Destination 8 (Rough Draft)

Destination 8

Written by: Matthew Wattles

Table of Contents

1. Altar from Tragdaba Version 1

2. Altar From Tragdaba Version 2

3. Artifactual

4. A Diligent Trifecta

5. Quarrels of A Visionary

6. The First Domino

7. The New Moon

8. The One’s Who Walk Away From Omelas Part 2.

9. The Wayfarer’s Incident

Altar From Tragdaba

Altar was writing down the numbers and drawing divedend lines in between the the formulaic structure of the velocity program. He looked up at the test takers eyes, and saw the facility behind her. He asked, “what is that?” Miss Sara was his intelligence quotient test giver. She was gorgeous and sexual because of her patience. She looked into Altar’s eyes and saw a hope. He sensed her sadness and thought this was going to be another estranged moment of despair. All of a sudden he became discouraged in a sense with the expectation that futile and barbaric relationships would dictate his existence for the rest of eternity.

His eyes were filled with pain and he simply did not want to be there. The uncomfortable whining of the pain and sadness in his heart. It was starting to be sensed as self-victimization. It was starting to feel like he was an imposter in his very own family and home. After this test there would be therapy on the way. He had no idea of the healing intent of the facilitators that he was around. Occasionally he would snap right out of this despair and view people as always trying to prove to each other that they truly are caring. He thought this might be the difference between heaven and hell.

“I do not really think I am going to be able to do some of these problems.”. Miss Sara perked her eyebrows up with a librarian’s sweat bead running near the right of her eyebrow. She was pretty and illustrious and looked like she might be perspiration taking care of kids, or thinking about her super cool boyfriend, or maybe wondering if she would ever be rewarded for her innocent endeavors in the first place. Altar had a pretty good home life so he couldn’t possibly imagine a girl so beautiful struggling with something like her parents. He thought she was perfect and they kept crunching the numbers together. Miss Sara would then stop tutoring her most cherished student and continue to use the bathroom.

There would be someone to come in and relive her of her duty. She had trouble teaching Altar because of his focus problems. One minute he was crunching numbers like a champ. The next second he was staring off into space and it was hard to tell what he was thinking about. He seemed confused about some simple things that were actually very normal. This was Miss Sara’s pet peeve and Altar did not know why. He wondered about why she slipped these clues to him. Was it going to be a mission, was it going to be a boss, was it going to be a person. He could never ask. He simply prophesized with what was given, and moved on to the next task.

There was a style of conversation that they were trying to teach Altar that Altar did not like. He found the etiquette and rigid simplistic discipline of yes sir, no sir, yes mam, no mam to be strict and thorough. He felt it may be suffocating at times to have to show this kind of respect, but he was certain that after some time he would be able to get into this again and be broken in like a mit. Like a mit that could catch any ball, he was just getting warmed up. NO PAIN, NO GAIN.

He went to go take the motor skills test and sensory perception test. He looked at the man in the lab coat as if he was caring for some strange reason that he could not put his finger on and probably did not want to. He seemed to be analyzing x-rays and diagnosing problems. Altar almost jumped at delight at the very sight of it. He thought that the man in the coat may not be a doctor at all, but rather an imposter just in disguise for the sake of using medical equipment. He dared not say anything to Miss Sara….but hey wait! Where did miss Sara go? Altar felt so embarrassed that he had completely confused Miss Sara with an entirely different person. Oh ho no! Thought Altar I was doing so perfectly, how could any of this

Thought Altar I was doing so perfectly. That sort of calculated etiquette that doesn’t necessarily entail good behavior, but instead promotes it.

“An interesting distinction to be made by such a young fellow!” Another worker said with a neighborly appreciation. Altar looked around the room and wondered just who exactly he was talking to. He wanted to utter a question of what the hell was really going on around him, but he was bashful at the sight of such strong intellectual warriors performing such an exam on his young and developing brain.

He glanced over to another test taker to see if he was going through the same level of confusion. It was an interesting moment of uncertainty. The spark of the other student was something he couldn’t seem to need to acknowledge, but was instead a competition. Somebody somewhere would wimp out, so he would have to gather his common sense and visceral grip and choose not to be perfect so that he could just get this out of the way and smother it. He was being timed what if the person timing the test….no time for neurosis. He was able to solve a problem with matrices and vertices and get some of his motor skill reflex situating done. The loser’s data and results would be used for journalism.

He heard somebody mention something about unfairness, but he did not have time to care and he was escorted on to what seemed like more of a challenge than anything else. He was whirring in his mind and found an instilled focus within his heart. He remembered a tale from the television at home where the hole in someone’s chest was somehow a symbol of how hard life really is. He wondered if that was in some way universally applicable and he found some of the numbers that the elders were looking for.

A three headed dragon popped up on the wall, and a voice appeared. “Is that what you were thinking about?” “No well, yes, but what the hell!” Altar’s elder found him focused. He wondered if this experience was a personality test or something like that. He looked back at the other student and saw that he had caught up. He wondered how he did and if his results were showing up as well as he thought he would do. There was a giant looking elder escorting him through the rooms that now seemed like place of new worlds and blocks, and puzzles. There were strange screens and igloos and fountains that could come out of nowhere. He thought that this may be something surreal perhaps an imagination that is more of a fluke rather than a perfectly expanded world or harmoniously gathered community and trial.

The three headed dragon came back for a second and flashed itself on the wall multiple times. He looked to the elder guiding him. “hey I thought that we were out of that room already”. “We were it’s just we don’t really know what that is and what exactly you’re seeing.”

There was a light shining at the end and he contemplated telling Altar about the exit. Altar saw an emotion that was unlike any study in him and wondered if he was thinking about embracing Altar in some way like an adoption or a voluntary mentor. He realized then that there may be something more underlying serious about what was going on. It was strange that somebody could be upset with someone so young. He wondered if it was an affair, or a chance at explaining some kind of personal faith toward whether people were good or evil. It seemed like something interesting. Maybe he knew what we would go through, maybe he was faking it. He thought for a second that maybe he was the one controlling it.

Outside there was someone who was bragging about a victory that they just had. “Do you see what I am able to do? I am able to tear through something that you created. You wanted this adventure to dazzle yourself, and now I get to stick it to you because of your arrogance.”

Altar wondered what this could be. Maybe a friend or an old foe, maybe someone he had done wrong to who was now around to face him and set things straight. There would be a push and a change in dynamic which seemed to be a consistent pattern within what was going on with Altar. A metaphysical interest inside of him that gave clues, meaning, and plot to an idea that colors, shapes, and sizes could mean something more, something larger, and something universal.

The nature of this testing game was systematic, and Altar was finally starting to feel claustrophobic. He thought of the best he felt when he was in that facility. This was becoming a rule for him when he became restless and tired of hanging around and needed to make a decision on whether he should stay or go. He thought of the happiest he had been since the test had begun and he remembered that it was Mrs. Sara. He intuitively recognized that he might be the sentimental type, and that this could cost him some joy and adventure that might be healthy for him down the line. Either way it was time to go. He burst out the door freeing himself from what was the strangest and most sophisticated program he had ever seen. He started to run and found himself at a fast pace on the street. It was time to start testing boundaries.

He ran and felt the pain of what he was abandoning slip through his spirit and completely disappear. He started to look down at the ground and question whether this was alright or not. He had made some ground and realized no one was coming for him. He had left the testing from the elders up to his peers. He wondered if anyone else would drop out, and he thought that that was very unlikely. He knew that he was doing well and was punishing himself for lacking discipline.

Mrs. Sara was back at the testing laboratory looking for him, and she was sad that he took off in such a run. She rushed to the black digital telephone and picked it up to make a call to Altar’s dad. She knew Altar was in no way able to get too far, and so she conversed and even begged a few of the elders to disrupt and take a break from the program in order to prevent what could be an accident occurring that could cost a young human life. A couple of them took off their lab coats, abandoned their machines, and rushed and pushed through the heavy titanium doors that kept every ray of sunlight out of the billion dollar laboratory where the testing was being done.

The two men one black and over six feet with a dense level of experience about him. The other white equally dense and a bit shorter, but a keen grizzled stare showing some visceral skill. The third elder to start the search was a woman also very thick and muscular. She had thick beautiful hair and appeared very healthy because of her fine clean skin. She had sweat beads that raised questions. Miss Sara commanded them as if they were agents or robots. They looked at her perplexed and sometimes offended. It was as if she was appointed, developed, situated, and then made ruler. No one had any say in having authority over her because she was born and bred to do the right thing. She always did this and so no one ever qualified for her replacement. The elders knew this so they began the search.

Miss Sara was on the phone with Altar’s father and she requested that he be a part of the search as well. Meanwhile; Altar was running quickly towards his home which was luckily not too far away. He was disoriented, and wondered and thought if anyone had ever felt this way before. He sensed some things from deep within that were not pretty, and that he did not want to face at all. He wondered firstly, what kind of monster or monsters could create a problem like this for him and his family. Who would want to destroy the fun and the relishing in life like this. He thought of all the times he had been scared, and wondered if there was something he could do to get away from some of this trouble. He feared that there was not. He feared that he was going to be a victim of some kind and that the problems that he was continuously healing within himself would keep getting worse due to the environment that he was in.

He realized in that very instance that he was completely out of place and that he was not being lied to so much as he was the lie. He halted himself before he got to his house and stared at the fine grand design before him. He took a look up at the sky and realized the powers before him. He saw that some of it was completely compelled to be gravity. He saw that some of the clouds seemed to modify themselves in a way that was both natural and computerized in different sections. He looked at the mansion before him and he knew he was supposed to turn his back on this grand palace forever. He knew it would be best for him, and he said to himself please be strong and do not cry. Do it for your mother. Do it for her because she is the only one who really cares, and she would be disappointed if he ever became as weak as she predicted. His right leg trembled in weakness for a second or two. He then broke down in what he called cowardice and passed out right before what he was realizing was his adopted home. He realized that he did not know his real father. He stared at the palace realizing himself broke down into tears that were both fake and very real at the same time. He broke down , cried, and passed out.

His mother and step father showed up in an elegant and beautiful grace. He could not believe their charm as he saw lightning in his sleep, and he saw that he needed to be a friend to people who had it worse because there was something about what was going on that he couldn’t put his young and immature finger on just yet. He truly wanted to show up and lead the way, but an anger and a greed crept up in him and he was wondering what exactly he needed to do with it. He was questioning whether he was delusional or not. He preferred It that way. Was Altar to take this adopted home as a place for himself when someone else in more dire need could easily be in his position. This was something he would have to face. Altar was tempted by a lethargy that he knew he should be weary of. He was tempted by a laziness that he knew would cause disapproval. He rationalized some things here and there that could justify his stay. After all he was only seven. There would be one day where he would snap out of this luxury, and become what he was really supposed to be. He considered himself weak, but was lucky this time to be taken upstairs and put to bed comfortably. He knew there was someone out there who probably wanted to be in his position, but he realized that person was probably going to take a different route, and be able to do something. This was a strange and bitter sacrifice and transition for him.

He laid in bed and watched a shadow dance on the wall. His dad had just tucked him in and breathed heavily with allergies and asthma. He looked at Altar with a degree of skepticism that Altar was not aware of the severity of. Altar felt uncomfortable when he was looking at him sometimes. He saw that there was a serious challenge and possibly a misdeed within his eyes. He continued to watch the shadow of a native American Indian do a tribal shamanic jig and he had no idea why this was happening to him. He thought of it as a communication from someone. As something that needed to be said to him and the experience he was taking was really a path that could determine who he was for some time to come and possibly the rest of his life. He breathed a sigh of sadness and wondered if somehow he was an imposter.

He felt ashamed and like a liar. He knew that there was something going on next door, and it sounded like there was something like a party or festival going on. He wasn’t sure why they were having so much more fun than him, and he felt like the shadow and the people who were watching it were doing something against him rather than for him. He did not want to disturb anything and he simply fell back into his bed and slept. He expected a caring and compassionate dream, but it turned into a nightmare that could have been an infiltration. It could have also been something that was an attack. He couldn’t tell if it was real or not and he felt like there were bombs going off around him. He quivered and shook in fear in his own bed wishing it was just a crib. He wondered why god could leave people so alone and scared, and he cried to imaginary faces of his mother and father and begged god to realize that he was innocent.

He was given a toy that could make animal sounds from his mother. The different animals would make sounds like cows and pigs, goats and birds in ways that animals really do. His mom sang him a song and kissed him on the cheek. She was crying out of happiness that her son was brave on that very day. He rolled over in his bed again and imagined a man who was lost walking up to the curb.

Altar speculated that this might have been his real biological father. Altar was scared all day long that this might have been the truth and that the man who was approaching this giant, beautiful, and extravagant house was going to want to see Altar. He imagined the footsteps and wondered if there was gouing to be a knock and wondered if there was going to be someone who asks. “Where’s Matt?” he could not tell if this was a real experience or not, he certainly did not want it to be. He rolled over and wrapped himself in his blanket. He was sweating profusely. He was having heart palpatations and was training his breath to calm himself down and he was hoping that this level of panic would not last forever.

Eventually he closed his eyes and went to bed. There was a dream of an older person with a stick. That stick was able to extend itself all the way to the moon. He at that instance in his very sleep was able to realize that that man was indeed a caring person. He thought that he might very well be the dancing shadow on the wall, and that this dream was very much what he wanted young Altar to see. He now imagined the shadow figure as a great friend.

