Memories are odd things. We each have our own, and we call them our own because we have our own emotions tied to them. Even though they are uniquely ours, they hinge on so many other people's memories that it's amazing that we don't all just have on human consciousness, with no concept of "individual."
I remember the first time I thought of this. I was flying a Cessna 172 with a friend of mine down the Miami coastline, taking pictures and enjoying the early December sunset. As we neared the Port of Miami, I spotted a Carnival cruise ship about 4 miles offshore and turned in its direction, descending to about 400 feet over the water. As we slowly passed the ship, camera flashes began to appear in our direction, and we returned the favor with a few flashes of our own and waves to the passengers. As I headed back towards the shoreline, I realized that I would remember that moment for years as the first joy ride with my brand new pilot's license. At the same time, I hoped that it might be a memory for someone on that ship, to have seen a plane fly so close to their ship on a big vacation. Maybe it was their honeymoon, and 40 years later when they recounted it to their own grandchildren they would remember me. Or maybe it was a 5 year old kid who found our airplane interesting, and be inspired to pursue aviation in some form or another later in life.
I've thought about this a lot since that moment. For example, when I look up at the sky and see a plane cruising overhead at 35,000 feet I wonder about the people on that plane: the pilots and all the training and flying they have ever done, the family moving across the country or around the world for the first time, a father coming home from a business trip, grandparents going to visit their children and grandchildren, maybe for the first time in years, the child going away from home for the first time, and the countless other stories that become intertwined on that plane, and then become intertwined with mine for one brief moment when I look up and see them zoom across the sky.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Giant Flies Invade Norway
Oslo, May 2 - In an incident that has scientists everywhere baffled, giant flies have entered the country of Norway and taken over by force. The flies, weighing between 5 and 7 pounds (2.2 to 3.2 kg) entered in the night, and by sunset had gained control of Parliament, the city's police stations, and all major grocery stores. It is unknown where they came from and what their future plans are, but most citizens aren't taking any chances by trusting these unfriendly invaders.
The only serious opposition they faced during the invasion came from hardware stores, convenience stores, and tanning salons, all of whom banded together with the signing of the Treaty of Paris, signed at Paris' Hardware near the center of the city.
As these groups were coming together, various sources claimed that the invasion was nationwide, and state that the flies have met much less resistance in other areas of the country than here in Norway's capitol. The biggest insurgent attack of the past 24 hours occurred shortly after 5am with traps concocted of tanning beds, rotting food, and insect spray. Although the traps proved moderately successful, the fighting only succeeded in keeping the existing opposition alive and forced the flies to seriously consider the threat posed to them.
By about noon, both sides were worn down by the fighting. Hundreds of fly corpses lay scattered in the streets, among the bodies of those insurgents who had been picked up and dropped 10 stories by the roving fly patrols that have been set up. All national services were canceled, as were schools, universities, jobs, and private recycling services. The nations economy, which depends on oil for sustenance, was brought to a halt by the day's activities, while the krone traded poorly in foreign markets.
At 7pm, both groups agreed to meet and seek out a peaceful resolution. This was a big break for the humans, since that time of day is when the flies are strongest; however, many have criticized the humans for the concessions that were made. Some are even refusing to agree to the terms of the 2007 Oslo Accords, as they have been named, because of the clause giving only 3/5ths voting rights to the humans.
While the future of Norway remains uncertain, both sides are optimistic that an suitable agreement will be reached. Until then, most people have decided to hide in their basements. Said one scared resident on her way home, "Why would you be outside? I don't know who these flies are, where they have been, what diseases they could be carrying, or why they want to take over our nation. I know just one thing... nothing like this has ever happened before. And that is the biggest reason I am scared."
The only serious opposition they faced during the invasion came from hardware stores, convenience stores, and tanning salons, all of whom banded together with the signing of the Treaty of Paris, signed at Paris' Hardware near the center of the city.
