Sorrow of the Kelpie

See, that little chipmunk, over by the pine tree?

nobody@vox.com(Inkshell) — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 09:10:50 -0500

Yeh, I know he isn't all that big but he sure can do amazing things. He reminds me of the squirrel in the movie "Ice Age". You know the one, he manages to get into some mighty fine messes yet at the end of the day, he is the hero who still doesn't get the nut.

Course, rodents have evolved since then. This chipmunk usually gets what he is after but the rest of it? At least one time, he saved a life. Honest, he did it without guile and without any regard for his own safety.

Then again, I have noticed that chipmunks often forget certain things are dangerous to be near. For that matter, I noticed that turkeys also tend to forget that as well. More about turkeys later, for now, let's get back to the chipmunk.

Every year, he scurries about and looks for goodies to add to his hoard. At least I think it is a he, though it could just as easily be a she... For the sake of keeping myself from confusion, he shall remain a he.

Always in a rush, except for when the rascal is watching a bird in the air or another chipmunk, this little one moves deftly through the yard. Making scratching and scritching noises with his claws and weird sucking, sniffing noises as he tests nuts and other finds.

One day while he was moving about, doing his usual thing, a neighbor was getting into her car. She was getting ready for a very busy day, the type you like to avoid as you are doing things you can't stand doing. She had that harried look people often have as she looked about her car and rifled through her purse. No doubt, she was making sure
she had everything she needed for the day.

Meanwhile, our heroic chipmunk had his eye out for a hawk he had spied in the air. The hawk had been gliding about for a good ten minutes or so and poor chipmunk was antsy. Can't say I blamed him, hawks find chipmunks rather tasty, when they catch the little rodents.

Neighbor number two was working on her garden and was mumbling as she tried to refill her bird feeder but all she was doing was spreading seed all over the lawn. Now, you know chipmunks, this little tyke was really torn. On one hand he had a circling hawk to watch as it watched him and on the other, he was salvitating over the banquet spread out
just two driveways away.

Now, while all this was going on, a boy had just woke up and realized he was late for school, so he grabbed his gear and jumped onto his bike, pedaling as fast as his feet could pump.

Neighbor number two, gave up in disgust, left the bird seeder and walked into her house. Neighbor number one, revved up her car and moved the stick to drive. The boy came tearing through driveway two and the chipmunk decided to go for the seeds, just as the hawk dived.

Chipmunk ran up the fence and jumped, landing on the hood of the car startling the driver. She hit her breaks, just as the Hawk came tearing through the space where the chipmunk had been. The boy raced by the driveway, just as the woman hit her brakes and stopped, mere inches from the boy. The chipmunk, unaware of the havoc, dived into
neighbor twos garden and hid under a bench as he greedily grabbed the seeds.

Hawk, unable to catch his prey, glided to an oak and looked about for fresh meat. The boy, continued on his way to school as the neighbor in the car, took huge gulps of air and tried to calm down as she realized she almost hit a child. Neighbor number two, hearing the noise, rushed out of her house and looked about. Seeing nothing wrong, she noticed a hawk in the nearby oak tree and with her broom, shooed it away from her garden.

Only the boy and chipmunk were unaware of the havoc and near misses.

Read and post comments | Send to a friend

Winging it: part one

nobody@vox.com(Inkshell) — Mon, 12 Feb 2007 14:13:00 -0500

No title yet, not sure where this story is going yet. Just playing with an idea and seeing where it leads. (unedited at this point as I am still playing about, so typos and things like that are still in play.)

Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump, slow and steady, feel the rhythm. Thump thump, thump thump. concentrate on the sound it proves you are alive. You have a chance, you can still do something, thump thump, thump thump. Alive, you are still alive. Alive? Why is that in my head? Of course I'm alive, why wouldn't I be?

Thump thump, thump thump. What is that sound? Thump thump, thump. It's gone. Where did it go? Why is it so important, why am I panicking? Calm down, relax and think, come on, think!

Thump thump thump thump thump thump, thump thump, thump thump. Ah, it is back. Why is it so dark? Darkness, thumping sound, where am I? My head feels funny but I don't know why, can seem to clear my... what was I thinking? Thump, thump, thump thump. Okay, this is important, I get it. Why, I don't know but that sound is important. It means something. Listening to the sound, is painful, it is so loud, why do I have to listen to it again? Where am I?

