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…

I Have Had Enough…

…of this fucking hellhole.  Pardon my French, ahem…

So yeah, I’m having issues with my neighbors again.  Here is the deal: I have severe sleep issues.  For the last three years, people be coming and going all hours of the night, every single night, slamming their fucking doors.  This has literally cost me HUNDREDs of hours of sleep that I desperately needed.  In the meantime, over the same period, I have had the police called on me for being too loud, by the same damn people that have been keeping me up at night, at least a half-dozen times, the latest being verrry early this morning.  They also complain about me to the office a ton as well.  I have received at least three letters from them.

As if the total hypocrisy of that isn’t enough (I don’t care if they don’t realize it, it’s gotten *increasingly worse* for three fucking years), for the first year, or close to it, I actively did my best to be fucking quiet at night!  And that was when most of the complaining happened.  So I finally gave up trying after awhile, and had actually only heard the a smattering of complaints since.  However, as I said, the noise they were making got so bad that a year or so ago, I took to punching the arm of my chair whenever they slammed a door or made any other kind of loud noise at night.  And by now, I just do it almost instinctively to any noise they make any time of day.  I just don’t care anymore.

Yeah, I guess that makes me not completely innocent.  I’ve never claimed I was a saint.  However, they are the ones that started it, and continue to cost me sleep.  And no, filing complaints myself isn’t a very viable option.  First of all, I have a mountain of complaints against me for various things over the years, exactly one of which can be considered legit.  I have no trust in the people running this place anyways.  In every instance I’ve dealt with them, they are a bunch of back-talking weasels.  Even though they FINALLY did get the word out to try and keep people from slamming their doors, and it has actually worked to some degree, trying to get my point across was like pulling teeth.  I’m pretty sure it was only done at all because I was so righteously pissed off I that I was physically shaking trying to keep my shit together when I was talking to the lady.

But of course, now that people are being *somewhat* better about slamming their doors, someone above me nearby has seen fit to start scooting something heavy-sounding across the floor every night.  This sound actually bothers me more than the doors slamming.  The slow, obnoxious scooting sound that lasts up to several seconds at a time is quite literally one of the most annoying sounds I have ever heard in my entire life.

Anyway though, last night it happened while I was trying to get to sleep, as in I was halfway to dreamland when it started in.  I did what I do, I punched the arm of my chair, except really, really hard.  Fucker did it when I was almost asleep.  So I’m starting to get back to sleep a little later and I here some talking in the and then a knock at my door.  Three cops are out there.  Guess with that many, they must’ve been expecting some shit.  I told them what was going on and that I just wanted get some fucking sleep, they took down my name, listened to what I had to say, and went on their merry way.

Well, I’m sick of it.  If I had somewhere else I could go, I would not still be here, but I don’t so there isn’t much that can be done right now.  I decided I needed to say something to the people causing me trouble though.  So I wrote a note and put it on the cranky old bat’s door across the hall, since most my tormentors hang out together.  It took me four tries to try and get out what I had to say, not holding back how pissed off I was, but still trying to keep it clear and to-the-point.  Here is what I wrote in it’s entirety:

“Hi, it’s me. Y’know, you don’t seem to understand something. You guys started this shit with me. Understand this, the last three years, while you guys were complaining about my alleged noise all the time, you were costing me literally 100s and 100s of hours of sleep, slamming doors every. Single. Night. And keep this in mind, I did not start retaliating against y’alls BS in any meaningful way until a year or so ago. I even tried to not be loud for awhile, but I finally gave up when it proved futile.

What I’m trying to say is this, you guys have treated me like shit, even and especially when I was trying to be quiet. This is what happened on my end, this is what you did to me. Period. And I absolutely do NOT appreciate it. I don’t care if you care what you have done or not, but now you know. And know that I don’t like or respect almost any of you, that have caused me so much grief the last few years. That won’t change. You guys made my life even worse than it already was, to be 18-19 years old and end up in a place like this. This is how it is. Good day. I have nothing more to say to any of you, ever.”

Too light?  Too heavy?  Whatcha think?  I’ve let the world walk all over me for too long.  I had to say something, and I’m a much better writer than talker, so I wrote my heart out at them.

Alright, rant mode off.  I just had to get this off my chest.  I’m so sick of this place it’s not even funny.  I’ve been treated like shit since I moved here really, but I mostly didn’t care until people started screwing with my already tenuous ability to sleep like a normal human.  My next move is to file a complaint against whoever’s scooting stuff in the middle of the night if it continues.  I know it’s something I should take up with whoever’s doing it before I complain, but I just have no tolerance for any shit having to do with this place anymore.  I don’t think I can be respectful as I need to be, so I just have to file the complaint and be done with it and hope they can be arsed to do something about it.

Truth is, the only thing I wanted when I moved here was to be left alone, ideally so that my mental state could hopefully improve to the point where I’d be able to be completely self-sufficient someday, or if worse came to worse, a place I could slowly fade into oblivion.  Morbid, but yeah… I was barely functional at all back then.  It could’ve gone either way.

Fortunately, despite the constant string of shit I’ve received, I am getting better, and have no desire to fade into oblivion.  And I have all my online peeps to thank for that.  So for everyone I’ve been lucky enough to befriend online, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

I don’t think I’ll ever think very highly of myself, and who knows if I’ll ever really make good on my alleged potential, but you’ve all given me the will to try and be a better, stronger, more worthwhile person.

Okay, NOW the rant mode is off.  Have a great night, everyone.  Peace, love, and fighting spirit. 😉

At the End of the Decade

The decade is coming to an end.  We’re more than 2/3 of the way through it’s last year.  The weather is beginning to cool as 2009 starts to wind down.  It is a time of reflection, a time to look back, as we prepare to move ever forward into the great unknown.

My own personal ’00s weren’t so good.  Growing up ain’t easy, and I found it especially tough.  As I struggled and failed to find my way through, it was as if timed stopped as the new millennium began, and only now, as we approach it’s first decade’s conclusion, do I feel like time has started to flow for me again.

I don’t know what it was that started my life moving forward again this year after being stuck in neutral for so long.  I don’t know if it was some outside force or something snapping within my mind, but something changed.  The wheels are in motion once more, and I’ve begun to truly feel alive for the first time in a very long time.

Of course, I’m not close to where I want to be, the process of healing my troubled little mind has only just begun, but… it has started.  I’m a little less depressed, a little more confident, a little less self-loathing, and little more proactive in keeping it that way.  My energy level is a little higher and I’m doing my best to be active and focus a little bit better.

However, being out of circulation for so long itself wasn’t without side effects.  I stand before you now as a 24 year old in body only; I’m stunted no less than a decade younger in emotional maturity, to speak nothing of life experience.  It is a strange feeling, to be sure.  The disconnect between my body and my mind is weird and kinda difficult to reconcile, but considering where my head has been for so long, it’s a comparatively minor issue.  Heh. 😉

So this is where I’m at, and it is what it is.  And as 2009 goes around turn three and we head into the fall and the reflective feelings it inspires, what is it from the past 10 years that you will reflect on, as the decade comes to an end?

Until our next…