A dream visited me last night


A dream visited me last night
The houses of my imagination were flying in the tornados of logic committees.
The warm air was filled with grandma’s cardigan sleeve tissues and crumpled wrappers of juicy fruit the taste is going to move you at the speed of light, hand signed Einstein historical chalkboards
Covered in formulae of regrets, and a side note to research the forgotten art of cleaning chalkboard erasers that were potentially filled with thousands of hours of mistakes.

The flamingos momentarily saved me from the anvils of guilt
Because dream logic

A dream came and left me last night
empty coffee mugs, leaky pens, half finished journals next to empty ramen bowls.
The pixies had learned my computer passwords, and ordered self help books on overcoming procrastination, but got the delivery address wrong
I didn’t have enough time to cancel the order, the package was on a priority vector.
I called it a chewing rubber gum match, and the laws of physics were blue pencil edited
Nothing could break, so my heart was weightless and hovering over a fibbonaci spiral gravity well being
the matter was only in time, the space was nothing more than stillness and waiting without moments.

A dream left a to do list for me
I thought that was rather rude, seeing how I had the grill heated up, avacados charred parallel to the juicy steaks, and I even bought the Dreams favorite beer.
I won’t drink that brand
It always left a longing taste for something else on my spirited pallette.
I’m sure that we did talk about this one day off from anxiety and depression for months now, our usual meeting place
at the corner of daydream and wishful thinking.
The Dream put feet up on coffee table, and picked up the latest draft of the nine worlds that live in my imagination, and said, How does it End?

I replied back, Just like the Theater, it’s a mystery, we just have to wait to find out. Besides, Epiphanies are Personal Apocalypsyes
Rude to long term plans, inconsiderate
Both have momentum and tend to cop out with their own justifications.
I can’t just do it like the time travelling Mystery authors back(work)wards from How it was done. It’s really hard to write consensual polyamourous romantic comedies, without writing tragic hetero-mono-chromatic comic cookie cutter characters that don’t communicate.
Which brings us to the source of comedy, is other peoples conflict.
Terror Schadenfraude is so last season and political, it is overdone.
Somewhere, there is a grease fire of procrastination burning, and the guilt is grilling me.
There is no amount of aloe vera cadabra or hello it’s me again to stop writing ideas
Untold stories turning into black charred leaves scattering to the Four winds.
The Dream left me, with a dirty grill and broken empties to clean up.

A Dream sexted me last night, poorly.
Hot breath, and hands that caressed firm and then softly across arched backs and hips, a symphony of pleasure was playing out in the Australian Opera House, because dream logic. Spray painted in glitter gold letters three stories high
ALL OF THIS IS REAL
signed the Dreaming and the Great Outback.
(Not the steakhouse, or a 50’s rock band, because there was more important things held onto a stake tied down to the outbackyard.)
There was a pre-recorded message from a Rainbow Serpent
with directions to You Are Here, This is Now.
But there was no map quest place to go back
To get close to that moment where everyone was singing in the key of O.
I couldn’t sing
Like I said, a dream sexted me last night. Poorly.

I visited a book today, labelled Dream
By my own hand,  the weirding index had chapters
Travel, Write, Laugh, Perform, Lift People Up, Tell Stories.
But today and most days
That book was too heavy to hold, because there are too many other books on top of it
Books labelled Anxiety, Procrastination, Guilt, Unreal Expectation, Perfectionism, Creative Distraction
And a battered, earmarked chapbook titled, ‘It’s really amazing how much wisdom resembles just being too damn tired’.
So I left my personal baggage library, sat outside in the sun, legs crossed, hands on knees, chin up. And tried to still the storms in my mind, ease the spiritual bruises and ache in my heart, step aside from the Dream, and let the tightness out

One breath at a time
And try to get some better sleep

Reflections from the road


What your
vibration
energy
movement
dreams
desires
tone
flow
breath
thoughts
is what the universe will bring into a state inside of you.

Happiness is a state of mind only which you are responsible for.

Therefore

You are responsible for the universe

Scary, right?
But it should be, and because anything that scary, you should focus your attention to it. And do it.

