And each man looked into the glass and saw something different and it strove fear into their hearts and perplexed them, not because of what they saw but because each saw something that could not be explained or understood.
The three of them sat in the study, surrounded by all the books and tomes of the past centuries of humanity, all the great works of science and philosophy and literature, and they all knew that within all of this collective knowledge was contained the truth to it all like breadcrumbs throughout all their pages and words.
“…I mean IT ALL is just as it sounds.”
“So it’s nothing?”
“NO, its literally all the stuff and things.”
“But anything you say that refers to IT ALL as the subject is not saying anything.”
“Not at all, for example if I say Its ALL a mystery, that we can’t know for sure of anything, it means what it says.”
“Look I’m not getting into THIS debate again with you.”
“Okay, but we can both agree that there is a phenomena occurring in which we (at the very least) perceive our own existence.”
“Well in this context, the only thing that matters is perception of things. Our perception of things creates meaning.”
“But then we have to wonder, from where do we perceive things happening? We cannot stop thoughts that arise from within us, and we can’t control what goes on outside of us, so there must be this place from which we see both sides.”
“Momma Catz didn’t say weather the windows would be in your head or in the wall.”
“So are you gonna look out or within?”
“That’s the trouble with it. You cant ever stand still long enough to get a good look one way or another. It’s not that I think Momma Catz isn’t full of it, I just think you can’t make it happen unless the windows are clean, and both windows just pile up with mud from all kinds of places.”
“I hear ya.”
“I mean, I get out there with the cleaner and the paper towel, if you get what I mean, but it never seems like the rain stops long enough, or the cars don’t stop going by for long enough to do it. The maintenance of it is just too painful, too fruitless to try.”
“But I mean, you’ve got to.”
Then Leon spoke up. “Who is this Momma Catz anyway?”
“You’d know her if you saw her.”
“yeah, hard to miss, she was at Bobby’s wedding last tuesday.”
“Oh. I think I know who you mean…” He didn’t.
“Anyway, why do windows need to be the thing to worry about. If you’re looking out or in, you gotta be in a room to begin with. Why not just keep that space tidy enough, then what goes on outside won’t matter so much.”
“Idk, then I feel like I’m missing out on stuff. I get anxious if I never see what the world is doing.”
“Some people are like that.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know who or what I am. I can’t find the words that make me feel comfortable with myself. Like I need a label, but they all don’t fit. If I just knew who I was supposed to be I’d get down to business and be who I was meant to be.”
Leon spoke up again. “But aren’t you already who you are?”
“No Leon, that’s not at all what I mean.”
“Yeah Leon, like are you looking out of the window or into the window, do you want a tidy room or a tidy yard, or are you just a mess all over?”
Leon had to think for a bit about that and ultimately would come to no conclusions. The other two continued their conversation.
“It really seems like Momma Catz knows it all though, like windows and maintenance and all that, where are we looking and who are we, these are the questions we need to always ask ourselves so that we can KNOW with all certainty what we should be doing with it all.”
“I mean you ask yourself who you are to spite those others who put you in a box.”
“I guess. You could do that.”
Then Leon spoke again. “I’m not really sure what game we are playing.”
“It’s the secret dude! It’s these questions of philosophy and science that will explain everything you need to know, to transcend what everyone else THINKS is important. You will become closer to a GOD if you know all this stuff.”
“Windows and Momma Catz and spite and where we are?” Said Leon.
“You just don’t get it Leon.”
“I guess not.”
Leon stood up and walked out of the room. He was not a god. He was not looking through any windows. He stepped out of the musty house and walked into the light rain that fell from the dark sky. He felt the cold, and it did not bother him, for cold and warm are only things that countless generations of humanity endured without perishing. In the water there were no words, and his mind was still for every cell and environment of his being wholly existed as Leon in the rain without needing to know any more than where he was and who he was. The great questions continuing in the room, the school and philosophy of whomever momma catz was continued spiraling into disillusion and malaize and ‘ennui.
The cold rain was conquered by Leon for the time-being and his clothes became wet, but they were only clothes. They would become dry and he had no important place to be.
In Leon’s mind there was only whether one would rather spend their life trying to grasp the ineffable, or feel the goodness of existing beyond petty discomfort.
One who never knew the sensation of giving in to the greater and being a part of it, would never know the truth of it all. It is a truth with many names and words and writings that span the centuries of human existence. But only those with the luxury to wonder will wonder and those who can be content with not knowing, or simply knowing enough, would come to find it.
