The Project

 This is the end of my story. I am a child now and soon to be a helpless babe. It was all thanks in part to the arrogance of man, the belief in a doctor who could control the very forces of nature and bend the essence of the universe to his whim. My dreams all came crashing down around me due to some minor miscalculation on my part, a foolish and overlooked parameter that in my haste, ironically was missed. Now I will find myself drifting ever backward, ever onward, ever before and never after.

 Will I ever get my thoughts in order and funnel my mind back to the future days I hold so dear, to the correct and present flow of everything? My eleventh birthday, the first time I caught a baseball. Other things I had long forgotten rush back into the mind flooding up from the drain below as I revisit days long gone. What is my wife’s name? What university will I attend? I retain what I can, the start of it all, the formula, my own pride, but the little things are gone. My memories are a faucet running against the flow of gravity back through the leaky pipes of some old and ramshackle house.

 Days became years as quickly as thoughts become memories. The flow at once was one for one, but the dynamo was meant to accelerate that flow and so it did. My mind has adjusted to a backwards shift in perspective and I find myself forgetting things that I had learned only days before. The next day was the last, and when it ended, the previous came after that. It would not remain that way for long. At first, I stepped out of the machine and all appeared perfectly normal.

 Damned I was then. I had checked the equations, double checked. Certainly not. I could not have made some mistake, could I? Something felt terribly off, something went wrong. The dynamo accelerated, spinning faster and faster as I felt my essence pulled free from my timeline. I stepped foot into the chamber that housed the vast inner workings of the device, preparing myself for what was to come, and ordered my team to actualize the horological mechanism. Arrogance.

 Instantly, I would know if something were amiss. This was my life’s work after all and I’d be damned if anyone would use it to glimpse the mysteries of the universe before me. Was it arrogance that drove Prometheus to bring fire to man or merely a simple compassion and curiosity? Some claimed I was arrogant. When the device was ready and all necessary tests were complete and the proper safety protocols were in place, I declared that I would be the first to subject myself to its perceived wonders and refused all objections from my crew to the contrary.

 From what we had gleamed in our research, my team and I set about building the first prototype of the device that will change humanity’s limited understanding and interaction with the cosmos, a horological transmutation. A quantum leap in computing brought forth a chance to test wild new theories on the nature of causality. I am very excited to present the beginning of this project.

#FlashFicFeb

Untitled Sci Fi

Blackness. Thick, inky, absolute. The absence spreads out for eons into the outer depths. Minuscule pinpricks, motes of blazing eternal white show out of the deep dark like an infinitude of fireflies plastered against the endless backdrop. Some pulse and twinkle through the eternal night, many more sit motionless, apparent, breathless and waiting to bear witness to the birth, beginning, tragedy, demise, end and rebirth; a cyclic, atemporal and continuous crescendo. All is silent and still as the stars sit at the edge of their millennia worn seats for the celestial conductor to raise her hands to the heavens and signal the symphony’s climax.

Click. A single note erupts upon the quiet tenebrous stage, a small and sullen sound that booms like thunder in the absence of all other sounds. A machine hums to life waking up a metal bubble adrift in a sea of stars. How long has this solitary craft been afloat across the open skies of night when time itself loses meaning? The cacophony begins to reach new heights as more and more life preserving mechanisms trigger aboard the spaceship. Oxygen and nitrogen enrich the inner atmosphere. Heat raises temperatures from nearly absolute zero to a more comfortable earthly norm. Lights switch on to a tolerable visible dim to allow the sleepers to see upon their imminent awakening yet not overwhelm their tired eyes. Coffee beans are saturated with hot water and begin a gentle brew, filling the capsule with a rich, dark scent that would make mouths water were any noses available to inhale the heady vapors.

Throughout all this, the five cryogenic stalls begin the thawing process. The astronauts within have been in a state of suspended animation since their departure. What dreams may come to those who sleep such prolonged slumbers? The men and women come to their senses, showered by the heated gels and vaposteams that safely readjust the human body from the dangers of cryo-sleep. The wondrous odors of breakfast waft over the cabin, instructing them to eat and fill their empty maws left unsated for many days, months, perhaps years. Eggs, bacon, toast, the stalwarts of a hardy American meal, cooked by automation and readily prepared from several prepackaged insta-feasts at their disposal. The astronauts eat quickly, but carefully, ravenous with hunger but allowing for their bodies to readjust to the sensation of food and drink entering their digestive tracts for the first time in ages. There is work to be done so there is no time for idle chitchat. Besides, what would those who have only seen each other for what feels like moments ago have to talk about?