Turns out the whole time he was protected not just with a physical shield, but something within the mind and the soul. Something like magic that could get all the nastiness and negativity away from him and remind him that there were people who wanted peace, and wanted to diffuse chaos and uncertainty. His dreamy and sulky, sweet heavenly imagination was under assistance from dreamers of all kinds just like himself. Some of them warriors, some of them neighbors, some of them vagabonds, some of them princes and princesses, some of the kings and queens, some of them titans, some of them gods, some of them priests, some of them poets. He found himself in a huge warmth that set his heart into a bliss that he never imagined possible. He realized now that some of the scariset smiles were not sinister, but rather creating warmth for those who he thought were someone who needed help. He realized that he had fallen into the deepest fear and panick only to be protected by someone who had already been to hell and back. He wondered if it was one person or many, but it was plain to see the massive love around him was trying to get him to realize that they all wanted the same things, and that was for him to feel welcome by opened arms and beautiful smiles. He felt a connection with something great and mighty. He felt that that was champion trying to tell him this is far from over.

He woke up the next morning (12 years later….) he was freaked out by the fact that he was in a completely different room, in a completely different body, shelled by a completely different family. The few men looked around the room they were all smoking. They reffered to him as a different person. They spoke to him as a different name, and they encouraged him to sing. He was holding a guitar in his lap that he had never seen before. He got up and scurried to the mirror. He realized that he had a black eye. He also had a scar on his face and he heard a voice asking him the question. “Do you still love me”. A man with a bass was there to tell him to get his shit together. He was angry and hostile and he did not want the singer to feel confident, and was unaware of the pain that the person was in. There was a girl sitting on a sofa near by and she was looking sorry for herself. She knew that she had caused some problems for the singer, and he was scared and in a panic that there might be someone really pulling some strings against him.

“None of this is yours, yelled the bassist.” Absolutely none of it. The girl was asain and there was a single tear in her eye. She thought about saying something to the singer, but could not bring herself to make any kind of apology or give any kind of awareness as to what was going on. He knew that he was being stolen from,. Images and videos of movies and radio station falred throughout his head. The whole room was angry at him and he feared a violent attack. He realized he had been robbed from many things, he realized that he wa sin the wrong company.

All of the gnarking and bickering that was going on in his cranium had him feeling like a suppressed object of antagonism. He was clearly going through some kind of shock that could have been a response to the drugs that were giving to him. He was going in and out of multiple different realities faster and faster, and now he found himself laying in a bed looking up at the sky and becoming frustrated with himself.

“Sometimes motor skills test aren’t the only way to go, and you must know this by now.”

It was then that Altar…Albert knew he was dealing with a banshee. One that could mess with him anytime he liked. That is unless his goodwill was of that of Chaikowsky status. For there is no status, but rather an appointment. He remembered one of them saying as he heard the vicious crying and cruel pleasure of the banshee in the distance of his home. The erraticism of what was going on. The confusion of the laboratory as a simulation or some kind of intelligence quotient test was now a breakthrough. He was dealing with a demon, and he didn’t know if it was within him or external. Out there raoming around so that he could find it, and teach it an exenstential lesson. At frist he wanted to show blame, but then he realized that he now was in control of his very destiny once again.

The one thing standing in his way was the banshee. He got up in a more confident and strudy manner than he had been accustomed to lately. His legs refreshed, and his mind less concerned with the thoughts of moving his own body. The past, present, and future all molding together. He sensed that the universe was conspiring to love him in a sense, and that the very reality before him was merely a terrifying expression wanting him to cling the horrors of how he felt before this realization that he in fact was spiritually progressing. The footsteps he feared, and the pathway he had taken now all made sense, and he was to become something. The excorcist of his own demon.

He walked into an office of a highly regarded doctor named Leonard Steadman. Steadman’s voice was deep and baritone at times. He had a brow that you knew was not messing around. His work was serious and he was the authority of numerous measures both psychological and physiological. He was the general of an army of doctors. He sensed the thoughts coming off of Altar’s head, and he shone a light directly at his handbook to show Altar there was something already written specifically for his case.

“I see that you are thinking about experiences, and you do not know what to make of them.” Cheadman said to Altar. He looked to Altar as if he was ticked off in fear of losing control and slapping him. Steadman pointed out this illusion with his eyes, and Altar’s shock was sent back to a calm pulse. “You are dealing with having experiences prior to your own accomplishment of will.”

“Is this something that happens a lot?” Altar asked. Altar was generally some kind of winner, but this kind of conversation he was simply no match. He had to adjust and configure how not to receive total imasculation so he thought. He imagined Steadman being able to hear these thoughts out of frequency and he chuckled in glee to have a strong presence around. Oh my arrogance, Altar thought.

“I am not saying that, and I think you have a lot of respect.”. “I’m more interested in talking about what to do with you rather than talking about an adolescent mind today, but if you want we can run over the diagnostic program one more time on a male to male basis.”

Just then Sara burst through that door, and said “That will do I think. He already has a station, and I think his imagination is a little more provoked than usual.”

“Bullshit! He thought in silence, but the frequency was so loud.” Sara was hungry to grown him. Altar was a middle child, he would never be successful at fallacy. She tried to pull him, but there was an exercise going on for the young Altar. Simply sitting there was a task that was a stage of maturation of some kind. Just then he farted in front of the most beautiful nurse, and handsome doctor he had ever seen.

Growling with anger, Steadman said. “Get out of my office.!’

Altar was heartbroken, he had finally manifested a trip in which he was schaffuered into a mental hospital to see his favorite person. He didn’t care if he was a patient or a doctor, but he knew he had found someone worthy of listening to. Just then there Lathaniel spoke. “It’s okay!”

Altar From Tragdaba (Version 2)

The elders were wearing lab coats and suits and ties, and they had big machines that could examine the mind, motor skills, emotions, and simulate what was going on in Altar’s head. Some of their machines had the power to do this right before his very eyes in order to try and demonstrate what he was thinking. One was a cap that measured the neurotransmission frequencies and electro-magnetic impulses in the brain that could measure stressors, and heat through activation. “A controversial device this is, some sincerely do not want to wear this thing. It’s got to be completely voluntary for the sake of an ethical utilization.” – said one of the agents in a lab coat performing tests.

Mrs. Sara was back at the testing laboratory looking for him, and she was sad that he took off in such a run. She rushed to the black digital telephone and picked it up to make a call to Altar’s dad. She knew Altar was in no way able to get too far, and so she conversated and even begged a few of the elders to disrupt and take a break from the program in order to prevent what could be an accident occurring that could cost a young human life. A couple of them took off their lab coats, abandoned their machines, and rushed and pushed through the heavy titanium doors that kept every ray of sunlight out of the billion dollar laboratory where the testing was being done.

The two men one black and over six feet tall with a dense level of experience about him. The other white equally dense and a bit shorter, but a keen grizzled stare showing some visceral skill. The third elder to start the search was a woman also very thick and muscular. She had thick beautiful hair and appeared very healthy because of her fine clean skin. She had sweat beads that raised questions. Miss Sara commanded them as if they were agents or robots. They looked at her perplexed and sometimes offended. It was as if she was appointed, developed, situated, and then made ruler. No one had any say in having authority over her because she was born and bred to do the right thing. She always did this and so no one ever qualified for her replacement. The elders knew this so they began the search.

He was able to get some sleep.

Luke From Paradiso

Luke was a soccer player and he was humbly quite good at it. He had a nice guard and made a good goalie. His kicks were sharp and precise he had great control over the ball. The community was filled with inspiring athletes. All of the families were able to fund recreations for their kids and there were different attitudes and mentalities that varied from individual to individual that created an eloquent and diverse web amongst the people. Some practiced timid and slow, others were aggressive. Some had lots of variety and others simply did not enjoy the stress of the very thought of an accident. Luke was the kind of person that made people around him wants to do the same thing. Nobody was certain why he had this gift that was so consistently effective.

Luke had an energy that was motivating toward the others and sometimes gave them happiness and bliss in ways that made him a popular and desired friend to have in the name of sport. Comradery was a natural strong suit for him, and he was able to accelerate the games of recreation that could be played around him. He got some of his peers thinking about what they have the power to command, and what they do not have the power to even be considered an expert in yet. His main love was soccer, but there were many challenges that could be tested. He took it upon himself to help train others in what he had evidence that he was sufficient at. Furthermore, he was on a path and quest to be humbled at what he was not yet great at. If greatness was what he was seeking, his idea of it was not just to conquer and master all objectives but also to bring his peers to the wealth and flourishing of his talents along with him and his progress.

Luke was being tutored and Administrated by one of Mrs. Sara’s most trusted and competive peers. Miss Emily. Together they were working on diagnostics and it seemed that there contributions to the program were going to place and rank sufficiently. Luke was making progress on some of the previous tests and was sure to graduate from the standards upheld through the various categories in which the laboratory had been functioning with. He was even able to physically manifest and adapt to some of the competitive games that the elders were playing. When he was a spectator he was eager to press his observation up close to what he wanted to do. Like a face against the glass of a hockey rink he was destined to succeed ahead of the curb.

Some of the elders found fascination in the work and effort of these programs. Much of which were in the name of sport. Luke was excelling at this at a rapid rate. However; he had his weaknesses and he wasn’t sure quite why. He could win at baseball, basketball, swimming, and tennis all he wanted. He could pass mathematics and English with flying colors, but when it came to martial arts he was simply not there. It was the one flaw in the excellent specimen Miss Emily had raised and trained. Miss Emily suspected that he would have a facilitation of expression that would be sufficient for this lack of Aptitude. So furthermore she brought young Luke to the Arts. She tested him on the canvass and in the book, and she watched him like a hawk to see the results of what he was doing. She noticed that every stroke fell a bit short of paint no matter how much Luke dipped his brush it seemed he was always over extended. Sometimes Miss Emily was frustrated and even angered by this result. She found it supernatural and infuriating that so much practice could fall short of a production. She wondered if by some chance she was overtraining him and that he needed rest.

One day she looked at Luke after he took a couple of laps around the track, and she noticed that he was exhausted beyond words. Some of the other mentors watched in amazement as to just how tired Luke really was. They noticed his dehydration not as something that needs to be solved, but rather as a carelessness and weakness in the competition. Miss Emily was compelled toward success and saw that Luke had been a valuable asset throughout the game. With firm confidence in her young and excelling student she put him back in. Being the loyal and gracious prodigy Luke was he was glad to serve his team. He ran and charged at the ball, defended his team mates with his every footstep and heartrate. He even looked after some of the slower team mates in the process and made sure that they got a shot at victory. The fans were cheering and young Luke justified his efforts with as much energy, speed, and vigor as he could possibly muster. Miss Emily was proud and cheered for her team leader. She saw success on the horizon and that the deal could be sealed for a championship.

A concerned assistant administration from a different department of the laboratory testing squad looked upon the very dazzling spectacle as not sufficient or excellent, but brutal and carelessly overtraining. His eyes dampened with a tear as he saw what he had seen happen before, happen again right before his very eyes. He remembered former protégées scoring high and doing well, and he remembered them burning out and falling to a bitter bottom. Just as he noticed and thought these things, young Luke collapsed and the medics from the laboratory and diagnostics department were called to bring Luke back to the lab for hydration and rest. Miss Emily was devastated and burdened with a guilt, and the Assistant Administrator cried as young Luke was brought to the very place no one expected him to go. His heart rate higher than it should have ever been his kidneys dryer than he could have ever imagined his mind racing from depravation.

The grass was painted and fused with a compound that made it black. The chalk lines were yellow and marked every five and ten yards. The stadium like surrounding was now becoming silent with a sorrow for what had just happened. Luke had fainted just southeast of midfield and many had to rush to him to get him rehydrated. He was lucky to be in the presence of such formidable people who were familiar with the importance of compassion and first response. Not everyone would just rush, and it made the assistant administrator think that sometimes we push our people too hard. Luke was breathing under a plastic mask with a tube attached to an oxygen tank. He was being given sodium chloride and potassium water as a methodology for rehydration. His heart rate was being measured, and he was in the company of calm medics. There were prayers and positive energies being sent to him from some of the most talented people in an entire generation. His heartrate extended beyond what some of the most physically intelligent and healthy people could handle. He tried to sit up and say something, then he died.

Katherine from Inferno

Katherine was one of the oldest test takers. She was a pretty brunette with sensitivity toward others. Her intuition set in as more of a lock and key for solution and a skill rather than a pity party or sympathy bath. She was an accelerated victor and was projected to sustain a lead over some of the younger test takers entering the program. She was the student who knew the importance of facility and the opportunity to create something significant in the name of science and invention! Her idea was the conscious apparatus helmet that could be use to determine the history for some of the outcomes of the people.

She was known to be assertive about just everything except her latest and most prized design and accomplishment: the one that meant more than all the others; the thing that she just had to at least contribute to. She would contribute, think, and navigate through blueprints and designs in order to feel and absorb the energies from a device or apparatus.

Artifactual

“Time and Space is the 5^th element. One that no one knows how to control in totality. It is able to erode mountains, separate universes, and make things young again. Although this element has no pilot it has a navigator destined to explore its infinite depths. To you my daughter I give the Time Machine.”

Cars require high tech devices known as catalytic convertors that utilize Time and Displacement in engines to produce torque and horsepower. Our perspective consciousness and relative observations can gather information that is required for production that can assist us as mechanical producers and existential beings. This is something that men need to know so that they can give their women because Force and Mass multiplied by one another equal acceleration. Acceleration they find attractive, acceleration they want to have, and an acceleration that they need to know if they embody will blow right past certain people for a period of time as broad as miles.