Thoughts do not exist, only actions exist, only sensations exist, only reality exists, and it is as definable as the great being of things, of that which exists simply IS and what does not exist IS not.
Every gap is filled with a being, anything that can find a place will find it and go to it, for the great interlocking and meshing of cells and forms and plants and animals, can only work on what IS there. The chemicals and gasses and electrons of all matter contained form and build where it is possible. If it did not they would not be.
So Leon, not realizing this in so many words, simply didn’t worry about it, because he stood on solid ground, the ground under his feet. He felt the air contained within the world that he was made for. And he was glad that he could be happy just knowing what he knew without explaining it.
I hope it rains forever,
So the same places don’t feel the same,
So I don’t need to feel too alive,
So the same people won’t speak,
So it’s as if the world’s already died.
I Hope it Rains forever,
and clouds block away the sun,
and droplets form on the ceiling,
and make the weak ones run.
I Hope it rains forever,
and starts drowning all the cars
with lightning and sparks,
I Hope it rains forever,
That one could rest their mind,
and thoughts patter on the asphalt
and run off through the gutters and storm drains and pipes,
far far away,
staining the oceans blood red and orange
trailing off into time.
The farther you pull back,
The less it all seems to mean,
But looking in on a moment,
Bears all the significance.
The lights of a moving carousel,
the smell of pine and fried dough,
Smiles that wont go away,
Standing on the grassy dew covered hill and looking up at the fabric above,’
And not having to wonder alone.
Sky rocketing through the clouds and weaving among comets towards the vast uncertainty of the big ocean of reality,
Peering out from the cramped cockpit at a flinging tendril of star energy,
Not minding the close spaces or the empty floating candy wrappers in the cabin,
Or the crumbs, or the love.
There are filters after all.
Walking across alien landscapes and marveling together at odd temples covered with blue lichen,
Reaching for each other under a green sky,
and being human in a strange, futuristic land,
on another planet,
in the emptiness of all space,
two specks in the multitudes,
Knowing that when you pull away it all seems like nothing,
But here and now,
Is all that is.
all that is needed.
A shock wave runs through the system.
Time is fast approaching,
bring us to the event horizon
of all things great and terrible.
I was sleeping in my bed
I was covered and warm
I was pushing away my life
and now I am alive.
Should not have
Where does the wind go?
Where does the time go?
When will the sun stay,
always in the sky?
I feel that there’s a rhythm,
and the song will never end,
but I know that there’s an ending
I just don’t know when.
I hope that one day then,
when it all comes crashing down,
I can see the lands where all that time had gone to,
and where the winds are all around,
where the sun shines every morning,
and a song.
If there should be a higher dimension to go to,
and more dimensions below,
am I still in the beginning,
or am I near their height?
I must be somewhere in the middle.
Living out this strange life.
I feel like a shark with a hook in its mouth.
Torpedo fast predator,
razor blades for teeth.
Stuck with this metal thorn,
a splinter tied with coils of cord that run deep and seamless
into the cartilage.
With no way to get it out,
I can only hope it shakes off
before it grows deeper inside
And I wonder if I would be better or worse off.
<————– Continued from Johnny5
Pat looked out the window. As he furiously smashed buttons on the observation room console, he swiveled the microphone and spoke.
“Johnny you need to relax.”
Johnny did not respond as the Regallion came into view on the far side of the station.
“Johnny, the combat stims should be wearing off now. Just THINK for a moment.”said Pat.
The ship ponderously turned about and aimed it’s prow directly at the room where Pat was. The energy bursts from the engines fired out from behind and into the vast blackness in the background.
Pat needed to act. Words were not going to work with someone hopped up on solder juice. He needed to use the emergency transporter. Pat stopped pushing buttons, and looked towards the yellow and black bordered glass chamber on the adjacent wall. The empty space spoke only danger to him, and the words of his training instructor came back to him.
The gruff, cropped-top, aviator-sporting pro spoke with the intense authority of a man who was required to give a safety speech. Truth be told the mustachioed fellow did not expect any of the valets to do anything correctly.
“This is the A1-7 transporter. It is very similar to the standard pedestrian model, however it does not have a direct link to any standard receiving portal. In the case of an emergency where a ship is out of control and headed towards the station, this transporter can be used to “board” the out of control ship. It accesses a transporter inside and deposits a subject in there.