Something is touching me, I can feel something touching me, it's, it's, oh my god, what is it? What is touching me, get off my arm! get away from me? Why can't I move my arm? Shit, get away from me! oh god, it's sliding to my leg. It is grasping my foot. Grasping? Ah, it's a hand, someone is touching me. Nails, long nails, it's a woman. Why doesn't she talk to me?

Where am I?

She isn't touching me anymore but I can hear here moving around. Why didn't she answer me? Wait. Don't go, tell me what is going on!

Thump, thump, thump thump. Am I in a hospital? Did something happen to me? Why didn't she hear me. Am I mute? Am I blind? I still can't see anything. But I can hear, I can hear sounds, I can figure things out if I listen, listen to the sounds. That is why it is important to listen.

Read and post comments | Send to a friend

Dimensions in time: part five

nobody@vox.com(Inkshell) — Tue, 30 Jan 2007 00:42:06 -0500

Then there is invention and discovery. A person invents something and in the end decides that it is not useful enough or that it is too dangerous. Said person then destroys all the information or hides it in such a way that no one can find it. Often, within years, someone else invents the same thing. Now, the first person did not say anything about the invention and the other person lives on the other side of the earth. The inventions though come about at the same time, then a few months later another person in yet another far outpost, invents the same thing! It does not really matter who was first but what is important is the fact that once something is "invented" it tends to be invented over and over again. Even more curious is that even if the invention is not something that people might consider using all that often but might consider it "handy". It is amazing just how much invention within one area happens at one time. If it is meant for this "time" then it appears again and again, until eventually the invention is taken up and used or applied.

So, once it is conceived it becomes accessible for others. Again, this is like déjà vu, the idea transcends the possibility of communication or even of expression. It transcends the linear view.

Imagine a helix background wallpaper and that someone placed a plumb line along one part. The plumb lined area is what we assume to be time but what if it is the entire wall? Differing dimensions or planes would be different walls, ceilings, angles. We experience all the "moments" in this wallpaper, it is the subconscious, which sorts what information is related to where. Remember, the subconscious is NOT linear, it has no sense of time, so it could easily sort through all the information and access what it needs as needed and send that information to the conscious mind. In this context, the idea of an idea spreading to others within an era is very probable. In fact, it would be more than probable if the idea, discovery or invention is such that it is needed. There is a saying "What has been discovered can not be undiscovered." can just as easily apply to invention, even when it is purposely hidden..

A turn of the wrist and the rubric cube is once again a jumble of colors.

Read and post comments | Send to a friend

Dimensions in time: part four

nobody@vox.com(Inkshell) — Tue, 30 Jan 2007 00:40:39 -0500

More space than anything else, even the smallest things known to man have space in them and yet, space is not and cannot be quantified as anything. So what on earth is it? What is space and why is it a part of everything? I have likened it to a suspension liquid that keeps things together yet separate. It simply Holds things and as I think about it I can't help but wonder, why so little is known about this phenomenon, this nothing, this everything. We would not be able to exist without space, nor would anything else.

What if time, is really space?

The rubrics cube clicks and I have two solid square panels but still, the rest is a muddle. Another color catches my attention and the game continues. Dreams are the things that help us to keep our sanity. I have always wondered if they might be more than ways to process the daily "waking" moments. It takes approximately forty-five minutes to process through the dream cycle, which is why three hours of sleep is the absolute minimum to live on during times of sleep deprivation. Still, three hours is a short-term solution and science has proven that a full and complete six hours is the absolute minimum for everyday life. During REM sleep, doctors have submitted that we experience approximately twenty to thirty dreams during the ten-minute cycle. We remember having very few dreams but we remember what the dream was about, even less of that time.

If sleep was the "processing time" then I need to look at a computer for reference. As it is, computers still are nowhere near as fast at processing as the human brain is. Still, even with disk cleanup, scandisk, defrag and other daily maintenance, the computer only takes a half hour, tops (using the fastest processors). If this is the case, then the human brain must needs work even more quickly. Maybe one percent of each sleep cycle would be devoted to "clean up and maintenance". If this were the case, what would the remaining dream time be used for?