We also need to know time and space as the fifth element and treat it in the same way we do life and death. It is important to know the dynamics of this element because it may help you know who you are destroying, who you are replacing, and what exactly you are doing for yourself that may or may not be healthy in the long run. That is years, but years are small in the grand scheme of existence. The Jurassic period alone was hundreds of thousands; the creatatious was over 10 million. We now live in 2020 and are taking our time and exploring time as a measure and experience. We may perceive things based off a calendar. Right now in the western United States we love and adhere to the Gregorian calendar. We have studied Incan, Aztec, Mesopotamian, and Egyptian calendars that have explained galaxies, time and space through visual hieroglyphics, sun dials, thermometers, geology, solstice measurement, astrological observation, and satellite pictures. We even put a time capsule on mars that represented human civilization and activity on various levels including: pop culture, government, currency, etc.

We do not know if we will have to do the same time again, but we are constantly hoping that we can improve ever so slightly and necessary for the sake of a minimal and responsible expansion. A disease may spread and a virus may find a host, negativity may coagulate on a cellular level. However; we have come together every time, we have united in ways that can aspire and revive the love and health that we are really all about and really striving for.

We put together algorithmic formulas and calculated shapes for the sake of an identification and personal relation to our environment. We do not always know who knows better than us, and we feel bad for them because we assume that they have knowledge within themselves that we are aspiring to acquire.

“The gift of knowledge is embodied in a stone. You my son are a philosopher. The tree of knowledge in all of its elaborate fruition loves you and has an affinity for your mind. To you I give The Philosopher’s Stone.”

“God assured us that he will not give us more than we can handle. However; some weights are meant to be heavier than others. Atlas was depicted as someone who could carry the world on his shoulders and back, he was assisted by Hercules a hero who also possessed great strength. Arthur was a King who found a sword in a stone that gave him immeasurable strength, and to you my son I give you the strength of Excalibur.”

“The voice is a beautiful instrument and a medium for expression and language. Words, sounds, and frequencies are used to formulate and convey ideas and perspectives. For you brother I give the microphone.”

The sun beemed and Albert shook a leaf off of his head. He wandered beneath the graffiti plastered bridge and looked at the mini golf course on South Lamar. He was quite ready for the show and wanted to grab a Miller High Life and look at some of the dogs people were training for the dog race. He was wearing his favorite jeans and leather shoes that had souls that made a light click when he waved his legs in an almost circular waddle to get an extra few inches out of each step.

He got high sometimes, sometimes he would just burst into an exuberant joy and start doing something spontaneous that he thought no one would really understand. He would do this because his one true love and his one true warm up was the obstacle course. I mean there were construction site cones and bariers and parking lots with medians all over the place. There were skateboards and ramps and people just seemed to neglect these things and just want to go home and play video games. He was wearing yellow and imagined that that was an outfit picked out for him by someone with a controller. Maybe this life was just a simulation whenever he was feeling spontaneous.

He took off in a run. Albert was fast! Albert was really fast he was able to reach about 35 miles per hour before he realized he smoked too much and ran out of gas and stamina or wind or life itself rather. However; there is always a second wind now isn’t there. Albert would take a hard diagonal right turn into the wood with confidence in his accelrative abilities. He would narrowly dodge branches and vines and let one barely scathe him of course because he was just that agile and swift on this particular endeavor.

Now he was in the open green field. Standing firm for the ladies, hey man Albert loved the ladies. He loved when they looked at him with a sense of shock so he could take off in another burst of speed and they could watch him run faster than any dude they ever seen before, ahem, ahem. He knew it was impolite to say certain things out loud, and he was so polite that he wouldn’t dare to visualize the words that made sentences in his imaginative head, but albert thought with a spirited whim “hey, that girls gonna have my babies one day.”

Alright now. Albert wa approximately a mile and a half a way from the venue where the show was going to take place, and there was gonna be his friend, and there was going to be his favorite band playing. He did not really want to worry about the girl that he loved being there, but he kinda had a suspicion that the girl that he loved was going to be being there. Oh well, oh well. Albert ran fast toward his favorite venue.

It was one of those special days where Albert knew that the impossibly dangerous could be around, but he would have to stay quit witted, humble, and agile so that he would not get tackled by some people who never wanted him to be the quarter back or never even get on the team because they did not like him and his success, you know what I mean. Or rather you know what I am saying, or rather you know what I am talking about maaaan.

Yeeahhhhh….

However; it was such a glorious and sunny day that he was surprised to find his arch rival Mick and his greatest adversary Leonard at the gates as the security guards. Oh no Albert thought here comes trouble. In a moment of doubt he saw leanord put a perfect pat on Mick. Lenny said “hey here comes special company, let him in man, let him in.” Albert’s chest puffed out a little bit right then and there. She took his hand, she was gorgeous.

She was wearing a pink shirt with an awesome dress. She was so pretty that it was not to be believed at just how good looking certain could get to Albert’s particular perception in that very instance.

The moon was waxing and last time he checked it was waning with an eerie serendipity. The cumulus clouds soared through the stratosphere emitting a closeness that enwarapped the observer in the possibility of energetic influence.

Diligent Trifecta & Brutal Strategy

A Short by: Matthew Wattles

“The perseverance and pursuance of this ideal is what has inspired Germany for decades, and it is our very sincere notion toward power that we encompass and embody that as diligent workers and citizens that honor our system’s launch into the next phase of a great nation that has surpassed it’s expected status! This is our time to rise, and I relish in sharing with you.” The Ambassador waved gallantly at his podium. A fearful sweat bloomed miniscule in the face of a thousand pains. The thousand pains that were his followers, the thousand followers that caused his power to become agony, doubt, and fear.

A phone rang, and the lips of a woman were voluptuously forming a serenading betrayal that struck a quantum ring in the assholes heart. His honor is ours, and his pain is a delight we share – said the temptress. What is volatile is our weapon, and how we stomp is our electricity. She conjured her libidinal lucidness into a psychic cock trap. The senator was horny, and that bullying lump was what he had craved. Craved for years as a perverse fidgety moron. Craved all day not for position, but hedonistic simplicity.

A basilisk horn is a crude myth in a vile weekend that sheds a water on the driest of deserts. She taunted him well, and the lead was a path. How about time travel? The senator asked? Do you think you can take me where I want to go? The senator geeked like a mallard in delight.

“I think I can senator, I am certain we can do that too.” The Secretary said seductively.

The ambassador’s brawn was a cruel and certain shield. The symbol of his energy penetrated the mind of his own reflection. Is narcissistic past had come to a grave moral crisis. Dire friends had grown to hate him, and his importance wasn’t even a matter or an issue. He ruminated about thoughts of armies that could inspire future generation, and he the jewel in his head at all times. That star he had in there, that guardian star in his awful head. The one that gave him forbidden scope had just told him that betrayal had entered his rotten home.

The secretary came into the Ambassadors office, and looked at him dead in his flappable eyes. She resurrected his determination with that formal and consistent unity that wins jobs better than fellatio. Loyalty inspired the Ambassador more than anything. He was so delusional and neurotic that he thought he was inspired by something else. The best way to derange virtues is by being a moralist in the first place. This changes your definition of hope; making it something essential to restore. This alters what you think of being good. Because it is not what you have become that defines how good you are, but rather what you can bring to yourself that helps you relish. She brought him loyalty so she was good.

“How was your conversation with the senator?” He asked The Secretary. As far as he could tell it went well. He sensed the instantaneous transmission of confidence, and felt warm she had succeeded.

“Victory has always been important to you. I did the best I could as a Temptress, and was surprised to find positive results.” She said to The Ambassador. “We should be able to have that conversation with Hegeth soon”. A piercing intimidation came into the ambassador’s liver. The same one he would usually drink away. It was one of those rare irritations that would finally start to bother someone after the thousandth time it occurred. The instance in which fear takes on a new layered meaning. The Ambassador imagined the first few times he was struck by this feeling. How he was baffled and uncertain there could be an opponent as formidable as Hegeth. He remembered laughing at the thought that he had feared him in the first place. He remembered ruminating about how he’d become increasingly vulnerable, and even remained thirsty for the contest that their meeting had brought to him. He knew the electric veracity he once thought was lost had to be reinstalled in him. He suspected the same for Hegeth, and at that moment the phone rang.

Without hesitation he timed it, but as The Ambassador reached for the phone he hallucinated a bead of sweat on the side of his palm. In a whisp his gulped down his doubt, put the phone to his ear and spoke. “Prime Minister Hegeth?”

“Ambassador Mancheth, I wasn’t certain I had the privilege of direct access to your main line.” “Albeit your answering leads me to believe this is the right time to have the conversation we have been mutually manifesting.”

The Ambassador inhaled with a raspy suddenness. The goal was to flow without disruption. “Yes, this is a good time.”

“Ah, well firstly I have to commend you on your conquering of Germany’s latest tribulation; it was certainly a remarkable speech.” “If I were to procure an interpretation of the entire state of things, I’d say you must feel alleviated.”

The Ambassador gave up on holding back a smug grin. He knew later that he’d have to discipline himself for feeling pleased at his arch rival’s psychopathic elevation. For years he had hated the grandiose continuity that they shared consciously. It was a reminder he couldn’t tolerate. It was a change he had to make, so he could be compassionate once again.

“Hold the arrogance momentarily” The Ambassador responded. He imaged Hegeth grinning now. “I know you know the state of affairs that Germany is in. Our condition is far from sublime. I’m not even putting it past you to have your own ideas on how to reform the most problematic aspects of our system right now.” He asserted.

“I presume your referring to the increasing speculation from the west’s awareness of our Europe’s synchronized conscious apparatus? Or perhaps you’re anxious about that Senator you adopted snitching on you again?”

The Ambassador was jolted by a strike of anxiety. Sometimes panic hurts, but pain doesn’t dictate the behaviors of the best of dictators. “I’m very confident that you are in no way disrupting our agreement Mr. Hegeth.” “It would be a disgrace to the aligned powers of Europe.”

“I am not. However; we both know that the apparatus has a ranking system, and that hierarchy has a sole victor. You recall it’s number?” Hegeth provokingly asked.

The Ambassador felt a confusing conflict rising in his nervous system. It was the impulsivity of his tongue he could not control any longer. “You have no dominion over our apparatus! It is a shared agreement; we cannot blur this with selfishness! It would take the entire system down!” The Ambassador yelled. “To them it’s a name to us it is a number!” “This was the very characteristic of our project!”

“Oh but you are wrong, this is not something that is even possible to convolute. This is a clear and concise matter, this is a matter of hierarchy, this deals in the unflappable consistency of mathematics; the impervious stability of numbers.” “You have looked at the numbers I assume?”

“Assume?” The Ambassador blurted. He flipped the light of his tablet on and quickly accessed the master chart. The chart was a list of all the people in Europe ranked by modern Eugenics. The ranking system was data driven by microchips that were installed in everyone in the continent. The chip would assess the aptitude of the proletariats and immediately transmit their thoughts and energies to the elite. The Ambassador had been number one for the past couple of years, and was shocked to find that Hegeth was now at the top of the list.

There was silence for a few split seconds. The Ambassador was so baffled that he lost the lazer-like visceral focus he always prepared to stay at length with Hegeth during conversation. He quickly regained his focused, but could not ignore his feeling of defeat.

“More like an educated guess.” Hegeth taunted. “And while I have been loyal to our agreement there are certain variables that a mere contract cannot satisfy.” “Take for example this new ever so unexpected position we are in right now. When we established our agreement neither of us knew that I would surpass you. Which our synchronized conscious apparatus so eloquently states in the case.” “Fortunately for you I am willing to make a modification to our agreement that can serve as somewhat of a bearable compromise.” Hegeth said

“You want to make a deal?” The Ambassador asked firmly.

“Exactly.” Hegeth replied.

“I am well aware of your bribing of the American senator, and I know that you understand my detest for betrayal. Especially one so sentimental to me such as our strong-hold on Europe. I am curious to know why you have kept him alive as long as you have. You always struck me as someone whom might possess a more assassination oriented approach to such an abhorrent misdeed.” Hegeth led.

“The mercy that is being shown to the senator is merely to probe the westerners agenda to a possible involvement or infiltration of our Europe Mr. Hegeth.” The Ambassador assured him. “Our current progress on getting The Senator to talk has been a process, but our methods have yet to fail for the sake of an effective interrogation.”

“And yet you have other priorities for the reconciliation of the unpredicted faults that Germany is experiencing. Your people are pleased, but they do not know of the Senator and it is only a matter of time before someone realizes that information has been divulged to United States and that their leader has been confiscating their thoughts and dreams for his entire administration.”

The Ambassador felt a wooziness. He urged himself to act, yet felt the paralysis of being under control. He concluded Hegeth was going to ask for possession of The Senator, and he furiously scrambled for an alternative. In a manic stream of despair he quickly thought of a hundred options. None of which he had the authority to manifest any longer. The disappointment of this epiphany put a weight on his chest. Oh that weight, what an unbearable pressure. It was sickly and felt hollow. He knew it could not break him which made it even more nauseating. It was one of those unbearable feelings that could drive someone to madness. The kind of madness that equivocated desperation. What made it even more unbearable is that he knew in order to rid himself of it, he had to hand the Senator over to Hegeth.

It wasn’t just the possibility of the conscious apparatus being leaked into the public’s attention, and it wasn’t the advantage that Hegel now had over The Ambassador. It was what he had seen himself do. The sense of compassion not for people or ideas, or even innovation. It was the corrosion of his faculties and sensibilities from that pesky deadly sin. Pride. His allegiance no longer mattered, his heart that he treasured as beautiful for his entire life was not a shielded, jaded stone. After you follow so many obsessions and conquer so many obstacles you might start ruminating he used to think. However; at some point it is an obligation to make a decision about what this really means. Power. Then the idea spark, then the plan created, the mission pursued and an empire created. It would be done through a trifecta and manifested with diligence. There would never be a gap until every empire must fall.