Be warned however, that these devices are unstable and can constitute a serious threat if used improperly. Without the exact correct coordinates, a subject will simply dissipate beyond the realm of scientific knowledge.”
A bead of sweat rolled down Pat’s temple. The Regallion approaching the point of no return. The space Valet prepared the A1-7 system, planned out the trajectory of the ship, and pulled himself from his chair.
As fast as his legs could take him, he heaved himself across the room, threw open the door to the chamber, and stepped inside. Through the glass of the window and the chamber, the Regallion continued on, without any sign of deviation, and no word from Johnny.
Inside the chamber was a big red button. On the wall was a red and green light. With the coordinates set, all he needed was to hit the button, just as the ship passed into that place in time and space. Pat tried to watch the dim green light, waiting for it to spark to life, yet the spaceship outside was growing nearer. The flashing lights of the station patrol could be seen forming behind the ship, but they were too far and to late to do anything.
Suddenly the light flashed green and Pat slammed his hand down on the red button. It was not like the other transporter. It did not go “Whirr”, it made a piercing, radioactive “VOIP”, de-atomizing Pat and casting him into the temporary link with the Regallion’s transporter.
Pat found himself in a dark room falling violently into a stack of boxes.Pat felt as though he was the thickness of a five mile piece of string that had been wrapped around a thumbtack. Slowly shaking off the twists in his thoughts and the sudden understanding of pea soup, Pat pushed himself up from the boxes, tripping several times before getting up in the dark. He staggered towards where he thought the door was as his mind came back up to speed.
The door to the small storage closet burst open as Pat fell into a corridor. The hallway had orange rust walls with brown seashell imprinted borders. The carpeting was a guacamole green and the ceiling was white. Along the walls were various portraits of people, and end tables with sky blue or green lamps. The doors were all brown wood with brass knobs.
It was as though whoever designed this ship was fascinated by detour from the early 1970’s.
It phased Pat a moment before he took off, his heavy breaths deepening in his panic to find where the bridge might be in this giant flying house.
To be continued…
<———continued from Johnny 4
The Ragallion Quadrant Skipper, broken of it’s restraints, cruised into the digital traffic lanes. The massive ship then unfurled two solar sails, catching the light and radiation to further power the thrusters.
All sorts of bells and whistles were going off in the huge chrome and white cockpit. Johnny jammed the thruster pedal with his boot and slammed the energy retention intake to maximum. A wide smile broke over his face, his eyes bulging, and the veins in his head pulsing. He did not heed any kind of protocol or decorum; simply on manual controls, Johnny’s head pounded with the thoughts a subwoffer might have during a series of deep base drones.
Pat’s voice came over the Radio after a calming series of notes amid the warnings and flashing lights.
“Hey man, I’m gonna try to talk you down. It might be kinda imposable, and you’re probably freaking out a little right now-”
Johnny’s smile and expression remained in his rageful mania as he grasped the controls to the multi-billion Credit vessel. Only his eyes moved, his pinpoint pupils and irises sliding to the right side of his head towards the mic.
“-but, you need to try to think about the consequences to your actions. It’s not to late to just stop and let me take over. You can calm down from this, I’ve seen it, It’s a fail safe for the solders so they don’t go Bonkers, you just need to focus on stopping and calming down.”
Johnny’s brain did not hear a word after “think about the consequences”. He imagined continuing to pilot the vessel across the spaceport towards the docking station. He thought about how when the ship collided with the observation room, the consequence would be a massive explosion.The Regallion was a large ship with thousands of gallons of fuel along with the reactor coils from it’s solar array. The wreckage and destruction would likely result in docking bay 27’s shut down for years. Surely this would be enough to accomplish his goal of killing Pat.
Gripping the controls and grinding his teeth, he pressed forward on the accelerator. A freighter vessel on an intersecting course pulled up just before the space-ship thundered past, it’s V9-TX main thrusters had the force to send the small (more modern) Carrillion spinning out into space as the Ragallion blew by.
Johnny thought about how much Pat deserved to die for his transgression and like the pinpoints of his pupils, his vision was in a direct tunnel towards reaching that goal. That was until one thought floated through his narrow gaze. To be fair it was part of a larger feeling. It went something like this:
“killpatkillpatkillpatkillpatkillpatkillpatfasterfasterfasterfasterfasterKill Pat I’m going to explode KILL PAT KILL-”
Like the rest of a dubstep song after the drop, his addled thoughts and anger all crashed together into a cacophony of chaos.