Five souls alone in the vastness, five lives among the infinite, an abundance of time and space before them, they overlook and engage the many instruments which abound their humble ensemble and begin the grand performance. Astronavigation detects the direction from which they have travelled, how far they have come and what distance they have yet to go. Environmental controls are checked for any discrepancies within their habitat: proper air pressure, sufficient food and water, the necessities of terrestrial life. The pilot looks ahead, their eyes on the prize, checking the immediate surroundings for debris and other dangers. Their job may be the most important of all this late in the venture, requiring the most deft hand and careful control. To each, they have their own little tasks and they complete these timely and efficiently. Their journey is nearing completion. Within a few short hours the craft will dock with their final destination and then the bridge to the final chorus can begin.

#FlashFicFeb

Genesis, but after Peter Gabriel (scene 2) DRAFT

ACT I, Scene 2

[Enter Narrator]

NARRATOR: Another fine day finds fabulous fellows frolicking freely in fields of flowers, frivolously fleeing faculty. Fiendish females frown fervently for fool hearty former fiancés who find feckless functions. Or something like that. Alliteration can be hard, and the letter F is fucking  difficult to use.  To spell it out of you, Adam is wandering the garden naming animals.  And he comes across one in particular who may very well change is entire life.

[Enter Serpent. After reaching center stage, he lounges into a chair and begins to sunbathe.]

SERPENT: Oh. My. God. Now this is the life. Just me, a bottle of tanning oil, and an endless paradise.  [Swats at mouse.]  And it's catered.  Alas, poor Yorick, I knew you well, and I'll know you better as you slowly digest.  [Swallows mouse.]  What a wonderful day.  You know what? It's the beginning of time.  I can afford to start cliches. "What could possibly go wrong?"

[Enter Adam with several animals]

ADAM: Now what names should you like to be called.  I have named you a duck, and you shall be the beaver.  [Looks at platypus.] Yeesh! Er... We shall decide on you later, I think.  This will be a cow and you, my furry little friend, you are much like the dog, so you shall have a fun name.  [Scratches cat on the belly and instantly recoils from cat's claws.] And quick like your temper. You will be a cat.

[Adam comes across the Serpent lounging.]

ADAM: Ah, hello my friend.  I do not believe I have had the pleasure of coming across one of you in the Garden so far.

SERPENT: And you'll never meet another like me, sweetheart.  I am one of the kind, absolutely, positively, super duper original me!  So, what you up to, hot stuff?

ADAM: Well, I was asked... I was told by my wonderful, beautiful, perfect wife, Eve to go out and look for a job.  But what rotten luck, nobody is hiring.  So instead, I have come to this glade and decided to name the animals for fun.

SERPENT: Nothing on Netflix?  Been there.  Well, lay it on me, big man.  Hit me with your best shot.  Fire away.  What are you going to call little old me?

ADAM: Hmm... I think I will call you... Snake!

SERPENT: Yuck!  No way, honey. I'm sorry, but I think we can both do better than that.

ADAM: What is wrong with a snake?  I think "snake" is a great name.

SERPENT: Yours truly is a one hundred percent bonafide reptilian hunk.  I never have been and never will be a "snake".  Snake sounds like something that slithers on its belly.  Do you see these sexy, muscular arms?  Check out these legs, baby.  I am no snake!  I do like that hisssss though.  We should keep that.  Let's work on it.  Hisssssssss... Hmm. Sardonyx?  No, too rocky.  Snail?  Definitely not.  Shi... Shar... Shad... Shatner?  Too spacey.  Silky, snippy, spud, stud?

ADAM: Oy vey!  You are truly one very sassy animal, my friend.