The hundreds and hundreds of books he read in isolation, and the sheer quixotic fuel that it gave his imagination. The visionary, but the vision was scary. Just an abhorrent dream destined for corruption. The bridges burnt both metaphorically, allegories torn from fiction and into reality. The hateful, monstrous jealous rings he saw in the eyes of the beasts he shook hands with. The cruel black as gasoline tear that was never shed, and hardly even fathomed. The toxicity of passion and all the poisoned adventures. The absurd laughter of an apocalyptic justification. Mansions full of megalomaniacs, governments built by kakistocratic crickets. The sad epiphany of the extinction of the grasshopper. Every mentor forewarned him, and every generation told him this event would one day happen. The Ambassador had found a way to surpass America, but there was no documentation on just how powerful a regime could get. Fortunately for him, he was now number two.

The one weakness The Ambassador had always suspected about Hegeth is that he was overly meticulous. The compulsive alignment he had exhibited in every interaction always surrounded by weaker opponents. After all everyone was an opponent to Hegeth, and it was that level of psychopathy that made him a formidable ally from a distance. So what was it up close that he remembered as a flaw. It was his orderly presentation, a creepy empiricism hidden in between the lines of every symmetrical structure. On the surface everything was productive and positive, but in between the matter that could never quantumly touch there was a deep dark history sinister bloodshed, brutality, and elitism.

“How wicked is this person?” The Ambassador thought. He jolted down the stairs in a heavy vicarious heartthrob was put into dizziness that rung in his head. Déjà vu adrenaline dazzled his equilibrium, and in this instance he almost lost his balance at the very middle step. The secretary calmly smiled at him as he glided down the last few steps. The Ambassador felt serenity, and the warmth of a motherly ally. All the things she had done for his allegiance brought him a warm melting pleasure, and his spirit hurt from the lashing of all the times she must have been scared when no one ever knew.

The Ambassador threw on his brown leather coat, stabilized himself and reach quickly for the brass polished door knob. The hundred pound mahogany door flew open out of a routine that had been perfected through many episodes of frenzy. The vibrations of the plants in the front yard and an invigorating stimuli from the breeze eradicated the false arena of doubt that has been congested in his brain washed down into a void that no one has ever seen.

“I’m as crazy as they think, and I have forgotten my debit card. Fuck!”

The Bugatti was cold and needed to be hot. Things happen incrementally, and then they flex with displacement, most of the time this is a very scattered and confusing apparatus. The Bugatti’s cylinders on the other hand were aligned and ready to go now. The roar, the torque, the prayer, and fate. She was hot and The Ambassador wanted to see how fast they could get there: together.

An iridescent skyline with phantasmagoric vulgarities was the horizon to the left of his shoulder. His brow was tense and stressed as always. Meditation and acceleration generally do not mix, unless you were however able to use cleanliness and purpose as a balance. After all godliness is the avoidance of death, destruction, madness, and chaos not the inducing of it. The Ambassador thought of The Lieutenant that used to hold his position in Germany. He remembered sitting in the passenger seat with his heart pumping as fast as the Ferrari. He remembered trying to calm himself in the presence of that young man, Nazi written all over him. He remembered his cerebral promise; if he scares me again, I have got to hit him. He remembered the time it took to get where he was today.

The lieutenant’s laugh and a obnoxious clanking beer glass. The harmonious energies that oozed and bounced off the walls. The unbelievably beautiful women he considered with honesty and treated as a gentleman. After all there was respect there. The Ambassador recalled their unnecessary disagreeances, and remembered the lieutenant as a unique and sentimental package in a warehouse that was a single, tiny component of the lunatic factory that Europe had become.

He reminisced of the alleviation of resentment that would occur upon mutual accomplishments. The distance that he knew would have to happen when the student finally surpassed his mentor. Communicative eyes were in the his temples, the same ones that were shot at by one of Hegeth’s henchman. When the conscious apparatus was launched the Lieutenant spun into an anxious frenzy. It seemed as if his brow was shocked and misaligned by a frequency that had hurt him all his life. The constant taunt of the hope of it never happening and his relentless efforts to suppress the idea were now a present whirlwind here to disrupt his effervescence and multiply his doubt. That tormenting clout that finally came true. The lieutenant’s angry resistance had blown his cover as an American soldier undercover, and Hegeth took him out before they could discombobulate Europe’s evil agenda: together.

The Ambassador felt a tear hoard itself and disappear. Within that vanishing there was a rage, and a heartache. He hit the pedal hard and sped down the snakerun highway. The massive cedars blurred like a convoluted montage, the wind whipped his Bugatti like a demanding master summoning speed out of his creature with abuse. The Earth always births causes, and the dawn magically puts them to sleep. This time it was Hegeth’s turn to rest, and the stars gleamed to show that they admired and approved of this mission. The Ambassador was prepared to utilize the dark side of futility’s greatest recreation: assassination.

Hegeth’s plantation was a giant diamond. Hegeth’s bungalow mansion was located at the north west corner of the entire landscape. A punishing flash of focus illuminated his skull, and a target set a view on the longitude and latitude where he needed to find this motherfucker. Extra sensory perception like a tarantula picking out raven eggs. The shadows showed guards with agility and stability. A ethereal deathism vibrated and rippled shadow puppets that he did not need to find his prey. A thunderous flammable landmine jumpstarted his journey; one that would lead to a mission long inevitable.

A dark passenger sang to him a silent song. A demon floated at him in front of a cabin. A rotten hurt that would take an energy out of him, guided him to destination number 2. Aside the cabin he crouched and took a few analytical seconds to separate fiction from reality. Psychosis knows no limitation when a psychotic endeavor runs through a champions DNA. Various radicals where ghosts in the moonlight, and the other were real walking life forms that carried sinister souls in capsules pretending to be people.

The Ambassador ran to his next check point. He modified each step to avoid crunching leaves alarms. “Hi” he whispered as he slit one of Hegeth’s servants. “Bye” he said as he layed a the body lifeless. “I really don’t need you right now, the dark passenger said to him.” “You should just go home because things are already lawless.” “Well I don’t really like you he voiced back to the demon.” “I don’t even need you to complete what I am doing.”

The Ambassador cycled through an experience of redundancy. He jostled and wrestled with the fact that he had been here before at least three time. He wondered if in previous lifetimes he had failed at this task. Then he whistfully ran closer to the peak of his objective. The trees were darkened like shadows that swayed as forgotten soldiers of an abused promise land. The wind never once whipped across the grass, but instead it steadily created patterns that drew him closer to his objective. The air of the plantation felt more like a simulated interdimensional forcefield of sinister stagnancy rather than a free and natural landscape of oxygenation. The Ambassador’s adrenaline pumped in ways that altered his normally calm and almost even tranquil perception.

He visualized portals and tunnels of fear soaked in red that could confiscate him from his mission. He imagined falling into these demonic wormholes, and felt the sadness of having to start all over again. His footsteps quickened to a patter to a light crispy thump on the grass. The beautiful mansion was now in plain sight. He conscientiously prayed for the guard he had just ruthlessly killed, and silently scolded the ruthless dark passenger that he had always hoped would leave him alone after he freed himself from Europe’s awful, tyrannical Reich. Emotionlessness is not just a moral weakness it is also a lost cause. Even if he were to be evil, feelings would be something that he could absolutely not live without. The absence of such a substance creates meaningless that is worse than a position on either side of any conflict, army, political purpose, or event.

The mansion was grainy and gritty like a wood and stone haven filled with a just righteousness. Strangely the house was sitting safely in the center of one of the worst places in the worst times in human existence. How do I get in? The Ambassador thought. He glanced at the bright fluorescent and yellow shine that heaved an angelic gleam into the field and onto the tree that he was hiding behind. He started to become aware of the fact that hiding was no longer necessary. Hegeth had him figured out and the conscious apparatus had probably revealed frequencies that gave his location away.

The Ambassador thought of the sacrifices Europe had made to push it’s evil reich this far. He thought of the eerie fact that death and genocide were hardly even apart of the control of the kakistocratic government he decided to join. He thought of the rejuvenation of the proletariat’s hope, and how their celebrations gave him hope but also pity. He thought of that dense guilt that felt like a mucky burden he’d have to live with for the rest of his life, and possibly through eternity. He took his phone up and remembered that he isn’t a sucker. The he stomped to the front door of the mansion and fought through a minor head ring of shell shock and banged on it three times.

The door smoothly opened at a pace that gave him a sense of a final destination. Sometime video juegos mock and pretend realities like this. He found it laughable that the asshole he was about to visit probably found amusement in the similarities of such fictitious simulations. It was even more ironic and strangely predictable that once he glanced upon the elegant staircase that was brightened by a surprisingly humble sized chandelier that Hegeth was there to embrace and welcome him with a questionably believable attitude.

The Ambassador wiped his brow and forced a focus to his glare. Hegeth seemed anxious and in a hurry to welcome him. This troubled The Ambassador for a second, but then gave him a relief. Hegeth seemed to be walking down the stairs faster than usual with a humiliated wobble that The Ambassador was not sure about. He couldn’t tell if he was using this a gimmick, or if he was showing intimidation, or if Hegeth was frustrated at the destruction of his own lower chakras. However; he was charmed and felt a sense of joy that he knew he’d have to fight in moments to come.

The serene closing of artistic sequences glared a grandiose visual that gives a grand entrance to conduits, sensation, and existential answers. Moral confusions fluttered and combined themselves into a visceral experience that gave an eerie scenery to a get together of important people. The Ambassador’s heart kept jumping and pounding. The ivory and stone staircases that he had just walked up were not in his head anymore. All he could see now was the truth. The truth of how behavior and conquest bring people together. The answers that men like to have to be more than confused, lost, and angry at their own existences. The beautiful and haunting thing to The Ambassador was that this made some sense now, and maybe there was a reason for all the trials, tribulations, and efforts. The one thing that meant something more to The Ambassador than anything else was that somewhere in this get together. Somewhere in the way these elite and powerful people were tranquilly facing each other was that there was not just hope, but also peace amongst them.

It was now apparent to The Ambassador the things that he had fought for made sense. He felt affirmed by his accomplishments, and was thankful for his gift to observe that creations are gifts but also burdens. All the microchips, landscapes, negotiations, and endeavors him and the people he worked with his whole life. They had a purpose and their purpose was to be manifested. However; the one thing he should have known was to be a little more careful.

Quarrels of a Visionary

William Kristoffen was a demonologist, a quabbalist, a contortionist, and a practicing shaman in a past life. During his childhood he used to daydream about technology. He imagined softwares and currencies that could create new options for transportation, banking, and everyday life. He used to imagine these tunnels that could transport people like the Jetsons family, and he would watch dollar signs float and transform into new symbols that developed worth outside inherent value.

Surrounding these images that dazzled him into a perplexing boredom were energetic rings from an unusual visceral frequency. These rings were comprised of colors and emotions that made him nostalgic about earth and grain. William would become pained and agitated by a prickly irritancies made of confusion. He would question existentially, whether his identity was at the mercy of a predetermined outcome.

William is greatness for he is a jolly good fellow. However; sometimes he is denied. Denied of the bonafied hedonism of lust, denied of gossip, debauchery, and excessive indulgence. Denied of equitable treatment, credit, and approval.

Shindigs

Good morning in many ways. The dynamics of a simplistic sunrise and an illustrious creator. One who sends from light years away various quests, lessons, ethics, as well as missions, consequences, and punishment. He always promises the best and most beautiful outcomes. He knows that pain is for pleasure, and that shindigs are an essential part of sanctimony. He is convoluted if you are not looking out for him. However; he is grand, orchestrative, mineralistic, and above all exalted for all of the right reasons. He loves mother earth and she loves him right back no matter how much you hate the both of them, they are completely in love with you.

Quarrels pt. 2 (12 Docitrines of Lunacy)

The 12 Doctrines of Lunacy

Kristoffen Wilhelm Quabbles was lying in his bed. He spoke into an audio book with a British accent making sound effects of lightning, whirring circular breezes, and tales of feuds. He was steadily drifting to sleep with his eyes open wide, and he was looking through the window looking at the darkened tress with spotted smudges that looked like sludge and demons. He remembered Lewis Carrol’s disease and neglected his own visceral form of schizophrenia. He used the eyes in the back of his head to glance at the lithium in his medicine cabinet. He wondered if he should take it as he was commenting with Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes in his newly found hobbies of audiobooks and cartooning.

He ruminated and explored memories of long legged women, and dark energies surrounding certain people looking like purple, black, and gold ribbons that were apart of an energetic faded glory. He spoke into the microphone on his cell phone and embraced the tone of a wicked warlock. One that was macho and full of vigor then he fell in, and well into what he knew was true but he could never seem to avoid.

Kristoffen had a binder full of characters with elements and cartoons of figures that were mutated warriors. He heard voices and had visions of his works being ripped apart by his peers and chased by his arch rivals into the very garbage bin that he disposed of such high level ideas. That little crumpled piece of paper would one day be a famous television show that he had the inherit rights to. Then it would become all but not his. He would probably have to watch the people who were casted on the television show, and watch one of them insult him on a television screen saying “you should stop ripping us off, you have you own life were not really sure why you prefer our footsteps.”

Kristoffen use to let thoughts like this incapacitate him. He would just fall back and sweat at the look of the auditory madness that was nothing but loss and abuse. On this night he was relaxed, and he heard a little something called calmness that was gliding over his body. He sometimes thought this sort of blanketed pulse was just another disease. Something like an early version of diabetes that he could only fix with eating vegetables and taking vitamins for the rest of his life.

Then all of a sudden a crash of lightning flash illuminated glowed bright and flashed five times consecutively right outside his window. There was no time to count how far away the thunder was as the gargantuan and bedlam like roar of thunder was there to blare and shake the house in a pandemonium goliath shortly thereafter. He thought of the vibrations being able to rattle the brick and mortar themselves, but he imagined that this storm would pass any minute.