As these groups were coming together, various sources claimed that the invasion was nationwide, and state that the flies have met much less resistance in other areas of the country than here in Norway's capitol. The biggest insurgent attack of the past 24 hours occurred shortly after 5am with traps concocted of tanning beds, rotting food, and insect spray. Although the traps proved moderately successful, the fighting only succeeded in keeping the existing opposition alive and forced the flies to seriously consider the threat posed to them.
By about noon, both sides were worn down by the fighting. Hundreds of fly corpses lay scattered in the streets, among the bodies of those insurgents who had been picked up and dropped 10 stories by the roving fly patrols that have been set up. All national services were canceled, as were schools, universities, jobs, and private recycling services. The nations economy, which depends on oil for sustenance, was brought to a halt by the day's activities, while the krone traded poorly in foreign markets.
At 7pm, both groups agreed to meet and seek out a peaceful resolution. This was a big break for the humans, since that time of day is when the flies are strongest; however, many have criticized the humans for the concessions that were made. Some are even refusing to agree to the terms of the 2007 Oslo Accords, as they have been named, because of the clause giving only 3/5ths voting rights to the humans.
While the future of Norway remains uncertain, both sides are optimistic that an suitable agreement will be reached. Until then, most people have decided to hide in their basements. Said one scared resident on her way home, "Why would you be outside? I don't know who these flies are, where they have been, what diseases they could be carrying, or why they want to take over our nation. I know just one thing... nothing like this has ever happened before. And that is the biggest reason I am scared."
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
If Only...
I'm tired of writing about the issues that everyone else cares about. I'm tired of having to see everyone else's point of view in order to understand and better support my own. I'm tired of how much effort I put into good argumentative techniques and logically clear writing, and the horribly written and/or spoken responses I get. I'm tired of having to care about the things everyone else wants to talk about. I'm tired of keeping up with everyone else's societal systems and expectations.
Why can't we all just take one big day off? Let's just say screw it all... screw the rivalries, screw the religious bickering, screw the competition, screw the rat race of life... let's just all chill out, and only put effort into helping others chill out. Let's all go out onto our lawns and barbecue and hang out. Lets raid furniture stores, monopolize all the big comfy sofas, and just talk with our friends. Lets lie down on our roofs and watch the clouds go by against the horizon, reminding us of the importance of the spaceship we call Earth. Let's all take one big break... a minimum 12 hours of sleep per person. Let's throw out the titles, the Sunnis and Shiites, the liberals and conservatives, the Red Sox and Yankees. Let's just be human beings.
Why can't we all just take one big day off? Let's just say screw it all... screw the rivalries, screw the religious bickering, screw the competition, screw the rat race of life... let's just all chill out, and only put effort into helping others chill out. Let's all go out onto our lawns and barbecue and hang out. Lets raid furniture stores, monopolize all the big comfy sofas, and just talk with our friends. Lets lie down on our roofs and watch the clouds go by against the horizon, reminding us of the importance of the spaceship we call Earth. Let's all take one big break... a minimum 12 hours of sleep per person. Let's throw out the titles, the Sunnis and Shiites, the liberals and conservatives, the Red Sox and Yankees. Let's just be human beings.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
She Stole What?
As he sat back in his chair, his feet squeaked against the cheap linoleum floor. A hair dryer was droning in the back, and when it stopped things suddenly felt too quiet, like when you're reading a book and suddenly realize it's stopped raining. The customers were making small talk with the stylists, and every once in a while the bells tied to the door would ring with the entrance of another customer. The demographic of this establishment was pretty specific- middle-aged women, various ethnicities ranging from Hispanic to Russian to Middle Eastern, anything but white. His mother was sitting in a chair 30 feet from him, and she kept glancing at him and making funny faces to keep him occupied. He had driven her here, but not because she couldn't drive or because it was a bad part of town; he had wanted to get outside on this 90 degree day. He only ever had feel-good or feel-bad days, never anything in the middle, but luckily today was a feel-good day. He leaned back in his chair, and let his mind wander.