Resistance is selfish
Resistance is not ignorance of the obvious, it’s blind rejection.

Is there a problem with the universe? Or what is inside of you?

But where does it stop? The universe and you?

Before words, there was no difference.

So why let a label get in the way of being more?

So be gentle with yourself, just be. Be gentle enough to let that be brought back to you.

Need more proof?

The one end result of EVERYTHING
that everyone will remember
that everyone will base their own thoughts and opinions of
that one end result is nothing more than
is
the feeling and state that you leave them in

So please, leave everything better than when you found it.

NaNoWriMo 2014 – WINNER! Project : Get It Done… almost complete!


52190 into 3 different zero drafts. These aren’t even first drafts, as I’m still world building as I’m writing.

Project : Spooky, which started 5 years ago. Project : Hero, the unfinished failed 2012 NaNo got its finish. And the newest idea Project : Witchy.

Spooky has a working title, to be revealed if you follow these feeds. And I’m going to rewrite and plan it out, to get it over 50k, for novella size. One Eyed Press is looking for horror submissions, and shorter length novellas. Would be very nice to get paid for the time on this, little quirky idea of ‘Hey, I don’t write horror, this would be a really good challenge’. And some readings, people got genuinely creeped out. So…. I guess it’s working somehow…?

Hero needs the big messy middle done up, as I skipped over Act 4, the big finish is done and I can work backwards now, as one of the three main plotlines is a murder mystery. I’ll be cleaning up all the King City stories on here, and rebuilding the website, in the new year.

And finally Witchy, which came from inspiration of Las Vegas, and all the statues of the gods at Caesars Palace. The story now needs more erotic supernatural scenes, more glitter, more gods, more demi-gods and forces of nature, and more smooching and romanticy angst… and of course, since it is unfinished, Witchy has to get finished. Finish the zero draft, which is over 30k in words that I started around Nov 12th or so. (I’d appreciate a poke from regular readers to see how the status of this is coming along.)

So much for the plan to do the reverse NaNo writing schedule. (http://crazedmom.com/reverse-nanowrimo/) Basically day 1 is the biggest writing day out of all the days, and on the last day you write two words. The End. As there are times, when I could not write every day, and had obligations, there are days that I needed to get away from the keyboard and not think at all about the writing. The rest from the creative. But that article and general philosophy did help, trying to push above that 1667 daily count every time I sat down to dedicate time to write. Every time it was “Write some more. Can’t write on that one draft, skip to another draft, do more on another story. Don’t stop until you can’t write anymore.”

This year seemed a lot easier overall, but getting past that 35k hurdle was the biggest jump. Even harder to get to that point, than the last 15k.

I didn’t think I was going to finish this year.

Even with 3 different distractive drafts to work on.

But.

Throw the characters into peril, and they shine. I found myself stuck once I started removing peril, and allowing them to easily find their way out of situations. If the characters are having picnics and happy shiny times, the reader, and myself as the conduit of these characters, get bored.

But.

Throw a looming deadline and once again, the words begin to flow smoother at the last minute.

It’s not great writing, it’s fluff, it’s crap. It’s junk food entertainment, not deep literature.

But.

It’s better than the writing I didn’t do last year.

#AmWriting

Pearce

King City : Boom – Part Seven


“Stage one of the activation will be throwing these.” Boggart held out the two sugar cubes with dots on them. “This is as close as we can get to actual dice without going through years of enchantments.”

Warren looked to the dice that lay atop his overflowing paperwork. The two sugar cubes sat there. He looked up to Boggart and Slinger.

“You know it’s this weird shit that took me out of the game.” The graying speedster sat back in the tall chair. “I’ve got a business to run. And you want all my runners to roll these across intersections of King City?”

“Sir,” Slinger stood taller. Warren lifted an eyebrow at the title and smirked. “Your work would identify where the next explosion will take place.”

“That true, demon?”

“It is. Sir.” Boggart reported with a dry sense of tone. “With Rory being in a comatose state, it has broken the chain of events. Apparently each bomb was tied into the next. Master Hartlan has broken that chain, and we need to find where the next link points towards it.”