He then took his time and after his pulse settle which it was raised and it was raised high. He trembled a little bit thinking that it was a heart attack. He was able to calm himself and send it to a minor pulse lapse. He knew that for him that was the difference between a panic attack which could become severe and a heart attack which could very well be fatal.

He was now trying to think of the powers of thunder and lightning and what could produce it,. But his panic was so severe and there really was no one there. He looked to his phone because he could not get up, and he looked to the door hoping that his sister or his mother or his father would be there. No one showed up. He imagined this kind of panic as a death, maybe he partially died. He was hoping that he would recuperate and be able to explain this in polite terms long before he became aggravated at the unfairness of the situation.

His pulse slowly calmed as he breathed through his allergies. He closed his eyes and escaped the terror of this panic. He said the name of Jesus Christ and he felt a relief and soon he realized that he should drop the microphone on his phone, turn over into sleep and let got handle the faith of the collaboration.

In a repetitive and reoccurring dream wrapped in a time warped feel. Kristoffen slept walked to the refrigerator. His eyes closed shading his distress and displaying a steely need for calm and chi. His eyes shut tightly and mind open widely he noticed a leaflet with a aged brown fade that showed a torn and tattered scroll. He was walking down the hallway on tile, stumbling like a drunkered having a stroke or a heart attack. He was especially infuriated by his youth, he was only 16 and he was having these symptoms. That made him feel sad and unfair. He saw large lights of different colors beaming through the living room and office. He looked up at these saber like lights in wonder and amazement. Lightning struck and flashed outside as the grey clouds were sizzling with a torrential downpour and heavy breeze. The bursts of water surging harder and harder on the roof of his family’s home. He thought he might be blind and was having trouble making his way through the dark so he put his hands on the wall and used them as a guide.

He walked back through the house and back into bed. He crawled to safety. He looked up at the ceiling and saw faces smiling with sinister delight at him. Lightning flared and he noticed a small crouching black demon sitting on his chest weighing heavy on him as he reopened his eyes. The Demon seemed to change the way the room looked and he was intensely aware of Kristoffen’s helplessness. It grinned and sparked illuminations in his eye were flickering with sick amusement. A thick and dull wave of energy filled the room. Lightning flickered and the anticipation for thunder was immediate after a second of hush and the images vanished after a roar of thunder.

The rain steadily decreased over the next few hours and Kristoffen was finally able to go to sleep.

Doctrine 1 – Foundations

“All foundations are built by groups, and all groups essentially know the quality of diversity. Not just on a basis of quota, but also unique contribution and technique. A soul is a capsule and a castle hosts souls. The king wants to be president sometimes, and the president wants to not just represent, but also take control and seize the fundamental nature of progress and cumulative heirarcy.” Mr. Durkin said while next to his chalkboard. The class was covering ethics in Government. Ironically, there are none. Which is why this class in not real and I am just fucking with you. Haha jk moving on.

Mr. Durkin was the kind of professor who paid attention to the anticipation of the class. Some people would call this extroverted, but to him it was a way of pace. If the class was glazed he got them out of it one way or another. The goal, teach them as much as possible and make the class go by as seemingly fast as it can go. Kristoffen would sit and process everything he could. They were talking about the republic democracy and the developing parties around it such as Independent, Libertarian, and the infamous and sometimes failing Green Party. Kristoffen was glazed as he listened to key virtues applying to the various professions, historical context of different industries changing the influence and dynamic of legislation and congress through industrial revolution.

The school schedule was rigorous and dense. It required getting up early in the morning. Being at class on time and no more than 10 minutes late. There would be math, English, social studies and history,

Doctrine 2 – Irony

First the foundation is built with wood, cement, and heavy bags of dirt. Then come the re-bar which is made of iron. I found it insane that he thought that there was going to be a competition here over a girl, and a battle over there for intellectual property. I found it ironic that such a free man could turn into someone who wanted such things. Or maybe he was just aware of some of these things. He explained to me that that was not really what he wanted, but that that is just the way things work sometimes. There was then someone else who said “do not worry, everything happens for a reason.” I found it ironic that fate and control could be competing with one another. I found it insane that the man who predicted competition and battle was correct all along.

Doctorine 3 – Solution

It was mighty strange that I knew I was somewhat already affiliated with some of the people who were causing this problem. I found it ironic that I was part of the problem myself.I thought it was interesting and peculiar to discover that I already had some recollection of solution that may or may not be the right thing to do. I found it scary that I thought of solution as a shot or maybe a big chance. Anyway there was a shot, and I found it irresitable to take it. It was ironic that I thought of that as an impulse, and possibly temptation. How could solution be temptation simultaneously? I was advised by myself to get back to my original doctrine.

Kristoffen got his ass up, and rummaged throught the dusty scroll. He had no friends to trust he had no family to talk to. He admired the weird, yet kind and sincere smiles of the people he had formerly betrayed. There were now tears in his smile as well. What one would call a lie in a smile. He put on one of his favorite orhestrations and thought. “I have got a shot.” “I am going to have to take it.” He woke up from a dream that had been going on for days. The lines between himself, what is real, sleep, and intoxication were now all fuzzy and blurred. He thought of the diseases of dementia and psychosis that had been affecting his lineage. He thought of a thousand things to read and study so that he could decrease the likliehood of these things happening to his dad. So that he could make up for his sins of hostility and abuse. He looked to the wall and saw the clock warping at him. He might have even seen the thing crack a smile, like the undetermined face of a friend or maybe an arch rival. He was hysterical and confused. He flipped open the book as it flashed like a hallucination.

Doctrine 4 – Metamorphosis

He traveled back in time to his lazy self where he was loaded with a bottle of whiskey. He saw movies and videos as memoirs and trash tv as his holy grail of immaturity. He flinched at his own weakness and bowed to the one who was right all along. He was himself and the problems occurring were now obvious to him as accruing for sometime. Foolishness was his very fiberous self. The stringy boney wirey fasad of a man that he was he was now back in that living flesh. The voices said “Change, Change, Change!”. The quarrel was objective nad right where he belionged as a boy being tormented by the very requirements of failure and the failure of his responsibilities which were very much supposed to be requirements.

The tossing and turning he did in his sleep was merely a realization that he was wrong. God sent demons after him to keep in in his place because he was the man who sold the world. If he were to be awake in the way that he wanted then he would do it again. The tossing and turning was only the change required for stagnancy so that he would not be able to move because he had already done it again. The vicious cycle needs change, change mate, change! Yelling and voraciously slapping him around the room as a puppy with innocent eyes, as a victim make rather than a victim. He couldn’t yell stop because he knew that if he said that too loud that it would be immporal and the circle would start all over again, and he would be right back into the same position of one guilty false, fake ally who was merely to blame for as many people’s suffering as can possibly range in his little boxed in cell of an existence. The change was to control his reaction and response to such an experience. If he took pleasure in any of this then he would decrease his morality and abuse the approval of his master. The change needed was matriarchy he could not assume the master as a man anymore, it just had to be a caring mother. He blamed himself as a fool because she was equally deceitful as his god who could only say “he is not really into change so much, he is more of a begger.” Beggars can’t be chosers when it comes to pain and suffering. He is just looking for a cuck, and we think he is sick because he is going to find pleasure in that. So we leave him alone in a tranquil torment so he cannot rise until he can do something that will change this for the better. Sad thing is he does not know change. He simply does not know how.

Dripping with guilty sweat Kristoffen raed through doctrine 4. He found comfort in the fact that someone else was going through this awful redundant bullshit. He fumbled through some of the other pages convincing himself that this was a nightmare. It was a nightmare, but it was real. He looked around and heard a shiver of laughter shake his spine like a cure. “You see I always loved you all along…” Her voice drifted off and he was humiliated because it had taken her 3 years to come back. 3 years of rationalizing all the things that he was doing as he was trying to change himself so that he could change the world. He needed praise and sanctuary long ago in order to never lose himself. So that he could be restored and affirmed as a worthy human being who could live a life of simplicity and innocence in ways that he had always dreamed of. He bore a guilt that there were people around who he could be the successor for. He imagined their energies pummeling him in a punchy sort of way. Like the instance of being called a coward without the person actually opening their mouths and calling him a coward.

He called his friend on the phone and explained to him some of the things that he was thinking about. He told him that he felt responsible for a loss that had happened to someone. As if he was the executioner, and If he was responsible for that person’s loss even though he had no idea what in the actual fuck was going on with that person. He explained that he once was told by a visionary that he was to read the poetry in people’s eyes. He looked at a picture of his hero and all he could read was “I’m going to pummel fuck your mom bitch.”. He explained this to his friend who was laughing and concerned at the same time. His friend simply advised him to see a psychologist. Where things never change, because it was just merely proof that he was unstable all along, and that he was incapable of changing. He did not need a therapist he needed a total metamorphosis.

The kind of change that could eradicate his guilt and cleanse his morality. He stumbled to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. He twisted the top off and threw it into the scattered trash pile by the door. He was sweating now. Searching more and more for something that could help him get out of this vicious cycle of insanity. He wondered and wondered if he could ever be a forgivable person again, if he were to ever be innocent in the way he once firmly believed was real and saved. He was walking in circles. His habits were tormenting him he visualized the way that people had been behaving as a response to what he was doing right now. He grabbed a broom and started sweeping the floor. Then he sweated more, and then he was back at the fridge. He was nervous as hell. He was scared for his safety and his sanity. He wondered if he deserved to be protected and if there was ever a way to redeem himself for being a traitor, a cheater, and a runner.

He walked back to the fridge for another beer. Still spinning and sipping, spinning and sipping. He was nervous that he knew his habits were unhealthy and was struggling to face down the demon of this reoccurrence. He remembered what the jehovahs witness said about hell and forgiveness. That God himself could not possibly be someone so ruthless that he would let one of his children be condemned forever. He felt surging impulse after impulse to yell at someone in order to escape his mistakes. To throw something against the wall as a form of catharsis instead of something that can alleviate him of his pains. His dizziness was simple and pure elaboration and expression of how he felt. Lost and guilty, agonized by the person he had become. He went to the fridge and grabbed another beer. This dizziness exacerbated and he felt the reoccurrence as his responsibility as something that he was creating by himself for himself. There was no other terror like it, and all of a sudden he saw no solution other than to drop to his knees and pray for forgiveness from God.

Doctrine 5 – The Ghost

He fell to his knees and a destructive energy fled him. He was not a boy anymore and was accustomed to this demon flying out of the room and leaving him alone for good. This was no longer the case of what could happen anymore as this destructive enrgy fled him and manifested itself as a form of consequence. Something to replicate and demonstrate the pains he had caused other people. The ghost turned into a bug and crawled into his airvents.

Kristoffen woke up from his bed in a shiver. He was cold and was in disbelief that what he had just experienced could simply be a nightmare. He felt a swirling whirlwind energy and saw pink colors whirling around the room. He could not tell if the force was sinister or positive, and all he could hear were tiny giggles that he could not make out as malevolent or benevolent. He heard a deliberation in his head, and he doubted that these voices were actually real. The voices encouraged him and some of them were not proud of him at all. They said things in his favor and then they said things that were skeptical of him. He glanced at the air vent with curiosity and looked confused at what he was looking at.

He heard a scurry in the airvent and knew that he was in for a psychological ride. He imagined a golem like figure in the air vent and wondered if there was some kind of mutated creature in the air vent itself. Something so different from what people were normally accustomed to perceiving that it might shock the tender eye and freak someone out of their very own comfort. He imagined a damaged skeleton of a former king who corrupted his own power, and he also imagined a little girl who was mostly an insectoid. He felt obligated in some way or another to put himself to the test as a care taker and overcome his cowardice as a stubborn over compensating machochismo douchebag. He unscrewed the airvent and looked inside to see if there was anything in there.

He saw nothing, but felt a presence nonetheless. He heard whispering and chattering and wondered if there was some kind of neglected treasure he was living with in some way or another. He thought of some of the fiction that he had read, and questioned himself as a disbeliever. Maybe he was not as imaginative as he thought and the truth lay before him and surround him as real living creatures. He gulped his doubt went to the refrigerator and put a piece of lunch meat at the airvent out of consideration for a possibly neglected and small creature living in his home. He then put a piece of paper cut out as a raven in order to show the creature that he imagined that people are able to respect and replicate lifeforms. He wanted to show this creature compassion.

He imagined this creature as a woman, and he imagined her with a male counterpart that she worshipped and took as her king. It did not matter that both of the creatures were smaller than each other when he was around. He now knew that this visual dance being played before him was a symbol of his unfaithfulness and that he was an adulterer. He simply could not overpower their true love. Even though he thought and felt of himself as worthy of being the queens main caretaker. There was always her rightful king to come along and give ehre love that no one else could really show. He was overwhelmed at himself and felt an ice cold shock penetrate his very soul. He laid himself down once more and waited for more ethereal visuals. A headache burst through his forehead, and he began to cry out of sorrow.

He was sick with emptiness and guilt. He imagined himself an innafectionate coward running from the truth. He imagined the one that he loved as someone who did not respect the way that he deprived himself. He looked out the window and the sun shined brightly through the panes with a warm gentle grow and a reminder of a new tomorrow. He felt that warmth as love, but could not find himself to embrace It in the way that he wanted because his soul was filled with tears. He no longer thought of himself as evil, but now was completely aware and massively depressed that he had in fact done something wrong. He felt a warm god like voice come over him and say with confidence “don’t worry Kristoffen” this will all be over soon.

