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It’s not that …

February 20, 2012

It’s not that I’m saying that there is no such thing as objective truth, I just mean that you cannot know the truth because all sensory input is subjective. Maybe if you, like, removed all your nerves or something so you didn’t know anything at all you could achieve enlightenment. What? No I don’t want to try it, do you? You’re sure? I’m sure it would be fun. No? Pity. Maybe the other way then, if you could see the entire color spectrum, hear all wavelengths, you know. Probably not though since there’s like a million different kinds of possible sensory input. What if we killed your body but kept you’re brain in a jar or something like that, nah I don’t think that would work either because you would still have needs and wants and stuff. What about total selflessness, like if you were a saint or something. I dunno, nobody’s perfect.

In which we are introduced to the characters and they discover their location

December 31, 2011

I awake to find myself in a lush meadow comprising of a multitude of long, vibrantly green blades of grass. They rear up tall and wave in the wind as if to indicate their pride at participating in the great revolution or some such. Interspersed at regular intervals are the generals of the army, wildflowers colored in purple, yellow, blue and red; though I must admit for generals they are decidedly flower like. The dirt is very dry and crumbly also very dirt colored, a sort of light brownish if you know what I mean. I get up.

The weather is as follows; lightly breezy with a nice warm sun, not cold but not harsh either, in short just perfect. The sky above is a bright blue and a few clouds of the cumulus variety are hard at work drifting across the vault of the heavens. The meadow stretches out as far as the eye can see and I see a tree a little ways away. To one side a forest stretches out in a neat line as if it were cultivated. It looks cold, dark and foreboding, a striking alternative to the sunny meadow. Perhaps it is a metaphor for the unknown, the unknowable. Perhaps it is just a scary forest.

Julia wakes up and makes it clear that she is hungry. I say that the forest is undoubtedly a metaphor for that which mankind must not know and thus must be approached with only the utmost caution. I say also, it looks kind of scary and why don’t we try that tree over there. She frowns but says OK. Her hair is, as always, impeccable. We walk for a while and I say  what if Raven played basketball. Julie says he would probably be good at it and I concur and so we reach the apple tree.

It is bent over like a willow but definitely an apple tree. I eat an apple. It is small and mousy, slightly bitter. Julia says she is not hungry anymore and come to think of it neither am I. The sun is warm and something is buzzing and and I fall asleep beneath the tree.

The Town on the Shore of the Sea at the End of the World

October 27, 2011

There is a place where the world ends. Should you go far enough to the west you shall find that it soon grows cold and most likely it shall start to rain. You shall find forests where the ground is perpetually wet and should you venture far enough the rain shall slow, becoming a constant drizzle that falls without end. Should you push forward you shall come to an ocean that is all grey and in the skies shall forever be clouded grey and at the edge of the ocean you shall find a grey town fit to house not more than 50 people. The people that live here are not brown skinned like you or me, or burned red like the strange people of the south but ashen grey. They wear black and white clothes, they buckle their hats with dulled steel and their eyes are, to a man watery blue. There is a shipyard and a few houses and an inn which is a free house. They speak a strange language if at all and it is incomprehensible to us, it seems to shift and change from day to day. They seem to eat no food save the berry of the thorny bushes that grow wild in these parts and they drink nothing save rainwater. The beds are grey and comfortable and the berries are tart and refresh the mind. The people are of unintelligible age, they could be anywhere from 20 to 50. They will build you a ship from the trees that grow around the town should you indicate that you wish to leave. The trees are grey and the leaves are the color of silver, the wood inside is white. There is always a wind blowing inland, as if to warn one not to leave.

An astounding realization of epic proportions

September 16, 2011

A few nights ago I came to be in doubt of the nature of reality. This troubled me and so for the rest of the next day I proceeded to haggle with myself about what I could do about this. It soon became clear that I had find a way to differentiate between reality and happy delusions. For a while I considered a journal until I realized that anything I wrote would be subject to said delusions.  After a few more minutes of self debate it dawned upon me that nothing was essentially real.A little while later, I remembered: cogita ergo sum. A simple enough principle through which I was able to verify the existence of myself (though sadly not of you, dear reader). This being the case I turned to Occam’s razor (I’m not sure how to pronounce that, does anyone know?) for further aid in mincing reality. The simplest explanation being the best, it occurred to me that I could not possibly be alone as this proposition would raise too many questions. Hence it dawned upon me that (self-evidently) I must be locked in a basement somewhere in Kansas serving as the guinea pig for many a radioactive cosmetic treatment and I have constructed this happy delusion as an escape from the plutonium eyeliner so graciously provided by the good folks at L’Oreal Paris. This bit of reasoning done I happily drifted back into the real of non-thought.