The bells on the door rang again, and he turned around to see who had entered. She was a tall white woman who looked like she could have been an upper-middle class soccer mom, but at one point made a bad decision (the wrong marriage, the wrong house, the wrong drug) and was now just living a life of regret. She had unkempt hair, bland clothes from the wrong decade, and too many wrinkles for her age. But, she looked like someone who had accepted her fate, and with that sort of confidence she sat down in a chair and asked for highlights. The salon went back to work, but things weren't working right. It was as if one of the cylinders that kept this machine running wasn't firing.
About 20 minutes later she rose from her seat, the tin foil still in her hair and protective bib still around her body, and walked towards the door. She mumbled something about needing her purse, and said that she would be right back. Not 5 steps outside the door, she burst full speed across the parking lot, jumped into her Honda Civic, and sped away.
The patrons inside sat still, all looking at the fading speck that was slowly driving away into the distance. Nobody dared to move or say anything; they all stared in silence. Slowly, one stylist began to cut again. Another turned on her hair dryer, and went back to work. They had witnessed something, but couldn't quite figure out what. Although a police officer might just say it was a robbery, it felt like so much more to them. They all silently wondered what would drive someone to steal a haircut and highlights.
The bells on the door rang again, and he turned around to see who had entered. She was a tall white woman who looked like she could have been an upper-middle class soccer mom, but at one point made a bad decision (the wrong marriage, the wrong house, the wrong drug) and was now just living a life of regret. She had unkempt hair, bland clothes from the wrong decade, and too many wrinkles for her age. But, she looked like someone who had accepted her fate, and with that sort of confidence she sat down in a chair and asked for highlights. The salon went back to work, but things weren't working right. It was as if one of the cylinders that kept this machine running wasn't firing.
About 20 minutes later she rose from her seat, the tin foil still in her hair and protective bib still around her body, and walked towards the door. She mumbled something about needing her purse, and said that she would be right back. Not 5 steps outside the door, she burst full speed across the parking lot, jumped into her Honda Civic, and sped away.
The patrons inside sat still, all looking at the fading speck that was slowly driving away into the distance. Nobody dared to move or say anything; they all stared in silence. Slowly, one stylist began to cut again. Another turned on her hair dryer, and went back to work. They had witnessed something, but couldn't quite figure out what. Although a police officer might just say it was a robbery, it felt like so much more to them. They all silently wondered what would drive someone to steal a haircut and highlights.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
The Power of Music
The notes invade your body, converging on your brain and controlling your body like a drug. You lose control as your brain stops processing the things around you. Slowly, all other emotion is numbed, and the music begins to warm up it up, chipping at your heart like it's made of marble until it leaves a statue of itself behind. Watch a person in the midst of listening to a great song, especially if they have headphones on- the music takes over, and at that very moment nothing else in their life matters. It brings out the rawest of emotion in us; it can make us laugh or cry, celebrate or mourn, rejoice or reflect.
Sometimes, I just pray that my playlist won't end.
Sometimes, I just pray that my playlist won't end.
Monday, April 9, 2007
Home
He walked across the green tennis courts, dodging the errant balls that were flying everywhere. He sat down on the other side, with the cold wind to his back, and waited for Ms. F to finish teaching a girl how to hit a backhand shot. As he waited, he noticed the ice that was still stubbornly holding on along the fence, refusing to melt despite the 50 degree weather.
She sat down next to him, and he fumbled for a pen and some paper. He was interviewing her about the South, and the misconception of Southerners in the north. She adjusted her wild red hair, and began talking about life in the South. She described having a garden, baking for others, saying "sir" and "ma'am," and inviting her students over for dinner before finals. She told stories of colleagues in the north who talked as if they wanted to "reeducate" her, and teach her the "proper way" to live. The more she talked, the more he was reminded of home. Images of his mother working in the garden, baking a cake for his father, and making the family's favorite meal jumped into his head. He remembered one of the last conversations he had had with her face to face before coming back to school, when she talked about women back in India who saw the life she had now, and tried to force her to live the way they did. It was that single aspect of life there that told them that they would never move back. He remembered her hug at the airport, and how she had changed from very seriously telling him to maintain his grades to telling him to enjoy himself and have a good term.