I am thinking that the REM time is used to access those other "moments" within the plane of our existence. Comparing notes, so to speak with the options and directions chosen within the framework of the connection of the helix pattern. Remember, all the helixs touch, so the knowledge is there. The thought is that we "experience" all of our choices and so, live within a myriad of lives, within the same experience of "now". That means that some frames are further down the road than others, some could correspond to "now" exactly, while others may be slightly off, or even further in the "past or future". In dreams there would be no reference of "time", we would just be part or witness and that is all.

This would explain the feeling of déjà vu but it would also explain the sense of "instant recognition" between people who have never met.

Continued

Read and post comments | Send to a friend

Dimensions in time: part three

nobody@vox.com(Inkshell) — Tue, 30 Jan 2007 00:40:04 -0500

In either case, this would certainly explain moments of déjà vu, as well as those who might have premonitions more often. The thought that time is not necessarily parallel, makes sense to me but describing it still makes no sense as it is not a matter of planes of existence, nor of angles, it is more than that. There is a history to time, handed down throughout the generations. Past deeds, weather, the way we create or make things, the lessons learned, some of which we seem to always need to learn on our own to find out in our own way. Other times, the lesson sticks and it becomes part of who we are. I can't help but wonder though, if the lessons that stick are merely the lessons already incorporated.

That brings us to past lives and though I dearly love to hold this close to my heart and wish it so, I still find myself wondering if it is a pipe dream. In the context of the helix background though, reincarnation would be a mute point. Time moving other than parallel, tells me that we can have the same moment, in different scenarios a myriad of times. Each being separate from the other and with the merging patterns of different helix patterns, we can indeed have more than one "life" at the same time as they are really not the same moment or the same place but still of the same plane.

The rubrics cube again plays in my head. A few days ago someone read a poem of his using the rubrics cube as a metaphor for thinking. It has been in my head ever since, playing with my thoughts of time, strings, helix and hexils. Every time the cube is twisted in my head, another thought occurs.

The Galaxy we live in is a spiral, not old and not young, a middle-aged galaxy with definite form. In the skies there are other galaxies and universes that have different shapes and yet, when I look at them I see them becoming spirals, see them from a differing angle that says they could be spirals, see them changing from spirals. All of them, in one way or another, having spirals within them. I see giant ways of stars that could be the arms of spirals as well as large strings that have the feel of the helix, and space.

Continued

Read and post comments | Send to a friend

Dimensions in time: part two

nobody@vox.com(Inkshell) — Tue, 30 Jan 2007 00:39:34 -0500

Taking the analogy of a book further, what if, I "lost my place in the book" and "reread sections". This then reminds me of Heinlien and "The Number of the Beast", where he theorizes that time is in fact, nothing more than stories and that each dimension, another story.

This however, negates the thought that I am real and to me this seems to be just a tad over the top. I know I am real and having senses and a thinking mind, I know that everyone else is real as well. I am real, you are real and that is the end of the matter. But what if time itself was an illusion? How would we be able to relate to each other without a sense of past, present and future? More importantly, how would we be able to access our thoughts without the reference of time?

My past tells me that I was once a child, my present tells me I now have my own children and by looking at others, I have an idea of what I will be like when I am older. There is a sense of continuity that is a comfort yet, deja vu tells me, there may be more to it than this.

The helix wallpaper background of thought seems suddenly to catch my attention. It is as if, the idea of interlocking helix or strings, keeps turning me back to the idea of connectedness. One meets the other, yet they are separate. They are identical except when one helix pattern meets another and then they trade parts. Almost as the colors in a prism blend, merge or separate from one another, depending upon where your focus is.

What if... what if time is like the helix wallpaper, the spirals continue into infinity but they also connect moving in other directions and because they repeat the same pattern, they are the same. They slowly merge into other patterns, changing with the continuity of a slow rolling wave. Or maybe it is like the strings that touch in certain places, more chaotic and with the occasional knots. Maybe the string itself is the path and occasionally, we jump the line or run into said knots or maybe even detour onto a separate string.

Continued

Read and post comments | Send to a friend

Dimensions of time: part one

nobody@vox.com(Inkshell) — Tue, 30 Jan 2007 00:38:49 -0500

I've been thinking about some things lately but it seems the only time they are truly clear is right before I sleep. I would say they are dreams but I remember looking at the clock and trying to get comfortable. Too tired to get up to write everything down yet not tired enough, not to think.