SERPENT: You're damn right, I'm a regular Sasquatch!  Wait!  Don't you dare call me a Sasquatch.  In fact, never call anything a Sasquatch.  Or a porcupine for that matter.  Now let's see.  Hissss  Santa?  I don't have claws.  Scalos, Stripple, Satan, Sugar, ah-hah!  I've got it.  Call me Stanley!

ADAM: Stanley?  I like it.  You will now be known as Stanley.  Wait, no, I think I already named a Stanley.  How about just Stan?

SERPENT: It's Stanley or bust, sweetheart.

ADAM: I see we will never reach an accord on this.  Perhaps a different name?  If you are so set on the letter "S", I came up with a good one this morning, but nobody wanted it.  How do you feel about "Serpent"?

SERPENT: Serpent?  Serpent... Ser-Pent.  It rolls off the tongue.  SSsssserpent.  I.  LOVE IT!  I can't wait to tweet about this to everyone.  Selfie time.  Smile!  Oh, this is so going up on my news feed.  I have a name.

ADAM: L'chaim!

SERPENT: You ain't too bad, Adam.  You ever need help with anything, the Serpent is your guy.  Yup, absolutely nothing sinister or foreboding about me.  You need advice, you just ask your old pal, the Serpent.  Well, I've got a long day of sunbathing ahead of me.  Toodles.

[Exeunt Adam and Serpent]

NARRATOR: And so it was written and so I am reading it, word for word, without embellishment of any kind that such a fateful meeting that very day would bring about the end of innocence and everlasting bliss.  Who could have foreseen the events to come?  Certainly not the Serpent with his sinister and foreboding words.  Certainly not Adam who was, according to his wife, a few peas short of a pod.  And certainly not Eve who wasn't even in this scene.

Genesis, but after Peter Gabriel (scene 1) DRAFT

Dramatis personae

ADAM the first man, considered lazy by his wife, voiced with a Yiddish accent
EVE, Adam's second wife, resents her husband, also voiced with a Yiddish accent
LILITH, Adam's ex-wife, a bit of a snob
SERPENT, really cool, at least he thinks so, loves his limbs to the point of obsession, for some reason Scottish?
GOD, God
NARRATOR, Swears he's reading from the Bible, but I call bullshit


PROLOGUE

NARRATOR: In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth, but it was all very boring so let's skip ahead to the good bit.  A good six days into things, God decided it would be a very smart idea to make people, so He did, and here's account of all the follies to follow, which just goes to show that any idea, no matter how pure in intention, is still really stupid when handled by an incompetent nincompoop.

ACT I, Scene 1

[Enter God, Adam, and Eve into the Garden of Eden]

GOD: Of every tree of the garden though mayest freely eat, but of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it, for in the day that thou eatest thereof, thou shalt surely die.

ADAM: What? Can you repeat that? I'm a little hard of hearing.

EVE: He said don't eat the fruit. What are you, verkakte?

ADAM: Eat the fruit, don't eat the fruit, so long as you cook it, why would I eat it?

GOD: [sighs] Thou listen! Henceforth, that tree, the one in the middle of the forest, don't eat from it.  Don't even touch it. Just... Just forget about it, okay?

ADAM: Okay, okay, you don't have to yell. I'm right here. Who does this guy think he is? God or something?

EVE: Of course, he thinks he's God.  He is God!  Where you been, mister high-and-mighty first man?

ADAM: You hear this? This is what I get for wanting a wife. She's ribbing me again.

EVE: Ribbing you?  Ribbing you?  Of course I'm ribbing you.  I'm your rib.

GOD: You know what?  Forget it.  I've been working six days straight here. My overtime is out of control.  As of right now, I'm on vacation.  Do what you want.  Stay away from the tree.  I'll be back in the office on Monday.

[Exit God]

ADAM: What was his problem?

EVE: I don't know, but it was probably your fault.

[Exeunt Adam and Eve]

NARRATOR: And so it came to pass, Adam and Eve set about exploring their new garden home, which was a very up and coming neighborhood that would probably gentrify over the next couple years until market values skyrocketed.  Eviction surely loomed in our couple's future, but for now, these were the halcyon days where Adam was unemployed and Eve nagged and both were happy to be miserable with each other.