“You know my guys will have to okay them doing this. Some, are none too happy having powers as it is. Doing castings? I don’t know if they’d be up for it.” Warren moved some files out of the way, pulled up his keyboard, picked up the phone. “Janice, I need a weight, come to my office.”

In a blink, a bright white uniform was there, curvy and wasp waisted, “Yo.”

Warren took the two sugar cubes, “These.”

“Done.” She held out a post it note.

“Magic huh?” Warren rolled his head, stretched his arms out, then put his hands to the keyboard. There was a sound of bees in the air, then the printer begain to spit out. “Okay, that’s the number of deliveries and the cost.”

Boggart took the paperwork, lifted a spiney eyebrow, then passed the paper over to Spell Slinger.

“Yeah, the KCPD aren’t going to be happy about that. But at least the environmentalists are going to be okay with not using plastic dice.” Slinger handed it back to Warren. “Fax it over to them, address it to Goodstone.”

“Yeah, they aren’t, but I’m sure the taxpayers will be worse on them, than us.”

Day 2 and 3 of Yoga Challenge


Day 2 and 3 of Yoga – Lessons Learned

Apologies to those who are new to my blog. I write for the ear. I will be recording them at a future date. More for my own practice, and I will be posting them up on Soundcloud. (You’ll be able to find it here, once I get it recorded.)

So I didn’t eat enough or late enough on Friday afternoon, so the Friday night Yoga class was interesting. The foundation series (not Asimov) was challenging, and I was getting a dull throbbing headache. I wondered what it was, then I recognized it from days when I haven’t eaten enough. Low blood sugar. It’s not one of the marketing strategies for yoga to eat healthy. It’s for your own safety! The last thing you want to be doing is passing out or stressing out from hypoglycemic shock. It’s not healthy! So yes, I will have to plan a healthy snack on those days when I will eat after the class in the evening, or in the afternoon and catch a late supper afterwards. Granola comes to mind, I may double up on my time saving egg/bacon breakfast burrito. No reason why I can’t eat that at any point of the day. I missed out on Tree pose, as my heart rate was up and was really dizzy by that point. I’m glad the second half of the class was on the floor.

Also, hydration, hydration, hydration. Tips that I’ve found that work for me so far, try them out for you, and let me know your own.
– Drops of lemon juice in your water, not only will this dechlorinate the water, but will give a little more flavor. So you aren’t just forcing water into your system.
– Coconut water is amazing for hydration after a yoga session, or after a workout. Try and avoid the stuff with sugar and other preservatives.
– Drinking throughout the day helps with energy level. And not just water… Green Tea has been a great refresher and concentrator for me lately.
– Get a huge drinking vessel, make it your own. Right now I have a 64oz coffee to go mug, I fill this with filtered water, and a couple of splashes of Ginger/Lemon juice.

Saturday class at Hot Yoga on 20th was welcome, minus 20 degrees celcius outside, add on a windchill and it feels like minus 37 degrees. But it was plus forty degrees in the studio. Hooray! Stepping in, finding a spot, I found my muscles loosening immediately. Didn’t have enough time to do a good lying still warm up. Still felt a little sore in few spots. Lower back, abs, inner thighs and the perpetual knot in my right shoulder. Got a little bit better rests in between poses, did more diaphragm breathing. That was working a lot better bringing heart rate down too. I’m still finding places of tension in my body, I did have a longer warmup time the other day, that may have also been a factor from the lower blood sugar and dehydration.

Finding my balance is still a bit off, I’m falling out, but it’s getting a little better each day. Surprised myself today as I got into bow pose correctly and didn’t faceplant. Tightness in my calves and feet, I have to shake out the stiffness afterwards.

Today I remembered to eat at the right time and brought my usual bag of stuff. Water bottle for those precious little sips in class, towel for shower afterwards, plastic bag to hold sweaty clothing/yoga towel/shower towel afterwards. I come to class in sweats, then change afterwards, regular clothing. Helps out a little. So when I reached into my bag looking for the coconut water that should be wrapped up in the jeans that I had currently on … I left in the fridge at home. No big loss. But it is another lesson.