Although it had been four years since he had first gone away to school, and he went back home every two to three months, he suddenly realized that the homesickness never really went away. But, for a moment at that tennis court, Ms. F had brought him home.
She sat down next to him, and he fumbled for a pen and some paper. He was interviewing her about the South, and the misconception of Southerners in the north. She adjusted her wild red hair, and began talking about life in the South. She described having a garden, baking for others, saying "sir" and "ma'am," and inviting her students over for dinner before finals. She told stories of colleagues in the north who talked as if they wanted to "reeducate" her, and teach her the "proper way" to live. The more she talked, the more he was reminded of home. Images of his mother working in the garden, baking a cake for his father, and making the family's favorite meal jumped into his head. He remembered one of the last conversations he had had with her face to face before coming back to school, when she talked about women back in India who saw the life she had now, and tried to force her to live the way they did. It was that single aspect of life there that told them that they would never move back. He remembered her hug at the airport, and how she had changed from very seriously telling him to maintain his grades to telling him to enjoy himself and have a good term.
Although it had been four years since he had first gone away to school, and he went back home every two to three months, he suddenly realized that the homesickness never really went away. But, for a moment at that tennis court, Ms. F had brought him home.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Tired Mumblings of Class
He was tired, and couldn't imagine making it through one more period. To avoid falling asleep, he had taken to pinching himself a few times a minute, and watching the clock inch towards the bell. He didn't understand the class, but at least he had expected that. The rest was what made this room into Hell itself, the reading in front of him laughing like Satan. He felt like Athena was about to spring out of his head, so he popped two Advil and went back to pinching himself. The sentences in his mind were concise and blocky, eager to get to the next idea as soon as possible.
There was a smiling Asian girl in front of him, and she disgusted him. How could she hold that smile for so long? She was nodding every time the teacher snuck in a period into the lecture, and it ticked him off. She looked like she had held that smile for the past four years, hiding from something that she felt the people around her would never understand. He wasn't sure if her emotional depth was what impressed him, or if it was just the strength of her face muscles.
There was a smiling Asian girl in front of him, and she disgusted him. How could she hold that smile for so long? She was nodding every time the teacher snuck in a period into the lecture, and it ticked him off. She looked like she had held that smile for the past four years, hiding from something that she felt the people around her would never understand. He wasn't sure if her emotional depth was what impressed him, or if it was just the strength of her face muscles.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Coin Flip
It's dark. There's one light on in the room, and the shadows are spreading out around the furniture, like fingers trying to escape the concrete coffin The room itself is warm, but the people are the prison, holding him down like shackles. He wants to fly, fly away, fly like an eagle, let my spirit carry me. He sits motionless as things begin to transform. The people turn from gray walls into great murals, millions of colors telling stories. They are laughing, crying, living, dying, and just being what they are. They may be small and insignificant, like grains of sand, but the transformation is subtle and important; the difference between a beach in New England in winter, and one in sunny Jamaica. He has seen both sides of the coin, black and white, yin and yang. And he knows which side he likes.
Ann - A Children's Story
Ann was eight years old. She lived in a small town in Massachusetts with her parents. One day, her parents had to go somewhere on short notice. They figured that she would be okay alone for a little while, and left. Five minutes after they left it began to rain, and ten minutes later it began to thunder.
Ann got very scared, so she turned on the TV and sat underneath a blanket on her sofa. After half an hour, she heard a scratching at the door. She was very scared, remembering what her parents had said about not answering the door for strangers. Suddenly she heard a little “meow,” and realized that it was a kitten. She went and opened the door, and saw it sitting there, shivering. It was a mix of gray and white, with solid white paws.
It had big round eyes, and looked like it had been abandoned. She picked it up and brought it inside. She reached for a towel and tried to dry it off. No matter how hard she rubbed it with the towel, she couldn't dry it off. She saw that it was still wet, and really cold. She thought of what her mother would do to warm something up. She turned, and saw the microwave in the kitchen.
“Twelve minutes should be enough” she thought.