He was sad and clearly was reminded of whom he perceived his own queen to be. He questioned whether there was someone special to be inherited that could be placed as a special one to be put over everyone else as a lover. He doubted that this was real, and that soul mates were a lie. He looked into the warm light that was shining through his window and winced. He remembered other people shutting down and suspected that they were going through the same kind of doubt. This kind of solidarity made what he was going through even harder. He wondered if the one he used to love thought of him as over controlling and evil. Or maybe his head was just in the wrong place and there was someone he overlooked that he never paid the right kind of attention to. He winced and shed a tear. He was incapacitated with sorrow. He rolled over on his blankets and went to sleep.

He dreamt of images of lovers and wondered if he was even supposed to know whether these people were together or not ever. He thought of himself as intrusive and invasive for being nosey and this made him feel even worse. He felt that warm presence was gone, and that he was back to the experience that could possibly set things straight for him. He knew this was going to be a long process. He did not know how long, but he Kristoffen knew he had to muster up the courage to be brave and face his mistakes.

Kristoffen felt like an estranged polygamist who blindly walked in and signed up for something that he never wanted to create. He was being extremely hard on himself. He felt empty because he lost faith that that represented moral character in any kind of way. He got up and walked to the fridge. Today he was going to move a bit slower. He remembered that that was advice that had been given to him to slow down.

Doctrine 6 - Shindigs

The First Domino

The long engagements of cinematic erections are the dolstoy proven Tolstoy. Chaikowsky is nude and not a mood. He was alone on the deck. The Mediterranean vines absorbed his mind, and the honey well of minerals in the ecosystem didn’t need analyzing. The shine was pure bliss he accidentally kicked over a beer and wrote on his paper. The dimensions of the floor tiles were innovatively assembled as a smoldering sculpture to walk on. The stars represented time and reflected positive achievement. The silence had just made a mountain out of the littlest resonances taken for granted.

The blue car started to drive into his driveway, and the colors and machinery of the vehicle seemed absurd. In shock he ran to inspect the car closely. A man in a suit got out of the car, and walked assertively to the house and the sidewalk was ignored by his mission, and the urgency of what he had to do.

“Honey I don’t know everything, but I know that I am in love with you.” A dream was moving closer to Harry. One that he hoped for forever, and wished this wonderful cheerful moment would last as his heart could take it. It wasn’t just about the hedonistic glory. It was the effort and the beauty of him and the others. His family was so relaxed and he could never see them disappointed again. The most blessed thing was that there was another window of opportunity just ahead of him. His approaching toward that window was coming along beautifully. He sensed no stagnancy, and was sure the disturbance could be resolved.

Sometimes people discourage others for no reason. They gloat with agony and we mistake it for passion. We forget, we forget, we love, and then we receive. The dream job was finally here. His wife danced in front of him with an exotic, indigenous sway. Indications of assignment evaporated as his heart thumped with an electric shock of doom.

Tim followed the men from the car with the strange machine on it’s top. The car seemed like a distorted illusion and the men’s faces looked like rorshark sketches of a stirring sinister and accidentally intrusive nature. He wondered if he was looking down on someone that clearly had more lessons and experience than him. Tim as young as he was, was aware of this arrogance. His father Harry’s ethics instilled curiosity and acceptance rather than judgment and spiritual malpractice.

The First Domino

By: Matthew C Wattles

Harry was helping his youngest daughter learn how to swim in the hot tub. The porch of theirs was broad with sunlight and a honeysuckle that wrapped all around the fence made of Wattle and Reed. They had a sundial that could tell them when to take out the plants, they had a cooled porch that could host plants in the shade so that they wouldn’t torch out and just incinerate or dry up. Jaqueline or Jak was the only daughter in the Chaikowsky family. She had blonde curly hair and athletics thighs and shoulders. She was predicted to grow even more and at her age was already becoming the strong one amongst the other girls, and even around some of the boys. Not just at school, but all the time. Sometimes people would ask Harry how he felt about raising a daughter with such fast growth rate. He would answer in different ways.

Sometimes he would say. “It’s just another example of genetics looking like carbon copies.” Other times he would bring the answer to complicate his youngest. “I think it has something to do with her productivity and effort.” When he did this is was common for her to receive praise. This kind of occurrence would happen frequently. The compliments just kept coming and coming. The Chaikowsky’s were blessed with a wonderful daughter.

He was tall and slim. He had certain features that were larger than others making it seem like half of him had grown more than the other half, no matter how symmetrically he trained his body it seemed there was always a pectoral here or a calf there that might have been a bit lopsided in comparison to the other. He tried nutrients, creatine, proteins, and different physical practices, but it all remained the same. When someone teased or observed Tim could explain in different ways. He was a lot like Harry in this aspect, bright and full of answers. Tim respected the person who observed instead of teased. Tim was tall and somewhat handsome so it seemed as if he was someone who would reject teasing, but needed it to calm down. His dad Harry was quite the same way with a bravado and confidence that could sneakily get out of hand in a way that could cause some problems around some of the others. Some of the others who wanted to be in the center of attention, who wanted to lead the way. Things like this meant something in Harry’s family.

Tim was wearing a dark blue jean jacket that he wore more as a shield or armor, sometimes he would do the same with flannel. He had sideburns that extended to his jaw. He had a stare that was steely sometimes, but mostly he was conveying emotions with his hazel eyes. Tim was cherished for his strength and loyalty as a friend. He was able to hide it, but he was not modest and he loved the way people he loved admired him. He viewed what he had as a responsibility of a unique type and was able to bring out that discipline as a mentor and peer to others. Tim loved to read and write. He was diligent with his assignment and was ready to become a journalist which was the family’s most consistent yet infrequently seized occupation; they had writers and journalism major all throughout the family, scattered published articles here and there, but no real prolific notoriety.

Tim made no secret of his perception of a vacancy in this topic. He was able to make it sound like a crisis at the dinner table. In which he would explain the failures of this generational profession. Then Harry would sweetly and hilariously turn his head to him and say. “Really?” Today Tim was learning how to shadow police officers in a route. His good friend and supervisor Kevin was his instructor. Kevin was a youthful looking man in his 40’s. He was popular and personable. He was showing Tim the fastest way to get through the city in order to be a first responder. Tim had no idea why, but he was going along with the ride. Kevin had some gadgets that he also was showing Tim how to use. One of them was a remote control for a drone model that could fly into the air and be used for filming, inspection, and investigation.

They rode together for a few hours in Kevin’s big blue dodge truck. They were observing things that needed to be repaired, and places under construction and development that might need their latest product to use a device for progress reports. They were on to something that they both thought was clever. They were working on an application to one of the world’s largest science foundations. He kept flipping through the rorshark images and looking back at Kevin who was driving them through the city with a casually focused direction at this point. This time around he was starting to notice some things in each of the different rorsharks.

Tim had been attentive to every word that Kevin had been saying, but was now starting to stupor away from that sharp focus. Kevin was explaining something about drones and the concepts and vocabulary needed for assembling the project equipment. All Tim could hear was a fading mute. He held the rorshark in his hand and it started to feel extremely hot. Tim felt a room temperature warm piece of paper turn into a piping hot piece of steel that could induce and incinerating burn and an angry flare of redness, pain, and fire entered his mind. He remembered the conversation that he had with his therapist appointment which she asked him about how he interpreted each one of the rorsharks.

She used to ask him about each design, and sometimes he would say. “I see a painting about foresight.” Tim glared at her, testing her seriousness and perspective about such a subject “I see a lot of conflict, and I see people trying to hold onto their power.” She asked him the meaning or definition of power in that instance. He replied with a distinction “I am talking about ownership of businesses, money, and status. Being used as proof of power rather than people pushing for a new kind of efficiency, and treating others as equally capable of progression.”.

He would go on to ask “Why do psychologists always in the end have to reject thoughts about having special powers? Would it really be that bad if somebody psychic ended up developing telekinesis or could harness energy in some kind of useful way? Like teleport, vanish himself, or something like that.” “I mean would telepathy really be that scary after all?”

She would write some things down and answer the questions to the best of her ability. She knew that Tim was not a commonly aggressive person, and she was old and wise enough to know to respect men and the way that they think as a man would do for a women. There was sometimes a back and forth tension between them, which is why Tim sometimes wanted to switch doctors. He sometimes viewed her as more of a partner or lover. He wondered why she always kept her head in the clipboard and thought that she was afraid to talk to him on a fundamental level.

However; she was able to redeem herself with him and after all he was her patient. He imagined that she could redeem herself in any situation. She ushered him a new rorshark card and asked. “What do you think of this?” “Chaos.” Tim replied. He was now becoming ready for something new and was thinking of the validity of this entire process. She asked him to explain what that word means to him and said “binary opposites and the conscious inclination to have group affiliations, but also the space desired for privacy….”. Tim remembered the first time that he became manic in front of his therapist and how they had to call an emergency hotline on him. How devastated and overwhelmed his mother was when she saw the look of helplessness on her son’s face after he had to be restrained by some of the practioners.

“Just keep a cool head.” Kevin said to Tim. As Tim looked over to his new supervisor. Tim reluctantly agreed and felt bad that he slipped out of conversation from the ride they were on entirely. It was like the effect of the research that he was hearing about activated his mind in a way that put him in a trance to recollect certain memories. He found these complex thoughts of science and research motivating in a way that could be psychologically healthy or effective for a new stage of productivity in life. They discussed some of the phases of their business plan and company objectives, and Kevin sighed at the amount of work that he knew was to come. “Alright, I am taking you home.” Kevin said. They pulled back up through the driveway to the house of the Chaikowsky’s.

Harry was with his wife of thirty five years. Her name was Ellen. They were sitting on either side of a stone table. There were potted flowers and vines in the pergola like gazeebo hosting environment. She was looking at him in the eye with her sunglasses on. She was making a kiss face with her lips for him with her hands folded below her chin. There was a sense of peace and purgatory in the air that had the both of them feeling serene and excited from what was going on with their family. The opportunity, the harmonious conversations, and the extra money to build something for the back yard. There was bliss and love, then there were jobs and duties, but now there was a sense of reliance and unity. The future was possible and the present was magnificent.

Ellen was a diamond, she was dense and beautiful. She was beautiful and rare, but inspiring because of her will and courage. It was her strength and stamina that above all were heroic and inspiring features that made her a leader of women and a great mother to her daughter and sons. She sheltered Tim sometimes in ways that were used against him by his peers. She was the kind of bright and wise person who knew deep down that in time this would be a strength improving kind of thing. Ellen believed in the endurance of her son, and his resilience. She was especially fond of Harry’s ability to train him with gentleness and patience in martial arts practices.

Harry gave leniency and liberty to his two youngest children. He configured that this methodology could install a sense of freedom and a mission for trust. Ultimately for both Ellen and Harry sometimes it was difficult to determine a perfect way or a perfect path for their kids. Only time would tell, and they always feared asking themselves the question of where they went wrong in raising three. There was a long term plan, and it very well seemed that school was going to be mandatory at the very least. If ambitions led to something else it was up to their own aptitude and decision making abilities. “No judgement, it’s simply their job at that point.” Harry would explain to some of the other mothers and fathers when they cared to discuss and share their experiences.

Jak and Jim were often inseparable. Jak was barely older than Jim, but it seemed that they both had a good deal of potential and imagination that helped them enjoy their lives. They liked to play in the sand, swim, and run together. They were able to finish projects together and they had all too rarely been noted as one of those pairs that might need incremental separating. Ellen was well aware of this and put the idea of a therapist to the test. She also had Tim go first and was surprised to see that she gave him a rorshark test considering that she found that to be a dated practice. Ellen openly admitted that she wondered all the time what exact practices were being used in therapy with Tim. She hated that he felt like a demo or a jumps start for parenting. Tim was becoming increasingly popular with girls and young women his age so it didn’t seem to matter. It was unclear whether that kind of attention was going to be a good substitute for him or cause logn term problems. Ellen wondered what it was like for her oldest son to grow up with so many analysts around. She notices that Jak and Jim seemed to be dealing with less scrutiny, but Ellen knew time had a way of smoothing things out.

She and Harry continued to speak with each other, flirt, and conversate about priorities and the family agenda. Harry flipped through the paperwork in between them. Sometimes it was in disarray and other times it was neat and tidy in a single folder. They discussed plans and travels for themselves, the kid’s education, and the future of where they wanted to be. Occasionally there was a faint neurosis that there was a better way and plan out there that they could never had because of how hard it was to communicate these kinds of things to people outside of the classification of family. They decided not to worry about something like that and that is when Kevin pulled up with Tim who was in a fury.

They both looked over in what seemed like horror and amazement. The look on Ellen and Harry’s faces did not seem to help at all and even made Tim angrier. Kevin seemed shocked as well and was casually explaining something to Ellen who was already being apologetic. “I saw that his blood pressure was started to rise, and I didn’t know it would get this bad.” He looked at Tim with an assertive stare that he swore he saw Tim crack a disturbing grin at before Tim ran through everything that was nothing shy of a utopian palace. He came out like a bulldozer with turbo on fire with no brakes. It was right as a ceremony of friends and allies were gathered together as some kind of town like reunion.

They had things to say and places to be that frustrated him. He knew that these procedures were going to take time and that meant something to him. Something that caused him pain because he knew there were going to be heartbreaks between lovers, divorces in marriages, he didn’t know why some of the others seemed unphased. At least he perceived it that way. He then thought of the differences and hoped that this kind of isolated analysis could be discussed and organized in a way to reduce as much suffering as possible. He looked around and saw a different kind of function and felt it impossible to grasp and put his hands on anything or anyone that could give him complete control. This energy this bottled rage was an expression of helplessness and fury toward the reality and fact that that was in some way true.