And it comes up from something in my RSS subscriptions off of Cool Tools, it’s a survival guide, which I am thinking about purchasing just for research for Seekrit Project writing project.

No matter how much you prepare for a disaster, there might be something else that will be there to mess you up. Survival handbooks will get lost in the case of a disaster. The person with the most survival knowledge skill will get injured or disabled first in case of a disaster.

No how matter how much planning I do, there will problems ahead. And I am the cause and owner of these problems. But I won’t have to dwell on them, or flog myself onto the Guilt Train to Tokyo. (possible spoken word piece there) I’ll just learn, and do better, don’t plan, rehearse and visualize what I need to do. Then Do It. No hesitation, no fear, set aside ego and just flow. There, zen moment for the day. Got a little deep there.

Day 3 Yoga done, Ends on February 10th. 27 more to go. Hooray!

Now I must go back to my writers group, get more of Boom finished, and the NaNoWrimo. But with this blog, I have my 750 words per day done!

I’m still here,
Pearce

Day 3 – 2012


Combination of Downward Dog, sinus infection, and partially digested ramen noodle in chicken broth makes for an interesting burp.

Hi. I’m Pearce Kilgour. Geek, Slim Yogi, Dad, Writer, Participant in the last Great Quaffing, owner and proprietor of the General Office of Consciousness. This is my blog, and from the links above, you can find some of my other ramblings, stories, and soon to come, audio recordings thereof.

I’m easing into daily yoga. Just working with some of the poses as they come to me. Warrior, up cobra, downward dog, low plank, half moon, light stretches, an inverted pigeon pose which really seems to relax my hamstrings. Also just stretching out on the floor, and really giving my lower back a chance to relax seems to help. I do yoga today, so I can do yoga tomorrow. I’m looking forward to starting the 30 Classes in 30 Days challenge at Hot Yoga on 20th.

The sinus infection probably comes from the colder weather last week and foolishly I did not cover my forehead or wear my scarf to keep my nose warm. Now, it’s time again for another form of yoga – Neti Pot.  I’ve got my hands on some really good sea salt, no additives, no iodine, no caking agents. Just straight salt. From various sources on the net, it seems that the best combination, depending on the pH of the water, is 1 part Sea Salt to 1 part Baking Soda. I went with half part baking soda, and I can’t tell the difference between the Neti pot ‘buy our brand’ and the combination that I made. (Besides the monetary difference.) For those of you who ever had sinus problems and wanted to get a cranial plumber to just ‘get in there and drill the pressure out’, I do recommend getting over squeamish feelings and try it out. I hated it the first week I did it. But my previous sinus infections have been quite shorter and symptoms have been reduced without the help of over the counter drugs. More info on Nasal Irrigation here! And it is a form of yoga, Jali Neti. That’s right, from a country that has so many people and allergens in the air, it’s no wonder they came up with a method to clean the inside of your nose. What next? A method to clean the inside of your mouth, or teeth? CRAZY!

Also came to the realization that the purer the substance, the harder it is to get hands on it. With every step on the way that adds something to it, also pays that step along the way. The small exploitation of  labour at every transaction, cut the pureness out, and take some on the way. In the end, isn’t the cheapest thing the one with the most filler?

Also back onto the vitamin regimen after the usual New Years feasting has been completed. The usual Christmas Taco, Bacon wrapped Jalapeno’s, Prime Rib (twice), Yorkshire Pudding (once, unfortunately) and Tortierre was distributed across many days. Feeling a little ick across the chest, cholesterol is probably to blame on this again, so time to hit the leafy greens and vitamins. I’ve also been drinking ginger juice, made by a local, and increasing my water intake. As well as consuming green tea whenever I can. And it popped into my head today, Holy Basil. I can’t remember which podcast I was listening to, but I seemed to recall one of the guests was explaining when they take Holy Basil extracts, their synchronicity seems to occur hardcore. The main effect is less stress, so this is something I’m going to try out as well. If I can flow more with my surroundings, the less stress I will have overall. Trust me, I won’t be going completely all leafy greens, if I don’t get my meaty proteins in, I get grumpy.