Untitled Conversation

"An apology for the devil: It must be remembered that we have heard only one side of the case.  God has written all the books."
-Samuel Butler

And God spake, "I am the Lord, thy God, creator of the Universe, God of Abraham, Isa-”
”Hold on, hold on, wait. I'm sorry. I mean no disrespect, really, I don't. But can we just skip all the pomp and circumstance? I know your little schtick, but it's really unnecessary. Can't we just have a normal conversation without it getting all Biblical? "
God paused for just a moment to allow the firmament to settle. "I apologize. It's a really terrible habit and I've been trying for a few eons now to break it. You know how it is; habits, I mean. The older you get, the harder it is to break them. Well try being eternal some time."
"Ta, mate. Bloody great racket that was, playing death metal on me eardrums. You gotta get with the times. All that King James holier than thou crap, it's old hat. Get yourself a Twitter or something. Update the lingo.  Take a tour of New York City."
"I am everywhere all the time."
"All the noise must get bloody distracting."
"Well... it's not too bad.  Actually, it's a lot quieter now than it has been in centuries.  Nobody really needs me anymore.  They think they do, but most problems are things people can easily solve themselves.  I really just manage to upkeep and let the angels do whatever minor miracles need doing."
"Feeling a bit lonely lately?  I guess that's to be expected.  All those religions down there nowadays, everyone certain they've got it right.  All invoking Jehovah for this, Allah for that, Jesus fucking Christ, oh lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes-Benz?  The wars must be playing hell on your conscience, oh all-loving and all-powerful."
"It's sad really.  I gave mortals free will, conscious, my very image of morality and wisdom, and yet look how some foolish few have squandered my gift.  But there are so many down there, those beautiful masses who innovate, propagate, elevate their communities.  I couldn't be more proud.  This is exactly what I had set out do."
"I s'pose it is.  Cheers on you.  I...ah--ah--choo!"
"God bless you."
"Heh, feeling clever, are you?"
"It's just good manners.  People say it all the time.  You did ask me to, what was it?  Update my lingo?"
"Don't get cheeky with me.  I'm just saying, the whole blessing people after sneezing?  What's up with that anyway?  It's dumb if ya ask me."
"Nobody asked you."
"Silly old superstition.  It's just a sneeze.  You don't bless someone after they burp or fart.  Hell, then the blighter whodunnit need be polite to those around them.  'Excuse me,' he says.  But a sneeze?  'Bless ya.'  Betcha 99% of the morons out there doin' it don't even know why.  Politeness, they think.  They don't even know what they really think is their goddamned souls are gonna fly out their faces.  Like I said, silly superstition.  Like the devil collects souls covered in snot."
"Haha, you make an excellent point.  I guess it is a bit farfetched.  I get enough spam prayers and requests for blessings as is.  I really don't need all these requests to bless human nasal cavities."
"That's the spirit.  Anyway, I digress.  What was I saying?  I don't remember now.  How've you been?"
"So-so.  I've been nostalgic for the good old days.  Not the plagues or the witch hunts or anything like that.  I never really like lording around as God, but I felt I had more of a connection with the people back then.  Like I said, I don't do much in the way of miracles anymore.  No point.  It would just cause more fighting down there so I just stay out of it.  Besides, it would interfere with the free will thing and I don't want to go back on my word."
"Hate being a hypocrite?"
"Well, if you did something that went against your creed, that would just be in character.  But if I were to reverse my stance on something, I'd effectively wipe out all of Creation.  It's a tricky business.  It's not like I haven't thought about putting a stop to the suffering on Earth, the war, the famine, the disease, the death, but in doing so, I'd inadvertently and ironically cause the apocalypse, which just isn't in the cards right now."
"Wait, that's actually coming?"
"Nothing lasts forever.  The sun will expand into a red giant and consume the planet in 4 billion years.  Will humans be around for that?  Who's to say?  It's not my place to prognosticate on such matters.  You'll just have to wait and see.  Do I have a plan?  Is it all random?  It's all a matter of point of view."
"I suppose that's why so many people have stopped believing in you.  Sure, when nobody could explain things, it was easier to blame a deity or three for their lot in life.  But people finally starting to think.  So much can be explained these days that couldn't be before.  And if you don't know it, Google's got the answer.  You're really not much more than a concept anymore, a free radical anachronism who may or may not exist as anything more than idea in the human collective conscious.  Who's to say our conversation is even happening?  The very idea of talking directly to God?  And getting such straightforward answers?  That's ridiculous.  For all we know, this is all just something being read in front of a bloody Creative Writing class as part of an assignment.  We'd never really know."
"I know what you're doing.  Please stop."
"Ha!  Well, you know what they're saying down there?  God is dead.  People don't need you to lay out their morals for them anymore.  It's choice, free will.  The one's who need to put their faith in a higher power are those who can't make moral decisions for themselves.  Every time they do something bad or see some unspeakable horror, they say the devil did.  But you and I, we know the truth.  I don't do anything.  Satan, that's what I was called by the ancient Hebrews, the adversary, the accuser.  All I do is question your actions to make them think and progress.  But all that bad stuff people do?  It isn't me.  You said it yourself: free will.  They do it to themselves.  Great gig I got.  I get to sit up here and laugh."
"Do not invoke my anger, little angel."
"What are you going to do about it?  There I go questioning you again.  You can't do anything to me.  You decreed that I am your adversary.  This is my job.  Unless you want to go against your word, and we both know how that will turn out.  Let's just talk, big guy."
"You're really trying my patience here.  I may restart the universe just so I don't have to deal with you in the next."
"Like you could.  You're nothing more than an outmoded idea, old man.  More people these days invoke me than you.  It's in every swear, every act of vengeance and murder, every time a holiday shopper viciously attacks his fellow man for that sweet deal on an HDTV.  They don't even know that they're doing it, but it's all instinctive.  They're nothing more than animals playing at being more.  Nope, you and I, we're on our way out I think.  Might as well pack it in now."
"Why are you so dead set on convincing me of the folly of my own existence?  What is in it for you?  Certainly, if God does not exist, the devil cannot either."
"I'm a nihilist.  I don't believe that any of this really is, especially you and I.  And I don't think you're nearly as important to the maintenance of the world as you believe.  If you stepped away from it all, who would ever know?  Certainly not either of us.  Certainly not them."
"Maybe you're right.  All of this was getting a bit old anyway.  Maybe I will go away for a while.  Maybe I was never really there at all.  Maybe I am everywhere and all things.  Maybe I am not.  Maybe..."  And just like that, God and the devil just aren't there.