Ann got very scared, so she turned on the TV and sat underneath a blanket on her sofa. After half an hour, she heard a scratching at the door. She was very scared, remembering what her parents had said about not answering the door for strangers. Suddenly she heard a little “meow,” and realized that it was a kitten. She went and opened the door, and saw it sitting there, shivering. It was a mix of gray and white, with solid white paws.
It had big round eyes, and looked like it had been abandoned. She picked it up and brought it inside. She reached for a towel and tried to dry it off. No matter how hard she rubbed it with the towel, she couldn't dry it off. She saw that it was still wet, and really cold. She thought of what her mother would do to warm something up. She turned, and saw the microwave in the kitchen.
“Twelve minutes should be enough” she thought.
The next day, her parents buried their microwave in the backyard.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
A 21st Century A&P
He stood in line at the cheap, fluorescent white and green grocery store, waiting for his turn in the Express Lane (12 Items or Less). He was cradling a gallon of milk (purple cap, 1%) in his arms, holding a Pepperidge Farm Family Size White Bread in one hand, a dozen eggs in a white Styrofoam container in the other, and balancing an unbelievably yellow "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter!" between the three. A short, elderly Cuban lady, well dressed and well poised, stood in front of him. At the front of the line stood a wild old white lady, complete with black tights, dark red bandanna, dark turtleneck, and neon green purse. He assumed from her looks that she was rich, but had been running a few pennies short of a dollar (mentally) in her later years. As she moved forward to pay, the Cuban lady moved her cart just a couple of inches too far, and hit her. She muttered in Spanish, "Lo siento," but she might as well have shouted "Viva la revolucion."
The White Devil (he decided it was a deserved title) began shrieking, ranting about respect and claiming that immigrants should "learn the goddamn language." Her cries were so loud that the people at the lottery counter on the other side of the store peered over, rubbernecking for a look at the freak show. The milk carton was cold in his arms, which were starting to go numb. The shouting changed focus, as the Devil Lady started shouting "You're ugly! You're ugly! Look at you! Look at how much prettier I am than you!" Throughout all of this, the Cuban lady kept her poise, staring straight ahead as if the cover of TV Guide would get her through this. The Devil Lady walked out, still ranting, and he and the cashier shot each other looks of combined disbelief at what had happened, and relief that it was over. He quietly hoped that old age would be better to him.
The White Devil (he decided it was a deserved title) began shrieking, ranting about respect and claiming that immigrants should "learn the goddamn language." Her cries were so loud that the people at the lottery counter on the other side of the store peered over, rubbernecking for a look at the freak show. The milk carton was cold in his arms, which were starting to go numb. The shouting changed focus, as the Devil Lady started shouting "You're ugly! You're ugly! Look at you! Look at how much prettier I am than you!" Throughout all of this, the Cuban lady kept her poise, staring straight ahead as if the cover of TV Guide would get her through this. The Devil Lady walked out, still ranting, and he and the cashier shot each other looks of combined disbelief at what had happened, and relief that it was over. He quietly hoped that old age would be better to him.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
How about 8?
He walked up to her, as the world around him faded away. He was focused; this was his one chance. He asked her if she was busy on Saturday, and she told him she wasn't, smiling. He asked her if she would go out for dinner with him, and she said yes, smiling even more. He said alright, and told her he would pick her up from "her place at 8" (he watched too many movies).
He felt sorry for her, though. She was a daydream but still, what choice did she have? He was the one who wrote the story, so of course she had to say yes. Even though he felt bad for her, he was happy. There was no date, there was no 8 o'clock dinner, but he still felt pleased with himself, as if he had accomplished something.
It was then, in the middle of his happiness, that he saw her, definitely not a dream this time. Since things had worked out so perfectly in his mind, he decided to try for real this time. He began to walk up to her, but one of her friends came by, and he stalled temporarily. Through luck that could only be explained as the will of some greater being (i.e. God), her friend left, and she stood all alone, in the middle of the hall. He walked up to her, and fumbled through asking her, "AreyoubusySaturdaynight Iwaswonderingifyouwantedtogo todinnerwithmeorsomething." She looked at him, taking him in, and said, "I don't know, I might be busy Saturday." He stood there for a couple of seconds, more like a couple of eternities to him, and said, "Nope, I'm free. My place, 8 o'clock?"