Thoughts about the past and how things relate, like a jumbled up rubrics cube. Different times and occasions that produced different feelings and paths, yet recently the jumble of colored squares seem to be lining up.

One thing that I do remember thinking, over and over, like the theme of a song, is the image of strings. Some are rolled into one another and some are jumbled, but they all touch or connect in some way. The story of the three woman of mythology who weave fate, a TV show that spoke of time being like a ball of string, string theory and the recurrent pattern of strings both in the macro and micro universe.

Then my mind wonders to the image of the helix. It twines about itself and mirrors, creating and interlocking other helix patterns... like wallpaper it fills the space with a texture.

I smile when this happens as my son is certain it is really called a hexil. He maintains it is called this as it has six sides that spiral. When I asked him how he came to know how many sides a "hexil" has, he told me it made sense as that is how one looks in the books.

Another cube in the rubrics turns and déjà vu sings its song. How often have I felt this before and seen this happen exactly the same way, same postures, same characters, like a plot in a play, where I am both the audience and participant. Knowing that this happens to all of us, though the number of occurrences may differ. It still feels to be a universal experience and I can't help but wonder if it is possible for everyone to experience it at the same time?

But time, in and of itself is not "now" it is always past or present. Trying to define "now" in time is just not possible. Just as pointing the exact moment that past or present occurs, is an impossible act. It evolves and happens without our being able to define it. So, what was to happen if I said there was no such thing as "time"? What if what I said instead was that time is a reference point only, like a bookmark in a book.

Continued

Read and post comments | Send to a friend

Cooked Crayons

nobody@vox.com(Inkshell) — Sat, 27 Jan 2007 20:32:42 -0500

So, I think I may have a slight case of dyslexia because I did it again. I read the subject line at R.G. Ryan's vox as Cooked Crayons instead of Crooked Canyons.

So, here is my (fictional) Cooked Crayons story....

He loves to draw, my son does. He doesn't care for paint, much preferring chalk, pencil, pen or crayon. He collects old coffee cans and fills them with crayon nubs, and chalk dust. There is a purpose to his collection. He uses the chalk dust on his fingers to sketch out ideas. If he likes where the idea is going, he will then use his pencil to detail the sketch. He says doing it this way, he doesn't waste what he has.

I have shown him how he can use chalk dust as a resist, when he is using crayons. He loves that, he creates many interesting designs and manages to create interesting perspectives using this idea. Yesterday I saw him using the resist technique with other types of tools and mediums. It is fun to see him reinvent the wheel, his experiments keep him creative.

The cans of crayon nubs are sorted into types. Some are sorted by color and some are shaved to create color resists and the rest are mixed and placed on the table for me to melt down. I pour them in silicone muffin pans and place multi-colored nubs into each melt so that when they harden, there will be occasional color bursts. When the cooked crayons are hard, we cut them in half, so he can hold them properly and away he goes.

Read and post comments | Send to a friend

On the Boardwalk: conclusion

nobody@vox.com(Inkshell) — Sun, 14 Jan 2007 14:30:07 -0500

first read, On the Boardwalk: part one

I needed to walk, I think Gina did as well. You can learn as much by silence as you can by talking. I thought about what she had said, the story of her adult life so far and compared it to mine. I wondered if she was doing the same thing and noticed her standing at a railing, looking at the ocean.

My eyes wandered as my ears picked up the sound of a father, yelling at his daughter, he slapped her face and pointed. The child's head bowed down and her back bent as she walked in the direction pointed. I shook my head, wandering if when people would stop doing things like that to their children.

"Why did we never become real friends." she asked me as she fingered the railing and watched the waves. I stood beside her and sighed.

"I didn't have time for friends."

The silence grew as words hung in the air. I wanted friends, I did. I just couldn't find the time.

"You were one of the most popular girls in school, I remember feeling lucky that you spent time with me each day. You kept your distance but you never treated my unkindly. I know many people who thought of you as their friend, how can you say something like that?"

"Gina, there is a difference between being friendly and having real friends. All my friendships were the kind I had with you. Friendship was for school, I didn't have time for anything else."

"Anything else? How can you say that, you were always singing. Concerts, plays, competitions, you name it, you were involved. You were always doing something in school, how could you not have time?"