"The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he doesn't exist."
-Charles Baudelaire

Writer's Block is a Serious Disease

I haven't submitted a new post in a while.  There's a reason for this.  I've been rewriting the bible in more modern terms.  Please allow me to share the new Genesis:


Lo, and in the beginning there was naught but a blank sheet of paper and a Writer, a Writer who sat before this loose sheet of empty whiteness with pen in outstretched hand and many wonders in His mind. And He looked before His canvas, bereft of all letter or word or sentence and He knew that He must put pen to pad and write as none had ever written before, lest the paper be empty and the words spell out nothing and the story remain unfulfilled. And He sat and He thought, and He thought and He sat, and for a very long time He stared at the blank white sheet before Him and the Writer wrote nothing down, not even the word nothing, but a void of intention to write but not a word for said void. And as He sat and planned and plotted and meditated upon the nature of the written word and how He could put all of these new ideas to paper could He only find the right way to string them together, the Writer grew petulant with his page of pearly parchment.

The Writer said, "Let there be an end to this infernal task." And upon growing tired of staring at a perpetually barren piece of paper, the Writer stood up and wandered to His television and sat upon His couch, remote control in hand, and meditated upon the nature of cable and how there never seems to be anything of interest to watch. And as He sat there and pondered watching Netflix instead despite knowing that there was nothing any better on see on that, the king of all streaming services, He knew that it was probably best if He should turn off the television set and sit back down before His empty papyrus, pen in hand, or typewriter, or keyboard (perhaps He'd join the rest of the 21st century and finally utilize a word processor) and finally get to work on that story He was meaning to tell. Or not. There were certainly other distractions at hand that could pass by an afternoon, He thought.

