strode out in front checking around corners and into open doors. She wore nifty business attire, elegant yet moderate black heeled shoes clicking on the tiled floor. Where did she come from? She looked like an administrator or pharmaceutical rep. Orestes didn't say anything and for some reason I never really looked at him. I actually can't recall what he was wearing. In fact, my whole perception of him seemed to change through the whole dream. Like he was never even fully physically present. McCready was his usual self, though. A little taller than me, shades of black and brown leather and rugged blue jeans. A cowboy hat over long, thick hair and his signature clever smile always on the verge of showing itself. His eyes were blue this time.
At the end of the first hall we turned left. We didn't come across many other people. A few nurses who surprisingly didn't seem alarmed by McCready's odd attire and twin hand-cannons strapped across his hips or Orestes' imposing presence (I think he may have had a sword or something on his back...). And no one seemed to care that they were dragging a goggle-eyed and nearly incapacitated me around like a giant sack of money fresh from a bank vault.
We continued making turns and winding our way deeper and deeper into this strange hospital. I think it went on a lot longer than it seemed to me. Monica grew almost frantic. McCready's usual calm demeanor was replaced by a trace of grim anxiety. (McCready anxious?)
"If Jack can't help, he had better at least know where the Priest is or else I'll end his journeys in this world." McCready growled at one point.
"Better think on your feet, McCready, or you'll die on them," I giggled in response. McCready cast me a quick glare and shook his head. But he seemed to grow even more tense.
Of course, during the specific time I am referring to I was drunk. Or at least I felt like I was drunk. To the Waking World I slept in my usual fitful and restless state. But in this particular dream world, I stumbled along between McCready and Orestes' large and purposeful frames. McCready seemed a little more tense and sweatier than usual. Orestes, as usual, radiated calm, resilient ultimate danger. Everything was jumbled to my sense of consciousness. And that should not have been so.
Tommy Jack. We were searching for Tommy Jack. Through endlessly tilting and twisting hospital corridors. Perhaps they only tilted and twisted to my own mind. I think I laughed a lot, too.
And Monica was there! Strange to dream about her. I haven't seen or even talked to her in ages. How long has it been? In fact, she seemed to be leading the whole expedition. She looked a little different, though...but it was still her.
What did McCready always say? "You can think on your feet or you can die on them." When the elevator doors first opened, he turned and said that to Monica. Her face paled about a shade and a half and then she began to take charge. Why did we start out in an elevator? How did we get there? Why was I drunk?
Into the first corridor we shuffled, McCready's firm grip on one of my arms and Orestes' massive meatclaw clutching my other. Monica strode out in front checking around corners and into open doors. She wore nifty business attire, elegant yet moderate black heeled shoes clicking on the tiled floor. Where did she come from? She looked like an administrator or pharmaceutical rep. Orestes didn't say anything and for some reason I never really looked at him. I actually can't recall what he was wearing. In fact, my whole perception of him seemed to change through the whole dream. Like he was never even fully physically present. McCready was his usual self, though. A little taller than me, shades of black and brown leather and rugged blue jeans. A cowboy hat over long, thick hair and his signature clever smile always on the verge of showing itself. His eyes were blue this time.
At the end of the first hall we turned left. We didn't come across many other people. A few nurses who surprisingly didn't seem alarmed by McCready's odd attire and twin hand-cannons strapped across his hips or Orestes' imposing presence (I think he may have had a sword or something on his back...). And no one seemed to care that they were dragging a goggle-eyed and nearly incapacitated me around like a giant sack of money fresh from a bank vault.
We continued making turns and winding our way deeper and deeper into this strange hospital. I think it went on a lot longer than it seemed to me. Monica grew almost frantic. McCready's usual calm demeanor was replaced by a trace of grim anxiety. (McCready anxious?)
"If Jack can't help, he had better at least know where the Priest is or else I'll end his journeys in this world." McCready growled at one point.
"Better think on your feet, McCready, or you'll die on them," I giggled in response. McCready cast me a quick glare and shook his head. But he seemed to grow even more tense.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Much Has Changed
I nearly gave up on this endeavor again. That would have made two blogspot blogs of mine that died within the last few years. But I'm back. For now.
So a lot has changed in the past month. My girlfriend broke up with me about two Thursdays ago. She revealed that she hadn't seen me as a boyfriend in months, but only as a friend. She said we could continue living together as roommates until I found a place of my own -- and in other conversations assured me that she wasn't out running around with other guys. 5 days later I walked into the house at 7:15AM to find her in bed with another man. And not just any man. But a guy who she had met last August/September on a random late-night excursion to Steak'n'Shake. She was so enamored with him that she began having a "friendship" with him. They would talk on Myspace, text each other, call, and even went out to eat once while I was away with my family. Clearly the guy was interested in her and I said so. But she claimed she only saw him as a friend (later she would admit that she had been attracted, but just hadn't "seen" it so). I felt it was inappropriate and disrespectful for her to be carrying on with this guy in such a manner. And he wasn't exactly the boy next door. According to what I gleaned from his myspace pages and from my girlfriend, he had a long history of drug use, sang in an anti-social heavy metal band, picked fights, was a self-proclaimed sex addict, and even sneered at me once when our paths crossed. Whenever I mention my dislike of her talking to this guy she would get angry with me and say that I was trying to control who she was friends with and that I didn't trust her.