Took some time to go over some business plans, adding more ideas and sources that I have to research out. Compiling this information will take some time, but once it is together, I will know it inside and out. Just a matter of getting it done.

Also took some time to go over my NaNoWriMo effort, still sitting at 22k, and I know it’s well past the November 30th deadline, but I will finish the stories off. It isn’t good enough for print material, maybe e-book, but it is still a first draft, and I know I can do better. Although, I don’t think the ending has ever been done in major comic book history. Must visit the library. Weekly.

This is not a new years resolution promise, this is me drawing a mark on the trail. Blazing that path. How else can I see where I came from?

That, and I got my 750 words for today done. How you like me now?!

I’m still here,
Pearce

Tales of King City : Boom


“Would you look at that. There is a code for spontaneous entropic mass evaporation and/or intropic mass implosion.” Detective Goodstone blinked then marked the code down on a sticky note.

Detective Ferrero chuckled as he looked up from his underwood typewriter. “Seriously, you didn’t know that one?”

“The code for ‘It just blew up’? Or ‘It just disappeared’?” Goodstone pulled a flat mass of etched brass from the inside of his coat pocket. “Thankfully I did not. In this town, you’d think that would be one of them.”

“It just blew up?” A cute elfin smile leaned over into the aisle. Goodstone recognized the tone of her voice. This week, her hair was aquamarine.

“Vegas. Yeah, It just blew up. This time, the previous times it disappeared. A whole warehouse back on Tuesday.”

She blinked twice, “Wait, then there were two other places late last week. Had info trickle down my network. One was a sub-division that was new outside of town…”

“That’s the one. What do you know?”

She held up her hands, and the shiny handcuffs. “I know that this is an injust-”

“Three hundred and fourty four separate traffic violations, six ignored court summons and I believe one bail violated.” Detective Fererro recalled back. “Hence why I’ve got another 3 hours of paperwork before you can actually sign something.”

“My lawyer will clear this up. Judge Castle is back-”

“In Nantucket.” Goodstone interrupted her. “He’s kicking off a speaking tour for the Judicial system. What it’s like to Judge in a city with Gods/Aliens/Super Villains and still maintain an active sex life in your sixties.”

Vegas blinked at the new information, holding up the handcuffs. “Well, I didn’t know that. I’m a little cut off from my network.”

Ferrerro leaned over and looked to Goodstone. “It’s not going to help her.”

“Not this time.”

“Come on guys. Cut me a break.”

Ferrero looked to her, slid his fedora back a little, and then steepled his hands, pursing his lips. “I can’t do a thing. As the arresting officer.”

“Goodstone, buddy. Help me out here.”

“Well, right now an additional charge of withholding information on an active investigation is pending. But I can give Judge Rogers a good word on how cooperative you were at your hearing. Say Fererro, doesn’t he volunteer time to the Orphans of Another World?”

“I heard that.”

“Yeah, it would be really good if a benefactor would just drop a big donation into their lap. Hypothetically the money could come from… I don’t know. Maybe from proceeds of quasi-legal gambling on sports events. I’m quite sure that I could mention it to Judge Rogers.” Goodstone leaned back in his own chair, put his feet up on his desk, placing his hands across his chest. “Oh well, nice thought. All hypothetical too. I’ve got blowing up buildings with no trace, and you’ve got two hundred and ninety seven forms to get through.”

Vegas looked between the two detectives, in disgust, in amazement, and finally in resignation. “Haven’t you heard of photocopiers?”

“Sorry Vegas, technology barrier. It fritzes out when I come close to it. It’s as close as I’ve ever got to being an actual registered Power.” Ferrero pulled out another sheet of carbon paper. “But you know what that’s like.”

“Killing me here.” Vegas muttered under her breath. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Get me two solid leads in the next 24 hours, make that donation, and I’ll see what Judge Rogers can do for reducing the number of traffic violations.” Goodstone ticked off the items on his fingers.

“This is discrimination. My insights are Registerable.”

“And denied every time Vegas. You are a citizen.” Fererro continued to type on the typewriter. “With a lot of parking tickets. It would just be cheaper for you to buy a pass. Or take the monorail.”

