Dream Story

So I just woke up from this crazy dream that seemed to mix all the things processing through my mind in recent days, in a bizarre, semi-coherent post-apocalyptic setting.  It was cards, the fact that collecting keeps me broke, but also sane, yet is probably ultimately pointless, and possibly of the pointlessness of life in general, Amiga longplays on Youtube, desperation to get out of this godforsaken place I live and see the world cropping up again… And rather than just talk about it, I decided to try and turn it into a little story.  I dunno, I can’t really make much sense of it either way.

Also, I wouldn’t count on it, but if it sticks with me long enough, I may try to add some illustrations to it at some point.  But anyway, enough jibba-jabba.  It’s storytime!  (Oh, fair warning, I am really bad at writing short, succinct sentences.)

In a series of cave-like structures rising out of the desert somewhere on the barren husk of a planet its inhabitants once called “Earth”, a pair of young scavengers bring in a new box of artifacts for the caretaker of this place.  Several long stone slabs in this place are dedicated to them.  The caretaker meticulously catalogs the tiny rectangles of (mostly) cardboard with pictures on them, before sticking each one in an individual-sized hard plastic containment unit.  Then the old archeologist or historian of a sort affixes them to these massive stone slabs.  Not that any unit of time has much meaning when the clock on the life of humanity rapidly dwindles to zero, but it would be fair to say he has done for this decades now… Ever since he ended up at this place when he was a small child.

He thought it a hobby, but maybe it was an obsession.  It kept him sane as the world died all around him, and had kept him fit some 30 years after the fact.  Knowing he wouldn’t be around forever, he taught the younger scavengers who found their way here the craft and why he used to believe it was so important.

“This is the story of our history!” the kindly caretaker would beam. “Even if it is lost to us, maybe someone will someday find this place and have some idea of what we were all about.”

The caretaker used to go out into the world to forage for supplies and artifacts with rest of them.  He was hopeful and often even exuberant in his quest.  But even he couldn’t feign hope forever in a world that no longer seemed truly capable supporting life as we knew it, and indeed one day the light finally extinguished in his eyes.  From then on, he buried himself in his legacy.  The cards.

But these days even that couldn’t mask the hopelessness and despair consuming his heart.

‘What good have I actually done?’ he often found himself wondering when he allowed himself the time to think.

It was hard to lie to himself about the emptiness he felt.  The seeming pointlessness of this monotonous endeavor.  It kept him sane for the longest time, but that was it.  There was nothing more to it, no legacy or actual importance.  Just some old man attaching these little colorful pictures, mostly depicting the sportsmen of their day, onto giant stone slabs.

He was so jaded but he never let it show.  To the other dozen or so residents running around this half-buried little monastery-like structure in the shifting sands, he was still the kindly old caretaker, full of homespun wisdom and a warm smile.

The old caretaker pulled down the hood of his ragged robes and ran his fingers through his long silver mane of hair.  He adjusted his glasses examined his latest wall of work.  Finally he knelt down before the latest box, but stopped before opening it.

“I want you fellas and your sister to do this,” he looked at the young men, smiling.

They stared down at him, confused.

“This is a young person’s game,” he dragged himself back up. “It is not in my heart to do this anymore.”

They seemed confused and tried to protest, but he raised his hand to silence them.

“Now I taught all of you how to do this at one point or another,” he spoke more gruffly than usual. “You can still go out in the world to hunt.  I did both until I became an old man myself.”

“You know the process, how it all works,” he reassured them. “It is time to start the next slab.”

He spoke softly as he walked passed the duo, one of whom was fighting back tears, “Please keep up my work for me wall I’m away.”

After informing the others of his decision to leave the encampment and offering his words of encouragement and saying his goodbyes, he packed up his few belongings an the few days worth of food and water they could muster, hopped a windjammer (think surfboard + sail + small engine), and was never seen again.  No one at the underground compound would ever know what exactly happened to him, but he somehow managed to kick around out there in the desert wastes, surviving for many years.

The old man was many mostly, but not constantly, lonesome adventures and thousands of miles away from his place in the cards by the time his ancient and weary frame had finally fallen into such disrepair that he could no longer continue his journey.  Through the dissipating remnants of a raging sandstorm, he saw two big bright lights in the sky nearby loudly jet away.

Desperately he called out to the lights as he futilely dragged his broken body towards where they had been.  The old man collapsed atop the ridge in the crater whatever was connected to the lights had caused in the burned out land.  He gracelessly slid and rolled and tumbled and crashed and burned down to the center of the surprisingly deep crevice.

“Ow…” the ancient explorer deadpanned after laying face first in the sand for a moment.

At last he summoned the strength to drag his broken carcass up for what he knew was probably the final time.  He couldn’t believe his eyes at what stood before him.