"There are many things I regret, many things I missed out on. You saw me doing many things but you didn't notice when I didn't show up, when I had to do other things. I didn't get to do as much as you think I did."

"I think you are lying. Why would you do something like that? I don't hear anything but words. How real are your words Ronnie? What took up so much of your time that you could not notice others?" Gina laughed sarcastically.

I was glad she was still looking at the ocean, my eyes wandered to the stars above. She was as much a stranger as a friend, no one had ever bothered to ask me these questions before and I wasn't sure how I felt about it. It felt odd even thinking about saying these things out loud. I wandered if I even could share myself with another person. I listened to the waves and watched the stars blink. The hypnotic sound and sight soon calmed my thoughts.

"My mother owns a small store a few towns away. She has had it since I was thirteen. I would work for her occasionally at first, but then she became ill. She was sick on and off for the next six years or so. Dad was on the road working, he would send money home to pay the bills. When mom was ill though, I couldn't get to the money to pay them or the groceries. So, I ended up taking care of my siblings, running my mom's store, babysitting and working two jobs. I was lucky to get a few hours of sleep a day before heading off to school and starting the routine over.

Senior year, they figured out what was wrong with my mom and she went into surgery. I'm actually surprised I graduated as I wasn't in school very much. Every time I turned around, I was getting an early-out, so I could bike to my mom's store and run the shop. All of the money I made went to groceries and paying bills. Dad, when he was home, just stewed about how life was treating him badly. I don't think he ever noticed that I was working to pay the bills or that I took care of the house. Seemed all he did was call me names and treat me like I was an ant.

I wanted to leave, don't get me wrong. But if I did, who would take care of my brothers and sisters? Who would make sure they had food to eat and that they did their homework? I didn't want them to end up in the same situation I was in. I wanted them to have a childhood and have friends. It was only a few years out of my life, right?"

I told her other things, things I never shared with another soul. Things I never thought I would say out loud. I told her as much about myself as she had about herself. The moon had risen full strength before I was done speaking.

"Did you ever go to college, Ronnie?"
"I went for a year but couldn't afford the tuition so dropped out. How about you?"
"Yeh, I have a Bachelor's in Art. Lot of good that did me." Gina pushed away from the railing. "I was wrong, you're not naive, you just have a different story than mine. Back then, I would have been the naive one compared to you."

I shrugged my shoulders. Comparing didn't really seem to be that relevant, what was important was how neither of us had been able to notice what was going on around them. "We were too wrapped up in our own stories to notice others had stories as well, I guess."

We walked to the parking lot, most of the people had left the boardwalk and everything was closed down. "I'm going to Philly tomorrow, I want to see if I can get a job at a museum. Think I stand a chance?"

"Yeh, I think you might. That is, if you get something else to wear. I think I have some cloths that will fit, if you'd like to borrow some."

She laughed, "Soon as I get in my car, I am going. You are right though, I'll get something more professional looking, later." She took out her keys, unlocked the car and got in. "Maybe I'll see you around sometime, I'll call you."

I nodded and smiled, "I'll be waiting for the call, maybe we can get together when I have more time. I wouldn't mind getting away for a day."

Turning the engine she looked at the wheel, "Good idea."

She backed the car up, waved and then drove off. I watched her leave and knew she would never call. I could hear her radio playing "Zombies". Odd how you don't hear a song fort he longest time and then suddenly there it is, like a bookmark in your life.

During the many years that followed, I knew Gina to be my only friend, as only she knew what I never spoke of and I knew she felt the same way about me. Sometimes your best friend is there for but a moment of your life, it doesn't take a presence but rather a knowing. Who knows, maybe one day we will run into each other again.

Read and post comments | Send to a friend

On the Boardwalk

nobody@vox.com(Inkshell) — Sun, 14 Jan 2007 11:31:21 -0500

The Cranberries were singing "Zombies" on the radio, it had always been a favorite. Humming the tune, I watched the traffic go by, the road was busy, mainly because of the summer vacationers. Even in the evening, they rushed to the beach, most likely to romance someone, listen to the waves, or watch the stars.

I was on my way to the boardwalk to meet an old friend. Gina had left town almost as soon as she graduated from high school. She didn't write to anyone so it was a surprise when I got a phone call from her earlier today. She was back in town for a few days and wanted to touch bases.