The Writer said, "Let there be feast so as to get my creative juices flowing." And so, rising up like a phoenix from his comfortable couch, the Writer walked not towards his pen and pad, but rather towards the kitchen to make within its hallowed chamber a sandwich through which He sought the comforts of a full stomach and through said stomach filled with food, the energy necessary to at long last complete, nay begin that tale of which He hath promised to write so fully but hath yet to truly tell. And upon His sandwich, the Writer drew to Him many a deli meat, both of the ham and the salami, for this was an Italian combo, and it would require both the Genoa and the pepperoni. And of the vegetables, there were a plenty, both the lettuce romaine and the onions red, banana peppers for a bit of spice, and olives. He liked olives, and black olives, neatly sliced were certainly called for here upon this most revered of sandwiches. And all this, the Writer laid out before Him neatly upon a hero roll, with several slices of Swiss cheese and a generous dollop of deli mustard. And the Writer looked upon the sandwich and saw that it was good.

The Writer said, "Let the sandwich be shown to the world before me and all shall take pleasure in my accomplishment." And before taking a bite, He would inform all of His culinary creation. Bringing forth from the depths of his pocket the iPhone of wonders, He snapped a photo of the sandwich for all to behold upon the Instagram. And once the photo was posted to the internet, He looked upon the many likes and mouthwatering comments and the Writer saw that it was good. And there was much rejoicing and the Writer ate His sandwich. And it was delicious.

The Writer said, "Let there be books, comics, internet articles, anything really with words in it that I can read and perhaps gather some inspiration." And before Him was laid out that book He kept trying to read, the latest issue of "The Amazing Spider-Man", and a few articles about the latest bullshit spewing from Donald Trump's mouth. Beyond those articles, He sat and He read the comments coming from those loonies who actually want to vote for Trump and He laughed. And none of it was really very inspiring or intellectual or world changing, and yet the Writer read it all. And He continued to read this, or watch a clip of that, and it all amounted to a wasted afternoon. And the Writer was growing tired, and He saw this and thought it was good?

The Writer said, "Let there be video games and Facebook and binge watching that new show everyone keeps talking about and porn. And before long, a whole lot of time had passed and not much was accomplished, and that paper upon his desk laid dormant, gathering dust, still devoid of any sort of meaning or purpose. And still the barren paper continued to haunt the Writer who knew that He had not accomplished His intended task to create, to build, to nurture and structure a world of His own. And the Writer looked upon his failed creation and he saw that it was bad. And the Writer sighed, for every creation story must have a villain, He mused, and mine are procrastination and writer's block.

A Few Meditations on Monsters

Ah, Halloween, my favorite time of year.  The ghosts and ghouls are abroad in the chilling autumn air.  In the spirit of the season, I have taken some time to muse upon some of the classic creatures of horror.  Enjoy!

Modern Prometheus

A Pantoum

Blackness as far as my eyes can see
I am lost in the gentle waves at the bottom of an abyss
Perchance be that a light, dim and out of reach?
All I know is I am alone and afraid

I am lost in the gentle waves at the bottom of an abyss
Please, for the love of god, help me!
All I know is I am alone and afraid
Emptiness surrounds me

Please for the love of god, help me!
A scent of metal on stagnant air, the taste of decayed ink upon my tongue
Emptiness surrounds me
I wish to leave this horrid place

A scent of metal on stagnant air, the taste of decayed ink upon my tongue
Lightning crackles in the distance
I wish to leave this horrid place
Am I man or be I monster?

Lightning crackles in the distance
I awaken from my slumber.  Is this the work of the gods?
Am I man or be I monster?
A man before me proclaimes, "It's alive!"

I awaken from my slumber, I this the work of the gods?
Perchance be that a light, dim and out of reach?
A man before me proclaimes, "It's alive!"
Blackness as far as my eyes can see

A Meeting of Strangers

His sensual voice spoke softly, sweet nothings, promises of overwhelming joy into her ear, this man with such powerful presence and reserve.  Be still my aching heart, she thought as the gentle thump, thump, thump began to drown out all the sounds of the night.  Their eyes met and in an instant she felt faint.  As some gallant knight of old, he swooped in and with powerful arms grasped her trembling form as she melted to the floor.
"I have you, my pretty little thing," he gently cooed.
Love's sweet kiss came to her full, flush lips.  Blood rushed up to her faces this wonderful man brought love's tender bite down to her slender neck and drained life right through her open vein.