“Goodstone…”

“Twenty four hours, you are deputized and report to me. No betting network, you work on this. Work on it. Call in favors, make new offers, get witness reports I don’t have. The second I see action on the Vegas network concerning even a prediction on what the kiddy’s soccer game is doing, and I swear…” Goodstone stood up, pulled out his keys and walked over to Fererro’s desk. “You won’t be able to make a bet, play a game of odds, on this planet again.”

“So serious?”

“Letter arrived just before you plopped into that chair. Next time, the city will have casualties. City block in size.”

Vegas blinked and then held her hands up, “Hurry.”

Goodstone scanned her ident card, signed the pad, then unlocked the cuffs. She got up and ran from the desk.

Fererro watched her run away. “Thanks, that was going to kill me if she didn’t take that bait. You’ve been taking bastard lessons, haven’t you?”

“Yep. Can’t believe she bought into that.”

“Judge Castle? Or the letter?”

“Both.”

“One of them I lied to her.” Goodstone looked to Ferrero. “Keep processing those forms. And if you’ve heard anything from the Golden network, let me know.”

“Wait. Castle goes on his tour next month-”

Goodstone held up an envelope. “Yeah.”

“Expletive.” Ferrerro picked up the rotary phone. “Exchange Four Fourty Three, get me the Golden network. Any of the crew missing or received new challenges, let us know. We’ve got buildings blowing up and lives are on the line.”

Goodstone looked to the bundle of brass that unfolded, seemingly random chopstick form over chopstick form until gears emerged. The small humanoid robot shuddered into form, then crawled up the Detectives arm. The warm brass form tapped twice on the man’s shoulder.

There, there.

“Yeah, wish both were lies. Okay Gears, let’s hit the street.”

Scary stuff


Recently, I’ve read articles on improving writing, getting the art and craft perfected. Mainly it’s all about putting works into the world. The secret is not too think about it too quickly. Just be in the moment, and do it.

Scary stuff.

But it frees you.

There comes a point, where the sound of the busker is better than anything commercial on the radio. This is mainly because they are putting their own art out immediately into the world. Instant feedback, from all walks of life. Bruce Cockburn did it for a year, busking in Paris. Writing, performing, seeing what worked, what didn’t work.  Earning just enough to eat or get another place to stay for a night. Literally living off of his music day to day. No royalties, no big business, no record company, no marketing campaigns, no product endorsements. Just music.

Apparently, that’s how you get good. You keep doing it, and doing it, and doing it. Never mind the rough spots, those are just highlights to remember later on. The practice starts to become graceful and elegant when you stop embracing the fear. And never forget, no one is born an expert. Have fun doing it. Whatever your art is.

Don’t mind my awkward clumsiness. I’m just getting started. Again.

I’m still here,

Pearce

P.S. If I ever learn how to sing or play guitar, this is definitely going to be on my coffee shop list. Happy Friday.

Flash Fiction : Word Association


It all started off so simple.

A little trick, a hack. Just a little quirk on the way people read and interpret symbols.

The technology was developed by a disgruntled undergraduate at NYU. Frustrated from the hours of working on his supervisors mathematics study, he needed a distraction. Just a little side project. And then after reading a self-help book ‘Your dream, Your reality’, he decided to make the impossible, possible. It was a dream of his, to see his own name in the comic books he read as a child. No longer would it be Peter Parker, or Bruce Wayne, on the panelled pages. It would be Jonathan Sibekowicz. With all the powers and abilities fit for any modern myth.

It was just a matter of finding the core root symbol which people would interpret with their own name.

He started delving into Symbol Grounding, memetics, cognition computation, tribal symbols, evolution of language. Hours at libraries, random phone calls to people who wrote articles. Jonathan became so obsessed with the idea, that his supervisor began questioning if he was on drugs. Coming in at strange hours, smelling like he had not bathed in weeks, slept in clothing, snapping at people for no apparent reason.

After several months, Jonathan had the breakthrough.

Then slept for thirty-two hours straight.

He quickly made it back to the lab, and straightened his work hours altogether, putting in new time and new ideas to his supervisor. Theories which were once dismissed were now plausible now taken from the new point of view. Jonathan was going places.