Kevin blinked a few times as he saw that Tim was making it to where he needed to be. He was proud of his new asset and was aware of an issue in Tim. He couldn’t determine whether Tim had done something unethical or if he just simply had an emotional reaction to the intensity of what adults call normal stimulation around him. Sometimes sadly he thought that Tim had been stolen from and that he felt very defeated by this kind of hustling thievery. He thought he might be intimidated by the extravagance of his family’s home, and that it was starting to set in on him the realness of their pioneering achievements.

Tim was now wrestling with his dad, and he continuously was yelling at the people around him. It was sad for the people around him, but it was mostly sad to Tim. Tim was unable to understand why he was breaking down in such a way. He yelled at the county commissioner, screamed at the head of public safety, and threw a fist and a slap at a couple of his peers sitting down at the table. Some of the ones he was talking to understood and noded in understanding, some of them left the arrangement in disappointment. His intimate family growing increasingly frustrated became upset with him. There was one person out of the whole group family, friends, and community alike who saw exactly what Tim was going through. Usually the stong and unbreakably patient type was now expressing his rage and nobody really seemed to know why. It was his therapist, and she saw a hole. She saw a hole made of fury, pain, and frustration of a unique and long term kind.

She knew some things about possession and hauntings, but if there was one thing that drew her to counseling more than anything else. It was her ability to notice emotions and energies in ways that people were often unable to recognize about themselves. It was the fact that Tim felt like he had a pressure on him heavier than anyone else in the room at all times. It was her gift, and a controversial gift it was to see that emotional chaos in plain visceral sight. She could see the hole inside of him, she could notice the colors of the feelings that he was never in a position to admit or express. She watched as Tim fought several people whom he should have been delighted to meet. She chuckled at the fact that she knew this would be an easy task to cure him of his foolery. She thought that this might be a healthy exercise for Tim, but then was

The New Moon

“I will give you a moon, and you may do whatever you like with this moon” – Said the Dragon.

Lucius Clay took time to accept the offer. He asked his heart, and his heart said resist the temptation. He asked his spirit and it spoke of uncertainty. Then he envisioned the opportunity and examined the potential with his mind. Pictures of the moon in full were intimidating and exciting. It was an opportunity as well as an enormous responsibility. The idea of a more perfect, healthier, and beautiful civilization was something Lucius knew as eminent, but was unconfident that he could fulfill this responsibility. Lucius Clay refused the offer.

“I do not wish to have a moon” Lucius said to the Dragon.

The Dragon did not retract the image from Lucius, and for a moment Lucius thought that the image of the moon grew larger. “Instead I would like to fulfill my desire….or uh…potential to be the best that I can be with what I currently have, and where I am currently at.”

The Dragon paused for a moment and said. “Very well, this moon is now yours.”

Lucius Clay held back a tantrum of terror and panic and yelled “No! This is not what I want!”

“Your thoughts are loud Lucius Clay. You have bravery and a certainty within you. There is a logic and excellence to the things that you do. This is something that your peers do not have in the way that you do. I cannot put them to this test because they are not going to pass it. I have examined what would happen, and I have even given some of them a shot at this mission. As I predicted they did not pass. You are the only remaining option and there are no other candidates.” The Dragon Explained.

The Dragon was changing colors and had mostly gold and red around him. It was a psychedelic and transitioning thing to stare at. It felt like something of such importance that even thinking about a decision around the dragon mattered toward the outcome of the entire conversation. The kind of force of nature that could make a spectator feel transparent and even hollow, but something that you wanted to make the right move around. Lucius was very good under pressure, and sensed that this may have something to do with why The Dragon chose him.

He was physically talented and could think sharply and his responses were often very stable and certain. The kind of nervous system that knew how to fly, the kind of emotional type that did not want to fight, but could do that as well. He had a reputation for being assertive and while he was not buried in assignments from the institution of workplace conformity and responsibility, academia, community service and volunteering he was planning to do something creative and abstract with his life and the people around him. Lucius was the epitome of someone with an obligatory moral intent. He was sometimes overconfident or perhaps self neglecting in a sense that he always thought he was brave and capable enough to help even some of the nastiest peers he had met throughout his life, career, and rather extensive journeys as an investigative and creative traveler.

“I see what you are saying. I must have you know that I am very busy, and I do not see myself having the time to take care of something like this.” Lucius spoke and thought for a second. “However; I have never seen a Dragon in my fucking life, and I am not one to turn down such an ambitious challenge. Also the way you sell it is just so flattering.” “This sounds like an offer that I will accept, under the consideration that I will return back to my normal life at some point.”

“Hmmmm.” went The Dragon’s grumbly and surprisingly lofty baritone voice.

“ This moon is now yours.” the Dragon said.

Lucius found himself in a grey and black wormhole traveling at what he perceived as light speed. He had always imagined this being a very intense and harsh ride through the vacuums and dimensions of time and space. He had heard from his physics teacher that these were supposed to be very harsh and unpleasant experiences. Much to his surprise the traveling was all around gorgeous and tingled him with a resonance that he could not tell if it was vibrations from sound or acceleration. Either way this was a nice ride, stimulating to the senses and full of a feeling that could only mean fresh air. The oxygen was much fresher than that of the Earth. He inhaled deeply and could not complain. After all he was getting a fresh start.

Suddenly there was a buckle and he realized that he should have braced himself. Lucius lashed himself with a masochistic discipline. The memories of destructive antics bore a burden of hierarchical displeasure. The anger that rose out of him was derived in fear of failure, and the nerves shook his consciousness like a boat on rocking swells. His neck was buried in his pectoral and he was not able to lift his head. He was being held down by the centrifugal force of a massive speed that he was not warned about from The Dragon.

He anxiously stumbled along the ground regained his balance and bravely walked to the cliff of his new moon. The view from this cliff could see mile of land that needed cultivation, invention, and civilization. He could see bare rocky lands stretching miles, and a horizon filled with colorful energies, stars, and celestial beauty.

“Well if I own a moon now then I will rise to the challenge of making it a habitable, healthy, and wonderful place.” Lucius yelled with an optimistic passion that blistered doubt as if it were a solid rock being blown apart by dynamite. “Our population will make these hard rocks green, and our ecosystem will flourish as an emerald in the galaxy.” He yelled this very loudly even though he knew no one could hear. Even though he knew no one had inhabited this land before him. He yelled with such pride and confidence that the air began to become denser. The mountains grew a little bit higher, the waters ran a little bit faster and the currents were a bit louder like rapids with rushing sounds at a constant and cooling temperatures emitting off of them.

In an instance of excitement a hawk flew to the ledge of the cliff. His beak was crescent like a scythe of wisdom. In a perceptive moment filled with hope, doubt, and glory Lucius turned to the hawk and anticipated a challenge.

“I see you own it now, but you are obviously insular. Your eyes have red balls of fury in them. Your mind is softened by a spoiled culture.” - Said the Hawk.

“You cannot read my heart.” – spoke Lucius.

“That is because it is yours.” The hawk replied.

“Do you know my intentions?” – Lucius asked

“Your intentions are to take credit, and leave other cultures as inferior. You will build and you will owe credit and retribution for our perfect ecosystem. – The Hawk replied.

The Hawks brazen wing shielded his face for a split moment and Lucius was quick enough to check on his comrades’ sullen, but swift movement.

“You see, you are here, but you do not understand. You are ignorant and you know it. However; are you capable?”

Lucius thought for a moment. He took all his fears and doubts into consideration. Then he flashed his courageous pride. Lucius’s protruded chest showed a might within his brawn, the Hawk was impressed by his immunity to skepticism.

“Alright then, we will put you to the test.” – The Hawk challenged.

The Hawk swirved away like a curving shadow in time. Lucius was left alone and felt with a harsh sense of surrealness that entertained his very senses down to the color and vibrations that he perceived as his own personal reality. He looked over the mountains and expected to see the dragon in the sky granting him another wish. He was dazzled by the soft impression that the sky was touching him with. He felt like a whole sense of gravity was just a belly that simply is him. He looked at the sky and watched the twinkles of the stars. They seemed orderly and consistent as he watched them spread as if they were sorted in some kind of blanketed pattern of fairness and they seemed like a single constellation. He felt protected by this orderly structure of celestial togetherness. He imagined a dome of lights flickering and flashing on some kind of stage right before his very feet. It was that kind of thought that could bring him back to his personal motion.

He looked within his heart and searched for some sense of control. He knew he had a responsibility to cultivate, and he wondered what the Hawk was pointing out to him. He imagined a tribe of hawks or maybe people that were doing something, and surely he felt a great sense of hope in the fact that he was not truly alone. He was thankful and excited that there might be a great group of people to help him with such a huge mission. He was glad that the Hawk made him aware, and thought there was specialness to him. He hoped that they would get along and everything would be okay for him.

Lucius had sweet and attractive features. He was the kind of physical talent that could grow in size and strength through very little work. He remembered back home and felt himself developing an interesting new strength that he was very excited about utilizing. He was all of a sudden confident in a way that he never really felt before, but it was warm and exciting to understand this new kind of functioning. The way his legs now moved were a bit more sturdy, and he chuckled at his own amusement in a way that he never imagined was right within him all along. He was less hesitant and was relieved to find that that word was not in his vocabulary quite as much as it was previously. His brow sharpened and he glared into the distant and saw this yellow, and green, and blue horizon that now all of a sudden wanted him every bit as much as he always wanted it. He poked his staff into the ground and HUMPH! He felt that the sounds that he made might matter and might cause some kind of frequency or ripple effect that he could communicate with the land in a way that would be useful to cultivating, creating, and harvesting this beautiful and colorful moon into the planet of his dreams.

He walked and it felt as if he was deciding what he was wearing. He was in a Greco roman robe and sandals. He liked this as after all he was the tiller of the land, the Shepard, and the prophet. He was pretty much the (he decided to go ahead and shout it as loud as possible.) Lucius screamed with hope and freedom and glee. “I’m The King of The World!!!!.”. The newfound vibrations and resonances gleamed off of his chest like gold necklaces and pearls. Orbs were around his mind as he imagined they would be when he finally became this way. He looked into the sky and saw an eclipse. The eclipse was very still and his eyes adjusted perfectly to it at first, and he instantaneously remembered that his eyes needed to calibrate and adjust to avoid harm to his pupils, iris, and retinas. He shook his head and his long golden hair blew in the wind and seemed to create its own breeze as his locks swayed back and forth. His freedom, his confidence, and a protective moon with a beautiful shielding, dark shadow on it was a great start to this amazing and creative adventure.

He walked and hustled around for a bit, seeing the vitamins in the soil, and watching seed around his feet planting and falling around his sandals, burying themselves supernaturally and naturally all at the same moment in time of every pace. The happy chemicals in his brain dripped imaginatively into the solid like water droplets, he was doing such a great job and felt so free and happy that he could make such an awesome mission real and full. He ran on top of a mountain that was very tall and at first he thought it was a simple plateau. He reached the top with some kind of ease, and looked in the distance over miles of land. Water, vines, jungles, and waters were all silently nestling and rustling with each other in a soft and massive breeze.

He could see very far and he looked very far over the jungle and saw smoke. He created the smoke he thought. He pounded his staff into the ground and all of sudden it took him well into the air. His leafy and hard staff felt firm in his hands and it made him wise and strong like a wizard with masterful and lucrative essences. It extended itself and brought a jolly Lucius along with its lengthening bean stalk like extension. Curving over the mountain range. Stars were around him, gleaming, and shining he examined the stars around him and made sure they looked perfect and pleasing to the eyes of the people he would create to admire them. He quickly soared over them and blew them kisses and slapped some of them around encouragingly. He floated and glided through the cloud and met what seemed like a mountain in the sky. This was a unexpected and grandiose scene to him. Something gargantuan that wants attention. The gigantic shadowy entity was clearly a massive lifeform of some kind, they were being pulled into together with mutual gravity. The shadowy figure grew larger and larger knew how to draw Lucius in with magnetic pull. It looked like the huge shadow was trying to rear its head in some kind as some kind of monstrous body. He knew what was going on now. He realized that what he was approaching, he wanted to mold, shape and morph, something that wanted to be changed by him. Where he suspected he would see the dragon that granted him this very moon.

The sky was bright blue and he liked that there was a transparency to the exhibit morphing in front. It was a behemoth sight to behold. He realized in that moment the dragon was not here at all, and he was creating the sky himself. He stopped doubted and landed in something and onto something at the same time. This abstract and flipping behemoth of a object. Has Lucius and thick cohesive feeling about it. It was drawn to him, and he was drawn to it. It became everything he ever wanted, and he was able to dominate it, morph it, it was quite capable of doing things like that to him too. However; he knew he had control. He knew that he felt something for this object as if it were not just an object, but a soft and beautiful sensitive person worth time and touch. He wanted this love to be true and pure in ways that materialized objects from back home could not corrupt, and tempt this lovely beast that he was creating.

The beast was not fanged and it was not ugly. Lucius knew that here he was creating something that was meant to be beautiful, and delicate in ways that his people would love and cherish. This massive satellite was like a rock or piece of charcoal that he wanted to turn into the women of his world. However; his powers were all of sudden being challenged. He was able to dismiss that as an illusion and he created these beautiful women with gorgeous faces. They has beautiful and fit bodies and they were all full of praise for the men. Lucius was certain that they would love them. He thought of different hair colors, different shapes and sizes, some of their eyes were different. However; they were all compassionate in the end. He was sorting through different characteristics and personality typed for them that would be compatible for their husbands and families. Then all of a sudden he sensed a sharp instinct of what felt like a dangerous intrusion on his behalf. He looked through his peripherals and saw the Hawk shaking his head in disappointment. He noticed that the Hawk saw this as immature and he was for a second somewhat frightened at what the Hawk could do. He felt selfish and as if his invincibility that he had been experiencing was wrong and corrupt in a way that was truly disappointing toward him. Before he had time to think of how he could be so selfish. He realized the Hawk was about to set him straight.

