I still don’t know….

The father went to the island council, where all of the elders met each season to decide where they should grow which crops, or in what waters the largest fish might be caught, or who may attain the right to marry in that year. The father begged the council, “Please, do not let my child die. We know that the great Domingo will soon arrive. Surely, he will pass us without harm, so long as we do not hook him. There is no wrath he can have against us, for he cannot leave the sea. Let me work thrice as hard, and produce as such, so that our little son may live.”

“Ah,” the eldest of the council said. He spoke in a slow and old voice. “When I was a young man, I gave up my child without argument. For I knew then, as I know now, that it is for the good of the island. Fear not, for you will have a home of your choosing, and fields of your own liking, if only you lose a son.”

The father looked at the ground, and then looked at the council. “We may sit and praise the grape Domingo, but really we are harming our own selves. To become dependent on another for your own source of well-being is to sacrifice your soul. For what may we possibly learn, if we only wait for another to arrive and provide so that we may have it easy?”

“Leave now, you blasphemous fool,” the eldest of the council said. The others joined in chorus, “Leave now. Leave now. Leave now.” They jeered and pointed with spindly fingers.

The father bowed his head and left. He went home and gathered his fishing gear, his rod and his hooks and his weights and his lures. He picked up his little son and carried him out of his crib. He walked to the ocean and sat in the sand.

Soon, the sun had set and the stars had shone and the sun had risen for the new day.

“Today,” the father said, “I will catch the great Domingo.”

I don’t know….

He was a furry dressed in a lion suit with blood on his claws.

“Hey,” Tom said to him. “What’s that blood from?”

“Oh, uh…” Mike starts to say, but interrupts himself with a long scratch of his balls. Blood smears across the crotch of his pants. “That’s, uh…from when I killed a man earlier.” He yawned and sipped a sip of his ale. “I ate him.”

“Oh, cool,” Tom said. He was dressed in a seal suit. A seal whose face was bruised and skin was the color of stone. “I like to eat fish, though.”

Random thoughts, or something

You know, the trippiest thing about building starships is going into the living quarters when you’re done. You see, people who think they may want to live on the starship will come and look at one or two of these apartments, and decide which model they want, get an idea of where in the ship they wanted it located, based on many factors like income, family life, married or single, whether you’re a loner or like to hang out in the town square, all the good stuff.

I see all these places when they are first built; when they are empty. I go through them room by room and look for things like if the curtains are cut too long, or if there are carpet fibers on the toilet seat. I go through them in extreme, exact detail, to ensure that they are all the same.

Here’s the trippy part, imagining all these hundreds of thousands boarding the ship, all of them going to the identical rooms, traveling to the same destination that not one of them will be alive to see. Their great-great-grandchildren will have forgotten the randomness of Earth, and will have been raised with that mindset, that everything is the same.

It makes me think, isn’t humanity just all of one person? Seeding itself throughout the universe? Aren’t we all the same?

This is the kind of crap I write when I can’t write

It’s tearing me up inside!

From inside the man, peeled out of his skin, his heart walks out through his chest. His back is arched. His face gripped with constipation. Red, sweating, dripping down, melting into the floor. His heart walks out and runs to the door, opens it with its tiny hands.

The man opens his mouth to scream, but an arm comes out, a great arm that reaches for the heart. The door is shut now, the heart is gone. The arm leads a shoulder, a body, a head, exiting the man’s mouth.

Gurgle, gurgle, blood and spit, it rises and coughs and looks at the dead man on the floor.

It says, “That is me.” The body on the floor twitches and shakes, dries out, and is all collected from itself into a single dot that disappears into the ground.

The new man stares at this and knows he is witnessing his own death. His heart is gone and the world is gray. He opens the door and walks forth into blinding light, unsure of what is to come.