He took time off from his work. A sabbatical, something that he needed to do for quite some time.

Three weeks later, human consciousness began taking a turn.

***

The symbol appeared in a small press electronic comic book which had become quite popular amongst the 7 to 16 year age. Kid hero, was aimed at delivering long-term stories which helped educate and subtly deliver life lessons. It was quite typical to read the climax of a story arc where Kid Hero would have forgotten his new weapon against the powers of evil, because he was too busy looking at other things on the internet. On a following story, the new weapon would be missing the power pack, because he forgot to write it down.

The media began showing this new comic book where your child could become Kid Hero. The style quickly spread, and other publishers began using this new type of code. A simple little symbol. New types of fiction emerged.

It was something new, and it was very marketable. The phenomenon and style had spread. Further research by John Hopkins Hospital found other core symbols. Shapes and colors, tonal sounds could be all translated into making similar images.

Jonathan signed different agreements with major publishers, newspaper pushers, audio and video producers. Overnight he became a very wealthy to the point where he could disappear. The last mention of him in recorded history (which could be understood), showed that he had won a small church bingo in Christchurch.

This new type of language was embraced equally and quickly from all nations. And then human consciousness began changing. The amount of interconnectedness with information had become not only habit, but essential to the wellbeing of people. And it was being rewritten by the core symbols which Jonathan discovered.

That was the scary part. It was stronger and more ruthless than the English language.

People with dyslexia had protection. That little reversal which rearranged letters and numbers had actually saved them. They had their own mental firewall against the information virus which appeared in all forms of media. Eventually, their own efforts to stop the information from entering their memories were futile.

Others, whose brains were still developing, tried to keep their grip onto the basic concepts of life. That which had names, no longer had them. Mom, Dad, door, book, red, yellow. They were meaningless. There was a break in the distinction between object, name and meaning. Soon, they began withdrawing from everyone. Behaving quite distinctively anti-social. Running directly on instincts, these children became feral and tribal. Groups of them would be spotted in urban cities, running in packs, gathering and hunting for resources.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t an isolated incident.

Religious leaders across the world, simultaneously met, speaking only. Those who were found with paper and printed material were banned and removed. They were isolating themselves, against a virus that could be spread just as easily by drawing it on a wall. The new theory was that the Babel virus was rediscovered. A wave of destruction which would spread through the minds of everyone connected to written word.

Scientists who studied infectious diseases were baffled. How does one stop a type of information that spreads like a virus? Information shut outs? The human mind is curious at best, and will seek out new sources when it has not been fed.

Ironically, the illiterates were partially affected. People who were indifferent, and didn’t remember too much, they would skim media. Some of them were obliterated with the information that had jumped into their consciousness. Their subconscious trying to chew away at that unsolvable symbol, slowly degrading the associations had been built into a lifetime. Some of their doctors were baffled, as it appeared to be the same symptoms as some types of brain cancer.

The symbols continued to propagate themselves, taking on a new life. Groups of people would gather together, in trance states, writing them, drawing them in all sizes and forms on any available surface. The language itself had turned viral, and people were the host.

Then there are us. Those able to relearn, rebuild from the crumbling remains. We’re the ones trying to rebuild society. Unfortunately, the only ones who will are able to read these records are ourselves. We’ve become meaningless graffiti, only noise in the background from the pure signal of core symbol languages.

Because there are a lot more of them, then there are of us.

For once, in a very long lifetime, I’m glad I’m blind.

Just a matter of perspective


Is my writing progressing? Sometimes like a turtle. Just a matter of how much I’ve put into it and the time elapsed.

 

 

So have I done much writing this week? Hardly any. But enough to keep the clutter out of my brain, and daily. Well, almost daily. (But some handwriting, which slows down my thoughts, and it’s a different type of brain dump. It focuses and concentrates. I can understand how poets keep their handwriting and not using a computer to work on their craft.) But looking back on the past 3 years, I’ve done a lot more writing in the past 10. Picking up the habits, and doing more than previous years. Not bad at all, in my humble opinion.

 

I’m still writing,

Pearce