“I’m going to explode.”
Johnny pulled his foot back from the accelerator. His brain was suddenly conflicted.
“But I need to kill Pat.”
“But I’m going to die”
“Why do I need to kill Pat?”
“Because…he …did something”
The Regallion, still at a hideous momentum for the spaceport, hurtled on as docking bay 27 neared.
<————— Continued from Johnny2
The Carillion Orion lurched upwards towards the docking bay. Johnny rubbed his eyes to combat the yellow spots which had formed on his vision. The weight of his hangover was a constant pressure but at this point the act of piloting was second nature to him. Carillions all had the same thruster and control layout to each other, and they were a dime a dozen. The seats were big puffy leather; everything clicked into place, the buttons were an old school style, raised lighted cubes which clicked in and out of place. The screens were all a green hue as he input the coordinates and path of motion through the busy space port to the private valet hanger.
“Okay” Said Johnny to himself as a welling in his stomach began to quicken his focus. As the ship made its way, larger ships with outboard docking passed as the blinking lights and windows of the station fluttered by from the huge mass of the floating city.
He eased forward on the long lever at the center console, slowly and deftly navigating between cruisers and digital checkpoints.
Suddenly a Velock Nightwhisp darted out from the underside of the fueling station. It was a smaller ship, modified from the Velock F-75 fightercraft. It blazed across the surface of the station without regard for the Digital Traffic Navigation Systems (DTNS). Several whirrs and whistles went off on the Orion’s consoles and Johnny had only a split second to react. Largely it felt like his body was some other entity but it at least had a better reaction time than his mind. In a flash he somehow changed the guidance to manual and jerked the controls up and back.
The Nightwhisp sped through his pathway, missing inches from each other. Johnny let out a gasp of relief. But, he was now not on his planned trajectory and at any second a similar scenario could occur. Two Station Five interceptors whizzed past moments later in pursuit of the nightwhisp as a large freighter passed overhead. Johnny looked about the cabin at the sensor arrays. They showed no more incoming ships. Calmly he returned to his set course.
“Asshole.” said Johnny, pushing forward on the thrusters towards the large bay of the valet hanger.
The hanger dominated the entire wing of station five, angled metal scaffolding encased several ships which had already been parked. Another Carrilion, a C-class, was detached and slowly made its way out in front of him, but this time with ample room.
Johnny passed the bays to the open one where the other ship left, passing all manor of spacecraft illuminated by orange and yellow lights in their holds.
Shifting the thrusters, he spun the ship around and used the reverse engines to back slowly into the bay. This was without a doubt the hardest part of the job, one hair off or askew could cause the couplings in the bay to miss a sturdy hold on the craft.
Most ships now a days had reverse guidance systems with sensors and correction codes. The Carrilion Orion was by no means a modern craft. It had one camera and a dot in the center. As Johnny jammed the lever to reverse, the screen in front of him lit up and showed the docking bay.
Johnny’s small spike in adrenaline from the near miss with the Nightwhisp commingled with a concern for the yellow spots which seemed to appear on the edge of his vision. The welling in his stomach grew and he felt a tingling in his forearms and fingers as he moved to the joystick next to the main controls. His head still pounded with the dehydration of his hangover as he channeled his energy to use calm, smooth movements. The pimple on his forehead hurt as he concentrated on putting the little red dot exactly on the center of the back wall of the dock.
This precise task frustrated him beyond any reason yet necessity and some divine power flowed through Johnny. Against all the negative factors blaring out for attention, Johnny was surprised with himself as he eased the ship back with perfect precision.
He let out a tired groan and fell back in his chair when he heard the couplings latching onto the fuselage.
The radio suddenly squawked from the controls of the Orion.
“Yo man, bring back the ship in dock 556.”
Johnny recognized the voice as his co-worker Pat.
“Rodger.” he said, disengaging the ignition key and standing very quickly to get to the transporter outside the bay dock.
His head rushed and the yellow flashed before his eyes in a moment of disorientation.
Gaining his bearings, he slammed the button to the radio again and yelled into the mic. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU GIVE ME!”
Pat did not reply for a long few seconds.
His voice came back, crackly over the mic of the Carillion.
“OH WHAT!” screamed johnny, the tingling in his arms taking over his shoulders and neck.
“I think…I may have accidentally given you combat stims.”
To be continued