He felt sorry for her, though. She was a daydream but still, what choice did she have? He was the one who wrote the story, so of course she had to say yes. Even though he felt bad for her, he was happy. There was no date, there was no 8 o'clock dinner, but he still felt pleased with himself, as if he had accomplished something.
It was then, in the middle of his happiness, that he saw her, definitely not a dream this time. Since things had worked out so perfectly in his mind, he decided to try for real this time. He began to walk up to her, but one of her friends came by, and he stalled temporarily. Through luck that could only be explained as the will of some greater being (i.e. God), her friend left, and she stood all alone, in the middle of the hall. He walked up to her, and fumbled through asking her, "AreyoubusySaturdaynight Iwaswonderingifyouwantedtogo todinnerwithmeorsomething." She looked at him, taking him in, and said, "I don't know, I might be busy Saturday." He stood there for a couple of seconds, more like a couple of eternities to him, and said, "Nope, I'm free. My place, 8 o'clock?"
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
A Gust of Wind
He sipped at his Ginger Ale, like a writer trying to figure out his next plot twist, but with less alcohol. The airplane (commercial, 6 seats across, 30 rows) turned sharply to the left, and continued to readjust uncomfortably- first to the right, then a bit to the left, and then sharply to the right again. He looked out the right side window and saw the ominous source of the pilot's discomfort. Not more than 50 feet from their own wingtip was another large commercial airliner, flying directly parallel to them close enough for him to make out the faces of the passengers in the other airplane. Both planes continued on their paths, drag racing for connecting flights, bad food, and tighter schedules. Just 50 feet separated them from a spectacular crash, CNN exclusive breaking coverage, an investigation, expert testimony, and a whole lot of death to top it off, like a cherry on the whipped cream of "blood and guts." He sat back, took one last sip, and enjoyed the show.
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Flying Mental
Part I
"Wake up. You're dreaming..." floated down the soft, effeminate voice. She was beautiful, so radiant that he was overcome by her, by his love for her, and by his sudden passion for all things good in the world. Nothing could stop him; he was a snowball of good feeling, getting stronger and stronger until he could stop the world's evils singlehandedly. The emotion spread throughout his body; he felt like he had stepped out from the shadows and felt sunlight for the first time. The immense silence soon began to take hold, and the emotion passed with a gust of wind.
He was left cold, feeling empty, so he began to observe his surroundings. He was in an infinitely large green field- almost too green. Something was odd, besides not being asleep in his bed, as he had been five minutes earlier. A banner proclaiming "4:30AM" in large digital red letters glided across the orange and purple sky, like a silent, friendly space ship.
He was knees deep in it now, whatever "it" might be. He began to explore, since it was imperative he figure out where he was. It was more than imperative; his life depended on it. Who wants to set up camp and then find out there's a white castle over the horizon? He looked at the fields that extended in every direction, and the sudden realization of the infinite overtook him. He desperately fell to the ground, grabbing on to the neon grass until he could shrink his mind down to the point he was standing on. He reconsidered his strategy and decided that he would need supplies, or at least a phone. The vast emptiness of the field around him put things in perspective, and soundly proved the futility of that thought...no, the futility of thought in this god-forsaken place. It was beautiful, in its own way, but certainly god forsaken. There would be no help from anyone else in this place, that was sure. What drives this place? he pondered. Maybe it's hope... hopefully it's hope. He closed his eyes, and with all his physical and mental strength he hoped that he would find a previously unseen pay phone. He turned around quickly, and saw nothing. A feeling of panic and despair overtook him, until he realized that he knew no one who would take a collect call anyway.