Dr. Stuff MBS, PDT

August 26, 2011

I wish I knew more stuff. They should teach a class about stuff. Stuff 101 it would be called and you would learn about everything, from movies to quotes to the Delhi metro. To teach such a class would be a position of great honor. Should you find yourself at a dinner party and should you happen to find yourself declaiming in sonorous tones your doctorate in stuff, then no sooner had you finished the limelight would be wrenched away from the hands of such pitiful braggarts as Stephen Hawking and the president of the United States of America for you would be the man with the magic; he who knows all and even the most obscure of references would not escape your masterful grasp. And noone would even care that you were bragging. It would be awesome.

August 3, 2011

We stepped out into the airport. There were on average 2 and a half of us. Me, the girl who I can’t name without sounding pretentious and the variable who may or may not have been there.

It was unmistakably an airport. The floor was carpeted, to one side windows stretched up to the ceiling where they clashed with the iron girders hanging around up there doing god knows what. Forward and backward the corridor curved obscuring all information as to its length. To the other side there was a cream colored wall. In its shadow sat a black metal table with four uncomfortable black metal chairs, two on each side. We walked towards the table and I did not look out the window.

Sitting at the table was a tall bald man of African descent. His face was bony and stern, as if too little skin had been stretched over too many bones. “Look a girl!” he said “Haw haw! Maybe she can make me breakfast! With a soda pop maybe! ‘Cause that’s what girls do! Hohoho!” Struck by his peculiar brand of future sexism the girl was about to retaliate when we were attacked by wheel drones.

Spinning and mechanical, the came at us with red LEDs glowing .The man tossed me a lightsaber-esque weapon with a white plastic button. I blew up a wheel drone and tossed the weapon to somebody else. The sexist passed me another one and I tried turning it on but nothing happened. I yelled at him over the protests of the carpet which the remaining wheel drone was ripping up in preparation for its next charge and he threw a helmet at me. It latched onto my arm like a leech. It looked like a gleaming golden rams head, lord only knows why. I pulled it off my arm and put it on my head but by then the variable had finished off the other one. It looked pretty cool, blowing up in a spurt of orange, like someone spitting up orange juice. It was not something I had had the chance to appreciate the first time.

Then we beat him up, broke his right femur, told him not to be so sexist and left with the laser thingies. Later on, after we had collected our money it occurred to me that we might have gone there to do something but I just couldn’t remember what. I suppose it doesn’t matter, we did have a productive day, after all we taught somebody a lesson and killed two robots and that’s good enough for me. I just hope that guy isn’t angry, two grand is not all that much. Right?

Concerning my thoughts as to the ongoing phenomenon of our, the human race’s imminent destruction and my beliefs pertaining to what comes after

July 29, 2011

This evening coming home on the bus I was thinking, just a little casual thinking… nothing serious mind you, of the fate of the human race in general. I found my views on the subject to be very decidedly optimistic, or drearily pessimistic depending on, of course, your perspective. You see, I have great faith in the human race, not in their judgment, god forbid,but in the fact that I have found humans, like all insects, to be really hard to kill. Of course it is easy to kill somebody especially with less and less stringent gun laws, but the fact is that as with mosquitoes, rabbits and germs, you just can’t kill them all. I figure that even if global warming or nuclear war sends us all spinning into hell there will still be some idiot humans out there riding horses and stuff. I almost certainly won’t be one but that’s okay, I’ve always wondered what the afterlife is like.

The reason I believe in the afterlife is that it is comforting. My mind cannot fathom the thought of not existing, not thinking for all eternity that doesn’t exist. After all, I’ve been around since as long as I can remember. Sometimes I think that heaven might be like an airport with free snacks. A place where souls waiting to catch their life can sit back and rest for a few eons. But that would mean rebirth and the thought of there being no big pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is infinitely depressing. My reaction would be somewhat akin to this: “Whaddya mean there’s no gold at the end of the rainbow?? NO! The rainbow is most certainly NOT prize enough!! Look pal, I don’t care who you are but I’ve been waiting my whole life for this so do not spoil the moment for me!!!” I suppose I’d have to live with it. Maybe I could come back as someone smart the next time.

Anyways that brings us to our next topic, namely being… oh gudarnitt! I forgot!