This guy also featured prominently in an October overnight break-up. She broke up with me on a Friday night - once again at a moment when I thought nothing was wrong - claiming she felt like she had no freedom and wanted to be able to do things by herself. She said we were too different and at different places in our lives. That night she called the other guy to tell him we had broken up. He was happy. The next day she came back home and wanted me back. I took her back. A day later she told the other guy what had happened and he cursed her out for it. At this point she admitted that I had been right all along in that he was deeply interested in her. Oh, but he would get the last laugh.
In December I noticed her talking to him again on Myspace. But not as regularly as before. Then again a few months later. In May she told me that he had moved away to get married, so I didn't have to worry about him anymore. But apparently he came back. I later learned that at some point in the month or so before she broke up with me she began talking to him again and developing a relationship. She had disconnected from me and was now investing in him - emotionally and mentally. I consider that to still be cheating.
So on the day that I walked in and found them together, I let out a classic tirade that told her everything a man in my position would want to say. Later that day my brother and I removed all of my belongings from the house. Currently I am job hunting and trying to sort through a broken life. I never thought she would do something like that to me.
I have the hardest time grasping how she could see all these problems with our relationship months ago, but never mention it to me. Instead she "tried to fix things" in her own mind, by herself - all while I went along as if things were normal. What kind of person does that? Who mentally moves on from a 20 month relationship while pretending that everything is normal and that she is still in love with that man? Who then brings that man - whom they supposedly love and care for - his ultimate fear by getting involved with another man who had been chasing her for 9 months or more? And how does this guy make her happy?
So a lot has changed in the past month. My girlfriend broke up with me about two Thursdays ago. She revealed that she hadn't seen me as a boyfriend in months, but only as a friend. She said we could continue living together as roommates until I found a place of my own -- and in other conversations assured me that she wasn't out running around with other guys. 5 days later I walked into the house at 7:15AM to find her in bed with another man. And not just any man. But a guy who she had met last August/September on a random late-night excursion to Steak'n'Shake. She was so enamored with him that she began having a "friendship" with him. They would talk on Myspace, text each other, call, and even went out to eat once while I was away with my family. Clearly the guy was interested in her and I said so. But she claimed she only saw him as a friend (later she would admit that she had been attracted, but just hadn't "seen" it so). I felt it was inappropriate and disrespectful for her to be carrying on with this guy in such a manner. And he wasn't exactly the boy next door. According to what I gleaned from his myspace pages and from my girlfriend, he had a long history of drug use, sang in an anti-social heavy metal band, picked fights, was a self-proclaimed sex addict, and even sneered at me once when our paths crossed. Whenever I mention my dislike of her talking to this guy she would get angry with me and say that I was trying to control who she was friends with and that I didn't trust her.
This guy also featured prominently in an October overnight break-up. She broke up with me on a Friday night - once again at a moment when I thought nothing was wrong - claiming she felt like she had no freedom and wanted to be able to do things by herself. She said we were too different and at different places in our lives. That night she called the other guy to tell him we had broken up. He was happy. The next day she came back home and wanted me back. I took her back. A day later she told the other guy what had happened and he cursed her out for it. At this point she admitted that I had been right all along in that he was deeply interested in her. Oh, but he would get the last laugh.
In December I noticed her talking to him again on Myspace. But not as regularly as before. Then again a few months later. In May she told me that he had moved away to get married, so I didn't have to worry about him anymore. But apparently he came back. I later learned that at some point in the month or so before she broke up with me she began talking to him again and developing a relationship. She had disconnected from me and was now investing in him - emotionally and mentally. I consider that to still be cheating.
So on the day that I walked in and found them together, I let out a classic tirade that told her everything a man in my position would want to say. Later that day my brother and I removed all of my belongings from the house. Currently I am job hunting and trying to sort through a broken life. I never thought she would do something like that to me.
I have the hardest time grasping how she could see all these problems with our relationship months ago, but never mention it to me. Instead she "tried to fix things" in her own mind, by herself - all while I went along as if things were normal. What kind of person does that? Who mentally moves on from a 20 month relationship while pretending that everything is normal and that she is still in love with that man? Who then brings that man - whom they supposedly love and care for - his ultimate fear by getting involved with another man who had been chasing her for 9 months or more? And how does this guy make her happy?