The Hawk’s eyes glared into Lucius’s. His beak turned colors and was now a burnt reddened brown. The metamorphosis of the chiseled stone was man becoming a face, a body, a mind, and a tribe. He was full of pain and effort, and there was a sadness in his eyes that flickered only for the wise and considerate. There was a mindfulness in the moth and a brazen strength in the jaw. The face that was once a hawk was not a colony of warriors and killers. They had thought and fought for independence. They knew how to build things, and their strength was best when working together. There was a massive sense of expansion that Lucius struggled to comprehend, but had mastery over. Fear flashed as a single entity and the Man and Lucius were not in a battle.

The first one was not to cry. The man cried first. The second one was to assemble the wagon and the man was a tad bit slower. The third was a series of games that somehow invented themselves, one like chess, one like tic tac toe, and one like rock paper scissors. The first game was quick and the man was beaten badly, the second took longer and was tense for both but the man was beaten again. The third was a battle that took hours, turned into a war. The Man thought he had won, but when he lost he was slapped. That is when the colony of people Lucius created fell from the sky and landed on the ground as villagers. They were prepared at once to defend their women, feed their families, and progress their civilization into a better and more amazing society filled with whatever kind of palace, mosaic, building, castle, tower, moat, river, dam they could imagine.

He was then turned back to his original focus. The beautiful and gorgeous women that he was creating for the men. He was relieved that the Hawk was willing to become a man. He looked at the beast and the women who were becoming beautiful, and conservative with one another. He saw some of their faces respond different ways to different gestures. He felt a sincere want to favor them, and spent some time building a cosmic effort that could give them some kind of magical powers to protect them from the strength of men. He thought that he needed to help them so that when their egos became hurt and their emotions were low that he could give them resources, and techniques to keep them going. He wanted their minds to have special powers that only they could understand, but he feared that they would use them against the men and that it would destroy the people that he loved and wanted to see live a healthy and beautiful life on this new and very special planet that was once a brand new moon.

He saw the Woman and her face was gentle. Sometimes it was pale and delicate, other times it was worn and had a coarseness that said something about suggestion and hope. He showed her the stairs where she would learn to climb and aspire when things were not going her way. She quickly passed the test and he looked down at the men and wondered if they would stand by her side, they did. Lucius made sure of this. He then showed her two roses one beautiful and worth something amazing and rich, the other dark and curious looking with a vine and thorn. It was having trouble blossoming while the other was flourishing, and Lucius watched and smiled as she went first to nurture the one that was struggling to grow. The King of the New Moon then showed her a fountain. As she looked into it she couldn’t tell if it was a well or a fountain or a pond. She walked and peered closer to it. She saw something dazzling and desirable in it. She felt a rush of excitement and pleasure from what she saw after noticing her reflection. Lucius was proud of her for doing so well and excelling, he admired and thought the men would too. Then sadly on this third elaborate and final test the woman fell for this trick. For this vain and deep desire and temptation, and her powers to help The Man were gone. She became vain and conceited and was lost in the fountain as it swallowed her. She was first entertained by herself in a new way, she thought she had some kind of new found power. She thought that it was a great thing to have and that she could change the direction and purpose of the Man with deceit and foolery, betrayal, lies, and cheating. She fell into an orgy of decadence and anger that was resentment toward something that she loved about soul and virtue. Lucius The King of The New Moon uttered a chuckle. He liked that things were starting to take a consciousness of their own, and found the similarity of some of these occurrences to be charming. “Reminds me of back home.” He thought to himself.

He turned his staff to a fishing rod with a ring worth the moon’s most expensive and rare resource and material. He was angry that he had to do this and it installed a voracious type of carnal desire and pleasure in him that the villages and small cities of men below him could feel within their bellies and legs. He cast it deep into the well, hearing moans and smacking of skin against each other. Sensing and smelling a musky perspiration that had vulgar and guilty ooze in it. The woman took the bait and was reeled back to the sky where she was hoisted onto the shoulders of Lucius, and spat out onto a platform of cushions and roses. A highway before her eyes was an escape route that dried and evaporated the wet sin of lust and temptation into a clean and serene sunlight filled with beams and rays of pleasant and innocent artifacts that tell the basic tale of a mundane and moral reality that is the very reason The Woman will always fail the third test. The Woman then dispersed and fell into the civilization below. A new found wisdom was to help the men and women progress as families that could conquer, civilize, and build something in the name of a great vision that was the New Moon.

He looked below and admired his work. He then turned toward the fire that he was chasing and night fell and the stars were out again. That full and warm glow was vibrating and tingling now in a way that he liked. He glided over past the forest and sat right next to the fire that was burning. He noticed a log and a stone adjacent from one another. This was to be expected as he had a burning tendency in his subconscious to see himself long after the early phases of the New Moon. He saw himself with a pain that shook him raw and hurtful like a punctured whale belly bursting with a heart attack made of panic. He then realized a contentment, and how the scars he was seeing on himself were thick and deep. The eyes were lonely in ways that he never imagined he could see in himself. He felt a cold breeze on his back, and saw that there were things that he forgot to install. Elements that he did not take into consideration, and resources that he forgot to give his people. He wondered if the scars from his future self were from a rebellion. He hoped that they were, after all it was man’s job to check the arrogance of an under supplying creator. If he were truly a good King then he would accept that kind of upheaval. He thought that what scared him was not a lack of consideration or creativity, but rather a ruthlessness that made him feel sick and empty. As if somehow he had become the very creation of the Moon itself. As if he held it in his belly in a way that he knew secrets about it that the Men and Women simply could not understand, but rather because he did not care to tell them. He wondered if hiding the truth was out of compassion or the wrong thing to do. He looked at his future self-looking through the top of the flames at him. He thought for a second that he could see him. He felt the evenness of the glare. He had not changed as much as he thought. Maybe he was invisible; maybe he was blind in the future. He sensed seeing himself would alter some things, and he was not wrong.

He saw some shadow like figures in the trees and he sensed the same behind his back. He thought that there might be a family of prophets of some kind in those dark and creepy shadows that were covered In green and thick brushy bushes. He saw one of the shadows eyes and saw himself sitting on the long, and he became scared for himself thinking that his future self was unaware of the shadow creatures lurking behind him in the woods. He then realized and remembered that he felt as if he was dead even with the stare of his future self. He looked back and screamed at the sight of something behind him. He quickly doged and evaded the shadow. He ran from himself in order to alleviate himself from this situation. He wanted to perfect what was going on and go back, but he had no choice but to flee the scene. It was as if he was dragged out while wanting to go back at the very same time. He had no choice and was brought to the high ground away from him. He felt a sense of wanting to look back, but knew he had no choice but to move on and never look back.

A path emerged and he sensed a disease of some kind making its way over the branches. He could see it as a wave of molecules traveling through the air spiraling in unison with a cleaner version of that very toxic substance. It seems as if it was a trail of disease and a force of cleanliness wrapping around itself and giving off various kinds of particles, energies, and vibrations. The naturalness of the stream was questionable, it seemed manufactured as well. He even went so far to think that something like this was ectoplasm or some kind of airbourne virus that could find its way to people. Lucius was drifting in and out of a kind of consciousness he did not expect to feel so early in the phases of developing this New Moon. He realized this was something to do with mortality, death, disease, and destruction. Not only of the self, but of the earth and it’s inhabitants. Things and creatures taking their own form to a new kind of toxic infiltration in which a certain kind of transformation is made that affects the experience of life in only a way that death can understand.

Lucius thought that if things like viruses, toxic chemicals, and disease could occur then he would have to develop and create anecdotes for his people. He would find a way to balance these things with minerals and substances that could hydrate and build flesh, bone, and body happier. He thought of the mind and how he could strengthen it for the Men and Women he needed to take care of. He thought of ways to do this. He started walking down the pathway that had emerged and what he saw was gorgeous, exciting in creative ways, challenging, and encouraging, and intimidating all at the same time. If Lucius Clay was not the King of The New Moon he may very well have had the shakes right then and there. However; he was a brave kind and he moved forth onto the Path of The Creationist he named it The Path of The Journeyman. He sensed that he was not the first King to walk down a path like this, and he sensed that he would not be the last. This was an interesting feeling, and one that he saw was going to motivate him to do the best job he possibly could.

He walked a few paces and discovered a box. The box was hard and dark wood with ivory and metals sealing it’s finished and dense sides and corners. There was a black metal lock on the box and he imagined there being something of value inside. He imagined that there was gold or silver in there along with something that could give him the power to heal. The box was shrouded and partially buried. He tapped the box with his staff and examined what kind of sound it made. All he heard was a clunk and he thought now that the box may very well be empty. He now saw it best to either leave the box there or take it on down the path. He decided to leave it.

He then continued to walk down the path and the trees waved in a sultry and breezy sway in which he could feel and think calmly. There was a steadiness to his pace and he found the walk rather comfortable. He walked feet, then yards, then miles, and more miles until he came across a familiar shrub with a box that was identical to the one farther back. He tapped the box and heard a clunk clunk in a way that was just slightly different than the sound the previous box had made. It was as if there was something a little bit heavier inside the second box. As if the steps that he had taken and the time that it took added something denser to it. Lucius put his hands on the box and looked deeper into it than before. He started to see a rhythm and a riddle in this occurrence. He decided to break the cyclistic attitude, pick up the box and continue down the path.

Inspired by the change as if it were an improvement to hear and feel something bigger and better in this box, he carefully wondered about what opening it would really be like. He loved the idea of there being something that he could help his society with. He thought it would be wonderful if it was something that could transform the things around him for the better. He journeyed forward and a glee took over his spirit and he found a triumphant happiness in the quest that he was on.

The Wayfarer's Incident

Many moons ago back when orbital astronomers used faith, stone, and the naked eye to observe and measure space and the sands of time: there was a Wayfarer. His name was hardly known amongst the civilized colonies not so far from the desert of his calling that he roamed. His mission as a survivor was to push his very pulse to the limits, and his hope as a soul was that he’d reach an answer before the bareness of the hot earth under his feet took his current life capsule away from him. Until then he wandered.

He was an extraordinary man. Though few knew him, they knew they’d never forget him. They were aware of the pains of empathizing with him, and that dense heavy weight that his soul constantly hung. They were aware that despite his tribulation, his love to give was bountiful. The few that knew him hoped the well of care that was his compassion would never run dry. He knew they loved him, his name was Dante.

He breached a new land scape. The hot coasting winds blew dust and sand upon his boots. His hands swayed, and his feet marched along the desert ground. Remnants of memories turned around in his brain like a flipping paradigm prism shining random illuminations in every direction. His synapses fired like cap guns and pistol blanks. He looked at the sun and saw himself from an aerial view yards behind him. He saw himself drop to his knees and throw his arms up in a prayerful despair. He gave up, and that’s when the ray came into him. Like a blazing beam of positive power especially reserved for his existence. The sun shone blazed him, and his life was changed forever.

He saw the other planets and was guided toward the people who could show him the existence of other civilization’s, heroes, and people that lived, thrived, and died before him. He fought with these men for consequence, justice, and reason without a complete certainty that in the end everything would be okay. He admired them for what they do for him, and he admired the development of the self as a real progressive process rather than a futile endeavor. He destroyed himself over women and was dangled and torched by the one’s around him who wanted to be God’s. His name was Hercules.

There was another hero. His feet could leave the ground, his eyes could shoot laser beams and he had X-Ray vision. He was the man of steel, and he was faster than a speeding bullet.

Then there was me. An underwhelming neurotic young man caught up in himself to the point of no return.

“Do you see what I do with it?” “Do you see what I Do With my Earnings?” “Nothing, Zlich, Zip, Zero, Nunca, No mas.” The boy inside was now a phantom a big ugly black shadow full of stink and filth. He had to die, he simply had to. The loathe and shame projected on others when it was truly a guilt of my own. Manifesting itself into a demonic shadow beast that said the most vulgar and ignorant sentences. Then there was a harsh and brutal self-victimization coming in all at once with jagged fangs and mouthy venom hissing, flustering, and spitting through my very own eyes. It was an embodiment of all my old self and I could only take it down with a cross from Christ. The bloody bastard and all his mistakes were looking at me crooked, floating around like some entitled fiend. Coughing little croutons like interdimensional stench bombs and stinking up my apartment more and more by the hour.

What was really embarrassing is that this futile beast had been haunting me for years. Even more shameful he was me. He was hiding saliva in his throat and gums and saying these awful muttering flagrancies of quasi wisdom and suffocating me with semi-educated mantras and sales pitch like a small time con artist with an obliviousness toward his own desperation and failure. He was even disrespectful to women like a fool instead of a man.

Terrified and ashamed I stared him down in complete confidence with a cross inside of me from none other than God. I dropped my pride and imagined that he just needed to be a bit harder on himself, but also to see that we are all tender and loved in the eyes of something useful and great.

Hard work pays off, but I am still a monster sometimes. I used to dismiss it as fantasy and illusion, and then I tried everything I could do to make it real. I walked outside into clear blue skies and a blaring light burst through the clouds and sky into my retinas. Then there was this strange vision and occurrence that just had to be some kind of special knowledge or rare talent. Something that could tests the depth of ability and evolution and become something with imagination and purpose. Something that stirred and motioned for more, an actor of some type trying to wield himself against the mundane in a frenzy of action and archetype. Again and again this phantom monkey man cried in his cave like garage. The backyard’s light still blared and fought it’s way through my iris.

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The Wayfarer Incident

Destination 8 (Rough Draft)

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