Part II
A nightclub had materialized around him, but it was all fuzzy. People with blurred faces pulsated around him to a deep bass beat, which was all he could make out of the music. He looked over in the corner, and saw the pay phone he had been hoping for, shining like a beacon and guiding him through the fog of the people around him. They were like a current, pushing him in every direction but the one he wanted, and he had to fight with everything he had to make any progress. He looked behind him, and saw a clear path to the door. He turned and walked out of the club with an ease that frustrated him.
Part III
As soon as the warm air hit him, he felt calm. What just happened? he wondered....something about a field and a telephone. A giant toilet paper roll with legs jogged by, extolling "It's oh so soft" as it was chased by three floating kids and a man with a cylindrical head, who smelled an awful lot like cheese. A bunch of dogs in cars drove by, shouting something about a giant tree. They were soon followed by a boy on a broomstick, who flew into the night sky without a word. He knew that none of them mattered, that they were just mirrors of himself, but he was tired... tired of the craziness. He just wanted to be happy. He began walking, alone through the night, looking for something familiar.
Part IV
It was a small garden, with Astroturf grass and houseplants everywhere. A blue lawn chair sat in the center, protected from the stadium-grade lighting by a ridiculous red and turquoise plastic umbrella. All around him industrial, urban buildings, rose like giant fortresses, protecting this Walmart Garden of Eden. He sat down, and let his body rest for a bit. He felt himself sinking slowly into the chair, and let the chair embrace him.
He awoke back in his room, but asleep in an armchair. He immediately dove to the ground in pain, desperately looking for money. He needed cash now. He was like an empty shell, and the money would fill it. He could feel the substance leaking out of him, and needed some bills to patch himself up, at least until the end of the week. As he crouched on the floor, looking for cash and slowly bleeding away, a man appeared at the door. All he could make out was the voice, which seemed to come from his head rather than the mouth of the mysterious figure. He desperately asked it Where is my money? The figure responded calmly and matter-of-factly, "It's on the west side of the world." Before he could figure out this cryptic statement, a group of candles that had been put under his desk suddenly lit up, and began to burn at the dark wood of the desk and walls. It was a trap...
Part V
The flames began to tickle him, and slowly turned white and transformed into delicate fingers. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, more of a goddess than a woman. The only way to describe her was to say that she was indescribable; more words just detracted from her beauty. She smiled at him mysteriously, and all emotion, the confusion, the frustration, the stress of living, and the restraints of the material world slowly dissipated. He was slowly opening his eyes for the first time, and world was looking a lot brighter, and a lot more real than ever before. This emotion had at first been just a tiny ray of sunlight, bothering him every once in a while and forcing him to turn his eyes away from it, but now it was like a blue sky, bluer than he had ever remembered it, dotted with stars and completed by the old, crisp moon in the center of the canvas. He saw the people around him, and was gravitated towards them by his attachment to their wellbeing. He saw the path to helping others and living a full and complete life. He reached out and touched her hand, and felt connected, like he had never felt before, to the rest of the world...
Part VI
The loud beeping of his alarm clock awoke him. It was raining outside, pounding at his window like tiny fists, as he got up and tried to find his clock in the gray light of morning. He took a shower, got dressed, ate some cereal, and went off to his job as a gear in the machine.
"Wake up. You're dreaming..." floated down the soft, effeminate voice. She was beautiful, so radiant that he was overcome by her, by his love for her, and by his sudden passion for all things good in the world. Nothing could stop him; he was a snowball of good feeling, getting stronger and stronger until he could stop the world's evils singlehandedly. The emotion spread throughout his body; he felt like he had stepped out from the shadows and felt sunlight for the first time. The immense silence soon began to take hold, and the emotion passed with a gust of wind.
He was left cold, feeling empty, so he began to observe his surroundings. He was in an infinitely large green field- almost too green. Something was odd, besides not being asleep in his bed, as he had been five minutes earlier. A banner proclaiming "4:30AM" in large digital red letters glided across the orange and purple sky, like a silent, friendly space ship.