Gina and I were not the closest of friends, we never went to each others homes after school. We primarily hung out together at the cafeteria, doing our homework and helping each other study. We never really talked about anything outside of school, she always was something of a loner.

The traffic let up and I managed to get to the boardwalk well within time to find the meeting place. It was a warm night, not muggy, with a slight breeze, just the kind of night I enjoy most. The skies were clear and the stars bright as my shoes hit the wooden boards of the walkway leading to the boardwalk. Small family groups and couples meandered about, talking in gentle whispers and soft giggles.

As I neared the gaming area, I could see hawkers calling out to passersby,"Try your luck!.. ten balls,ten tries... Hit the balloon and win...". Clusters of people gathered around the hawkers, some to impress, others to have fun. Cries of dismay, delight and laughter filled the area as I continued walking.

The Arcade was our meeting place, locals went there as it was less busy than other sections of the boardwalk. You could actually talk without feeling as if others were crowding you and forcing you to continue walking. Outside of locals, the only people to visit the building were twelve and thirteen year old boys trying their luck on the newest video game or trying to figure out how to play pinball. There were usually a few kids arguing over tactics and this night was no different. Two boys were bludgeoning each other and calling each other names while a larger group surrounded them, egging them on. At least they were on the other side of the building, no doubt the owners would soon kick them out and things would quiet down soon. I passed the group and continued through the building.

"Veronica. Ronnie, is that you?"
I turned my head to see a strange woman looking at me, her make-up was overdone and she was wearing a half cut tube top. I could see the bottom of her breasts hanging out of the bottom and her shorts were more like underwear, so shear you could almost see through them. I pretended not to notice her and continued onward.

The woman grabbed my arm,"Veronica, that is you, I know it is." When would this woman leave me? I turned to her trying not to really notice her and said, "I don't know who you are, please let me go, I am meeting someone." Her eyes squinted and her lips pursed as she looked me in the eye, "You are meeting me. Don't you recognize me?"

That made me stop and really look at her. Her eyes were kind of yellowish, with pinkish veins spread out like rays. She looked at least twenty years older than me as the flesh of her cheeks and forehead were creased with lines. Still, there was something about her that seemed familiar. I know I looked confused as she watched me looking at her. Her lips grew even thinner as she quietly spoke, "It's me, Gina."

She let go of me suddenly as I looked at her, my shock and confusion coming in waves. What on earth had happened to her? She was so bright and now, before me stood a woman who was more a living husk of the person I once knew. "Gina? No, really? Gina?" I took her hands in mine and tried to find her old stature but she smoothly slid her hands away. Fumbling for words I felt tears trying to spill from my face. Shaking my head, I pointed to a bench and sat down, as she sat beside me I turned to her, willing the tears away, "Tell me what you've been up to."

I sat as she told me about her life. She had moved to Atlantic City and somewhere along the way had become a drug addict, it wasn't long before she was taking tricks to pay for her habit. She spoke of many things which made me shudder inside, things no one should experience. To her though, these acts were part of life.

She called me a sheltered bitch and I nodded, what else could I do? Yes, I had been sheltered but tonight my eyes had been opened. "Gina, why did you call me?"

"I wanted to see if I could turn back time. To see if I could live like you do, but as soon as I came back home I already knew the answer. I could quit drugs and stop hooking but I can never again be like you. I've seen too much. I wanted to see if a person like you would see me as normal, as worthy of life. You don't' know me, you never knew what my life at home was like, you never asked about me, what I wanted in life. No one ever asked, I was alone and you are the closest thing I ever had to a friend."

I didn't know what to say. Words were stuck in my throat, jumbled up with confusion and pity for someone I once spent time with, wiling away the lunch hours until the bell rung. I had thought of her as a casual friend, an acquaintance I had something in common with and yet, I knew she was right. Bowing my head in shame, I stood up and smiled at her, "Let's walk and get to know each other."

On the Boardwalk: conclusion

vl2f challenge:

Short story format.You are to write two view points, using the topic. You can use one or more characters to create the perspectives. When you are done, use Split Personality, vl2f challenge and any other descriptors you want as the tag. Last but not least, give a new topic for the next writer who wants to try their hand at this challenge.

The topic is apathy.

Read and post comments | Send to a friend