“A… a potted plant?” he stared in amazement.

He wondered if he was hallucinating, but the aroma the flowery, bushy, fledgling tree gave off was too real to be mistaken.  He hadn’t smelled anything like it since his youth, when the dying world he inhabited was still modestly capable of creating life.  It was just so out of place, a bizarrely innocent reminder of somewhat less hellish times.

All the broken down old man could do was laugh riotously as his strength faded and his body gave out.  His manic laughter sputtered into pained wheezing and he collapsed over the pot holding the plant, willingly giving himself up with joyful tears in his eyes…


Some millennia later and you can feel it all around this lush and beautiful world the original inhabitants once called “Earth”.  From the Tree of Life that reignited this lonely little planet with the enrichment of one little spark, to those now meticulously preserved old caves full of cards thousands miles to the south and east.  To everything in between and far, far beyond…

Strange beings now inhabit this world.  They aren’t quite human, but not quite those that left that silly little plant all those eons ago either.  They seemed something of an amalgamation.  Their head and ashen skin tone were more like that of the extraterrestrial interlopers, but they had smaller, smoother, less angular bodies like humans were believed to have had.  An odd mix indeed, and very few, if any, of either original species is believed to still exist.  Their conflict is what nearly destroyed both of them anyway.  But hey, this world lives again.  And I guess that’s something.  Right?

I don’t even know…

What am I Doing Here?

It isn’t a new thought.  I ask myself every time I fall behind on trades or don’t feel like posting for an extended period of time.  I hadn’t thought about it for awhile, but ever since I read certain recent post by card blogging legend Night Owl, I can’t shake it.  I think everyone that has gotten to know me a little bit here knows how scatterbrained and unfocused I usually am.  And it does come through in my posting a little bit.  There’s an opening chapter of a story and a couple stabs at poetry amongst my posts.  There are a few random pieces of art, not to mention all those sketch cards.  The last one related to the general cardiness of things, but it’s still just me showing off my latest card-sized artwork.  And then there are two rarely ever touched post categories related to a couple of my other minor passions: video games and cooking.  I enjoy the former when I get around to it and have largely untapped talent for the latter.

I also quite like comic books/anime/manga/classic (as in good ’80s/’90s) cartoons/action figures, and hope to work in at least the first of those fields at some point in the relatively near future (ideally).  I am a proud second-generation geek, what can I say?  And though my overall interest ebbs and flows, I also like pro wrestling.  I was such a fan in my youth that I actually wanted to be a wrestler, making this one of my longest standing dreams of the more unlikely variety.  Heck, I even recapped TNA iMPACT! for a humor/tasteless satire wrestling website for close to a year back when the show first went to two hours.

So yeah, I’m into all kinds of random shizz, and I am capable of doing almost anything reasonably well with little effort/practice.  Not having to work hard to become knowledgeable or skilled at a fair amount of things has made me incredibly lazy-brained over the years, which leads me to constantly wander, looking for whatever new thing I can find to occupy my time when I’m not doing the usual things that continually, if not constantly, hold my attention.  Lately I’ve been trying extra hard to learn how to sing decently, despite (or maybe because) music is the one thing I’ve always enjoyed that I have displayed nary a hint of talent for.  I doubt it’s working in any meaningful way, but I’m rarely told to shut up when I do it anymore.  Maybe the gravelly, bluesy voice I’ve been trying to find ever since I realized how gravelly my voice gets when I’m tired is working for me though, lol.

Anyway, the point is, I’m always finding new things that grab my attention, and even things that don’t take for long rarely go away for good.  So I’m constantly building up more and more things without ever giving anything up.  A whim can hit me at any time to go check up on any little thing that has found it’s way into my focus at some point and I gotta go check it out, even stupid things I don’t like (*cough*government*cough*) but occasionally feel like I should get up-to-date on because I used to be (and maybe still am/could be again) borderline prodigiously intelligent.  I feel like I could even write about those things with an above average degree of understanding and skill if I ever felt like it.

So I guess maybe it’s supposed to be about the cards, but they can’t always keep my interest.  I am what I am, so I will continue to do what I do, and post about whatever happens to be of interest to myself at any given moment.  I hope it’s not something I lose any of my laughably small, but vitally important, readership over, but I have to be true to myself.  And for me, that is what being true to myself entails.  Cards will always be an important part of this blog, but I feel like I have more to say about a variety of things I enjoy and/or care about, so I’m going to start saying them.  Hope you’ll still be there to tell me what you have to say.

And after all of that, I should probably point out that I have tons of recently arrived cards to scan (and a Headliner to take a picture of) and post about.  There are about four trades already arrived with at least one more on the way, all three group breaks have arrived, and I’m expecting over 60 cards that had been building up since late last year on Check Out My Cards to arrive in the coming week.

Ah, I needed that…