He was knees deep in it now, whatever "it" might be. He began to explore, since it was imperative he figure out where he was. It was more than imperative; his life depended on it. Who wants to set up camp and then find out there's a white castle over the horizon? He looked at the fields that extended in every direction, and the sudden realization of the infinite overtook him. He desperately fell to the ground, grabbing on to the neon grass until he could shrink his mind down to the point he was standing on. He reconsidered his strategy and decided that he would need supplies, or at least a phone. The vast emptiness of the field around him put things in perspective, and soundly proved the futility of that thought...no, the futility of thought in this god-forsaken place. It was beautiful, in its own way, but certainly god forsaken. There would be no help from anyone else in this place, that was sure. What drives this place? he pondered. Maybe it's hope... hopefully it's hope. He closed his eyes, and with all his physical and mental strength he hoped that he would find a previously unseen pay phone. He turned around quickly, and saw nothing. A feeling of panic and despair overtook him, until he realized that he knew no one who would take a collect call anyway.
Part II
A nightclub had materialized around him, but it was all fuzzy. People with blurred faces pulsated around him to a deep bass beat, which was all he could make out of the music. He looked over in the corner, and saw the pay phone he had been hoping for, shining like a beacon and guiding him through the fog of the people around him. They were like a current, pushing him in every direction but the one he wanted, and he had to fight with everything he had to make any progress. He looked behind him, and saw a clear path to the door. He turned and walked out of the club with an ease that frustrated him.
Part III
As soon as the warm air hit him, he felt calm. What just happened? he wondered....something about a field and a telephone. A giant toilet paper roll with legs jogged by, extolling "It's oh so soft" as it was chased by three floating kids and a man with a cylindrical head, who smelled an awful lot like cheese. A bunch of dogs in cars drove by, shouting something about a giant tree. They were soon followed by a boy on a broomstick, who flew into the night sky without a word. He knew that none of them mattered, that they were just mirrors of himself, but he was tired... tired of the craziness. He just wanted to be happy. He began walking, alone through the night, looking for something familiar.
Part IV
It was a small garden, with Astroturf grass and houseplants everywhere. A blue lawn chair sat in the center, protected from the stadium-grade lighting by a ridiculous red and turquoise plastic umbrella. All around him industrial, urban buildings, rose like giant fortresses, protecting this Walmart Garden of Eden. He sat down, and let his body rest for a bit. He felt himself sinking slowly into the chair, and let the chair embrace him.
He awoke back in his room, but asleep in an armchair. He immediately dove to the ground in pain, desperately looking for money. He needed cash now. He was like an empty shell, and the money would fill it. He could feel the substance leaking out of him, and needed some bills to patch himself up, at least until the end of the week. As he crouched on the floor, looking for cash and slowly bleeding away, a man appeared at the door. All he could make out was the voice, which seemed to come from his head rather than the mouth of the mysterious figure. He desperately asked it Where is my money? The figure responded calmly and matter-of-factly, "It's on the west side of the world." Before he could figure out this cryptic statement, a group of candles that had been put under his desk suddenly lit up, and began to burn at the dark wood of the desk and walls. It was a trap...
Part V
The flames began to tickle him, and slowly turned white and transformed into delicate fingers. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, more of a goddess than a woman. The only way to describe her was to say that she was indescribable; more words just detracted from her beauty. She smiled at him mysteriously, and all emotion, the confusion, the frustration, the stress of living, and the restraints of the material world slowly dissipated. He was slowly opening his eyes for the first time, and world was looking a lot brighter, and a lot more real than ever before. This emotion had at first been just a tiny ray of sunlight, bothering him every once in a while and forcing him to turn his eyes away from it, but now it was like a blue sky, bluer than he had ever remembered it, dotted with stars and completed by the old, crisp moon in the center of the canvas. He saw the people around him, and was gravitated towards them by his attachment to their wellbeing. He saw the path to helping others and living a full and complete life. He reached out and touched her hand, and felt connected, like he had never felt before, to the rest of the world...
Part VI
The loud beeping of his alarm clock awoke him. It was raining outside, pounding at his window like tiny fists, as he got up and tried to find his clock in the gray light of morning. He took a shower, got dressed, ate some cereal, and went off to his job as a gear in the machine.
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