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Guaranteed
If you're looking for guarantees, then this life is not the place for you. Please move along.
If you feel like you have only been alive for 20 minutes, as opposed to 20 years, then you might be one of us.
If you have dreams (both asleep and waking) that are indistinguishable in your mind from true memories but for your own conscious knowledge that the true memories actually occurred - you might be one of us.
If sleep leaves you tired, feeling displaced, unrefreshed, and whispering in your head as to the reality of the place you have awoken in - then you might be one of us.
If a life of doing things you do not care about for the better portion of your days seems insanely depressing, you might be one of us.
If your eyes are continually drawn to the sky, as if reading cosmic headlines, you might be one of us.
If when you try you only find failure, but when you do not try you find success, you might be one of us.
If you feel like you have only been alive for 20 minutes, as opposed to 20 years, then you might be one of us.
If you have dreams (both asleep and waking) that are indistinguishable in your mind from true memories but for your own conscious knowledge that the true memories actually occurred - you might be one of us.
If sleep leaves you tired, feeling displaced, unrefreshed, and whispering in your head as to the reality of the place you have awoken in - then you might be one of us.
If a life of doing things you do not care about for the better portion of your days seems insanely depressing, you might be one of us.
If your eyes are continually drawn to the sky, as if reading cosmic headlines, you might be one of us.
If when you try you only find failure, but when you do not try you find success, you might be one of us.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Humans are Squirrels?
On a pleasant spring morning, Floyd walked onto his back porch and found that a significant section of backyard had collapsed in on itself and revealed a seemingly endless gaping maw.
On a pleasant spring morning, Darren walked onto his back porch and found a cruise-ship sized dumpster occupying what had once been the field behind his house.
On a pleasant spring morning, Abigail walked onto her back porch and decided that it really had all been a dream.
On a pleasant spring morning, Tony walked onto his back porch and initiated a series of events leading to the demise of several (far less interesting) alternate Earth's in various alternate universes.
The sad thing about an alien invasion or other such events indicative of mankind's destruction - people would bring their XBoxes and jewelry with them as they tried to run away from the giant hovering vacuum-like machines being used to wipe us out. If you do manage to get away from the highly skilled and experienced operators of these massive killing dynamos, do you really think it will matter how classy you look with your diamond necklace and $3000 watch? And will there be power available to play video games? If humanity has just been exterminated and those left are hiding in piles of rubble and sharing terrorist caves, do you really think you're going to feel up to playing Assassin's Creed?
But fear not. It's unlikely that aliens will be destroying our civilization anytime soon. At least not in our lifetime. Isn't that the benchmark that makes it okay for horrific things to occur somewhere else down the timeline? The sun will expand and consume the earth -- a galactically nearby supernova will irradiate the earth --- comets --- meteors --- intergalactic ballistic missiles gone astray thanks to incompetent outsourced alien computer technicians --- not to worry, it all won't happen for thousands of years! Oh, well then....who wants to go ride bikes? No worries here!
Even if aliens DID decide to wipe us out, it's unlikely that their actual goal would be to kill us humans off. Why do creatures conquer other creatures and take their space? To have that space for themselves. When we decide to turn a patch of forest into parking garages, banks, and churches we don't storm menacingly through the trees slaying squirrels and badgers. We matter-of-factly knock down the trees, bulldoze the hills, and furrow our brows occasionally at the furry stream of four-legged refugees that seem to be yelling and looting each other's nests. So, if the aliens came here it's doubtful they would come equipped with special human-deatomizing lasers or vacuum machines or other such weaponry ideal for dispatching homo sapiens. If aliens are anything like us, then they have a compulsive need to build banks and churches on every corner (if they're from rural or Southern areas of the alien homeworld) and if they are city dwellers - parking garages and fast-food restaurants. They would probably just ignore us (like a bunch of squirrels) as we shriek, flee, and rob each other as they placidly bulldoze our homes and chop down our skyscrapers. Then we'd watch from the hills as they take their 10AM break and talk about alien NASCAR races while eating alien oatmeal cream pies. We probably wouldn't concern them in the least. Or maybe a few of them might fling their empty Alien-Coke cans at us. Or they might even find us cute and fuzzy. Like squirrels.
On a pleasant spring morning, Darren walked onto his back porch and found a cruise-ship sized dumpster occupying what had once been the field behind his house.
On a pleasant spring morning, Abigail walked onto her back porch and decided that it really had all been a dream.
On a pleasant spring morning, Tony walked onto his back porch and initiated a series of events leading to the demise of several (far less interesting) alternate Earth's in various alternate universes.
