So yeah… I even managed to miss the one year mark this time. Methinks updating blogs is NOT my strong suit. If it’s not in my face, I get distracted by life and whatnot, and then literally a year has gone by. If I actually stop and think about it, it’s depressing, because I don’t feel like “oh WOW, a WHOLE YEAR has gone by!” It’s more like “It’s been a YEAR?? It feels like a couple of months, tops.” Apparently my modulation of the chronophagic trancendental infindibulator has done nothing but increase temporal entropy, and what’s worse is, I’m still inside the time stream. If I don’t find a way to de-couple my tachyons from this modulated relativity, I may start actually aging. So far I’ve been able to throw off the humans by keeping this form visually in sync with the local flow of time, but eventually it’s going to start impeding me, and then, if I revert the form, the questions are going to start. The last thing I want is a replay (forgive the pun) of M82!3. I can’t believe they still blame me for that, that was not my fault! They were a perfectly rational species, they should have heeded my warnings. If they ever manage to start flowing forward through time again, they’ll be more careful, I’m sure.
You’d think I did this on purpose, but I didn’t… almost a year to the day from my LAST post, I was surfing about, and remembered this blog. Apparently, I didn’t get “back into this” as far as blog posting goes. The last four blog posts here cover 2009, 2010, 2011, and 2012, one a year.
I’ll see you in 2013!
It’s like this thing is a time capsule, which I unearth annually or so, stuff another entry in, and then bury. I’d really LIKE to post more to it… there are times when I’m just dying to write things, especially with all the stupidity going on in the world currently, but I haven’t been. Maybe now that I’ve gotten back into this, I’ll start updating again. I’m going to add this to my favorites page, and see if it gets me here more often.
So, the whole blogging thing kinda went down the tubes…
Right about the beginning of August 2009, I got laid off (after taking a week’s vacation and blowing a lot of money, called Sunday to be told ‘don’t come in Monday’… thanks, guys), and the whole internet thing went by the wayside for a while. Just got a new job (MUCH better, writing SQL code all day is very cool. Call me a geek, but I love it), so hopefully I’ll get back in the swing of things.
He looked out over the ocean, not knowing he’d never see this view again.
Boy liked this tower, a lot more than the other ones. He’d learned early on which were the nicest ones, which had the best views, which ones Master tended not to frequent. Not that he was a bad Master, not at all, but sometimes one needed a bit of space, is all, and why not have a space that had a grand view?
Still, there was having space, and there was shirking chores, and the line between the two was a constantly moving thing, depending on the Master’s mood. Dusting off his robe, he made his way to the door.
He was proud of himself for nary having to glance at the sigils he’d put above the doorways in colored chalk, drawn when he was still new to the towers, to the Master. He could walk and not even think about getting back from Seaside, skirting the door the led to Castle Wastewood (foolish name, he thought), nary a glance at the door to Summerdown (no matter how much he’d like to pass through that one), and hardly a shudder at that door, the one with the skull over it. He rubbed his left arm in sympathy, glad again that you could only pass through a door if you had come out of it in the first place.
Wandering body and mind, he thought. Master’ll have one of his bug-eyed fits, he will.
He stopped in front of a large, oak door, handle so high he had to stand on tips to reach it. Master never did say why that’s is, Boy thought, then shook his head. He needed to concentrate soon, and better to get in the habit now then when it’s too late.
He pushed open the door… to find the Master standing on the other side, looking straight at him.
“Too late,” he said, softly.
Going to try to focus on two different things today: programming, and writing. I’ve got Thruspace open, and I’m going to try to get (at least) a page of that done, and I’m going to try to get through Chapter 2 of one of my multiple C# books done.
I’m finding that learning a programming language is a lot like writing… you have to do them both pretty regularly or they go stale on you. Programming is also a lot like writing in that fact that it’s, well, writing. Sure, I’m writing code and not stories, but it’s all the same. Kinda. It’s all coming up with ideas, and then putting them down in a language, on a medium, so that someone or something else can process them. They both stem from creativity.
They always say “Do what you love”, as far as a job goes, and I’ve always wanted to write, so maybe I’m homing in on something here. Of course, what I really like to do is think, but until someone will pay me to just sit all day and think things, I can’t do that.
If someone reading this (like Bill gates or someone) wants to pay me to think for them, I’m happy to sign over everything I think up while in employ over to you. You can have books, movies, inventions, forms of government, biomedical breakthroughs… you can have it all. If you want to focus me in on something, you just provide me with research material, and I’ll go at it. Guaranteed results!
Anyway, off to C# and Thruspace!
I slip the key in, and turn it. It turns easily. Some mornings it doesn’t. Some mornings, it doesn’t turn at all.
They can hear me as I make my way down the stairs, and those that can start making noise, trying to get my attention. I used to think they knew I was coming down here before I did. Now I know it. Sometimes I think they can even make me come, even if I don’t want to. I try not to think about that part. I don’t know what it would mean.
I flip on the lights at the bottom of the stairs, and they come on, brightly for a change. Figures. I don’t really want to get distracted before I can make my way to the back, but, again, this place seems to do what it wants to, regardless of what I might want. It’s always been that way.
My footsteps don’t echo as I make my way down, between the cages. There’s many of them, stretching off into the distance. There’s a cage for everything, and most of them are empty. The ones nearest to me, though, are most definitely full.
The small Chinese boy to my left just stares at me, silently. Sometimes his gaze is a smoldering anger, sometimes a mocking sneer, but this morning, it’s just blank. I let my eyes slide off him. He’s not the one I’m here for. I make my feet keep moving.
There are others, down this corridor. Some of them don’t make any noise, some of them are loud. Some of them might not even be living any more… and for some, I don’t even care.
I keep walking. I can see a dim green light from one cage, glowing liquid in a tube holding a dark shape within. I know he wants me to think about him, and I do, sometimes. It’s enough to keep him alive, the only food in this place. He knows I’ve seen the way he ends, and it thrills him. He knows how important that is, and that I won’t easily let that type of thing go. He’s right.
Others aren’t so lucky.
I pass cages with misshapen things, things that throw themselves at the bars, howling, demanding tribute, demanding thought. Sometimes I do, which is the only reason they’re still here, still alive. Things that don’t have the energy to move as I walk by, they simply quiver, gelatinous, on the floor. Some don’t move at all, slowly turning back into the dust that they came from, never to be thought of again.
I shake my head. Some days I make it to the bottom of the stairs and am overwhelmed, by the noise, the cages, the sense of creation that I get from being down here. Sometimes I’ll just stand, transfixed, for hours, and not really do anything before I pull myself back up and outside. They hate those days the most. So do I.
Not today, though. Today I steady my pace, walk past the cages, past the psychic, past the monolith, a tentacle snaking up around it. I walk past the ball of energy that makes up the human race, past the living ship. These don’t interest me today. I make my way to the back.
It smiles up at me from the table it lies on. I smile back down at it, pulling out my pen. I can sense the others quiet behind me as they see it. They know. Soon, soon it will be done.
“Soon, soon it will be done,” I write on the thing on the table. The words glow, and slowly fade from view, absorbed into it. It grows, becomes more defined. It chuckles, happy, and I am happy as well.