The sad thing about an alien invasion or other such events indicative of mankind's destruction - people would bring their XBoxes and jewelry with them as they tried to run away from the giant hovering vacuum-like machines being used to wipe us out. If you do manage to get away from the highly skilled and experienced operators of these massive killing dynamos, do you really think it will matter how classy you look with your diamond necklace and $3000 watch? And will there be power available to play video games? If humanity has just been exterminated and those left are hiding in piles of rubble and sharing terrorist caves, do you really think you're going to feel up to playing Assassin's Creed?
But fear not. It's unlikely that aliens will be destroying our civilization anytime soon. At least not in our lifetime. Isn't that the benchmark that makes it okay for horrific things to occur somewhere else down the timeline? The sun will expand and consume the earth -- a galactically nearby supernova will irradiate the earth --- comets --- meteors --- intergalactic ballistic missiles gone astray thanks to incompetent outsourced alien computer technicians --- not to worry, it all won't happen for thousands of years! Oh, well then....who wants to go ride bikes? No worries here!
Even if aliens DID decide to wipe us out, it's unlikely that their actual goal would be to kill us humans off. Why do creatures conquer other creatures and take their space? To have that space for themselves. When we decide to turn a patch of forest into parking garages, banks, and churches we don't storm menacingly through the trees slaying squirrels and badgers. We matter-of-factly knock down the trees, bulldoze the hills, and furrow our brows occasionally at the furry stream of four-legged refugees that seem to be yelling and looting each other's nests. So, if the aliens came here it's doubtful they would come equipped with special human-deatomizing lasers or vacuum machines or other such weaponry ideal for dispatching homo sapiens. If aliens are anything like us, then they have a compulsive need to build banks and churches on every corner (if they're from rural or Southern areas of the alien homeworld) and if they are city dwellers - parking garages and fast-food restaurants. They would probably just ignore us (like a bunch of squirrels) as we shriek, flee, and rob each other as they placidly bulldoze our homes and chop down our skyscrapers. Then we'd watch from the hills as they take their 10AM break and talk about alien NASCAR races while eating alien oatmeal cream pies. We probably wouldn't concern them in the least. Or maybe a few of them might fling their empty Alien-Coke cans at us. Or they might even find us cute and fuzzy. Like squirrels.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
The Bones of You
Awoke in a strange place. The placement here feels random. No real reason for me to appear here. Just random. But I'm here. On this barren hilltop. With my bones in the ground below my feet. Yet the same bones are still there under my skin. Strange that I know this. It looks cold here. But I'm quite comfortable. I must be dead.
Ah, now I recognize this feeling. When I was young I routinely had these moments where I realized that I was alive. Usually they happened on their own, but sometimes I could cause them to occur. I would look at my hands. And the autopilot that we all have running in our heads would switch off. A shocking panic would flood through me. Those are MY hands. I am living right now. Everything I do or think is actually happening. Then I would take even further steps back from myself. In a few moments this shock will fade, as I can already feel it doing, and then I'll be returned to the numbness of living. I have to remember that I am alive and that everything matters. These are MY HANDS. It was a startling moment whenever it found me. I tried explaining it to others, but they didn't seem to understand. I guess the rhythm of life lulls us to sleep so well that most of the time we are just flying along on autopilot. We go through life without even being aware of it. I'm not sure if that's because we are doing something wrong or if that's just the nature of being human. Those moments do not come as often as the years grow. It's frightening to realize you're alive and that most of the time you've forgotten that fact. It's almost like actually being able to feel God watching you. This isn't a game. This isn't a movie. This isn't just the daily routine. I'm not watching this -- I'm LIVING it!
So, the hilltop. Dead but not dead. That feeling I used to get when I'd look at my hands: Now I feel it constantly.
Ah, now I recognize this feeling. When I was young I routinely had these moments where I realized that I was alive. Usually they happened on their own, but sometimes I could cause them to occur. I would look at my hands. And the autopilot that we all have running in our heads would switch off. A shocking panic would flood through me. Those are MY hands. I am living right now. Everything I do or think is actually happening. Then I would take even further steps back from myself. In a few moments this shock will fade, as I can already feel it doing, and then I'll be returned to the numbness of living. I have to remember that I am alive and that everything matters. These are MY HANDS. It was a startling moment whenever it found me. I tried explaining it to others, but they didn't seem to understand. I guess the rhythm of life lulls us to sleep so well that most of the time we are just flying along on autopilot. We go through life without even being aware of it. I'm not sure if that's because we are doing something wrong or if that's just the nature of being human. Those moments do not come as often as the years grow. It's frightening to realize you're alive and that most of the time you've forgotten that fact. It's almost like actually being able to feel God watching you. This isn't a game. This isn't a movie. This isn't just the daily routine. I'm not watching this -- I'm LIVING it!
So, the hilltop. Dead but not dead. That feeling I used to get when I'd look at my hands: Now I feel it constantly.
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