The letter had the strangest effect on my person. I really hadn’t anticipated it. My mood was foreign to me, though I couldn’t identify it when I tried. I looked at my soul through a window made of mud. I felt numb, and in my numbness, I felt nothing.
Perhaps now, looking back, I can more easily identify why it was that the letter struck me in such a fashion, but at the time, I really was at a loss. I do remember how everything fell out. The morning had been a nice one. The clouds were heavy that morning, but only in spots. It was one of those days when the sky looked like a river bed. The clouds were large and rounded and similar but not homogeneous. They promised rain, but their promises were empty. Maybe next time, they seemed to say, as they glided down the sky towards the places they were destined to go. Do clouds have destinies? Perhaps. I’d like to think they do. It gives one a sense of something greater… but that’s not a discussion for today.
The clouds passed over as I stood outside. The shadows at times made me a bit dizzy as they explored the terrestrial realm. I had woken up late that day, and the coffee in my mug was still warm. As I looked through the garden, I noticed a new plant. I shook my head a bit to clear the sleep, for I felt that I must have been imagining things. The tiredness was quite gone, though the plant still remained. I knew for a fact that it hadn’t been there the day before. I was an avid gardener, and there, amidst the various sedges and asters was a taller plant that had decidedly not been there. I moved closer to examine the stem, for only one stem came out of the ground. Around the stem rose broad leaves, rather like an orchid. I looked closer, and I realized that the leaves were fleshy, like a succulent’s. I took a leaf between my finger and thumb, and the plant shuddered from the impact. A dark spot appeared on the leaf. I frowned at how easily it bruised. The flower bud near the top of the stem was looking as though it would bloom at any moment, so I decided to go in after my camera.
The walk from the garden to my house was short, but I caught my breath as I walked into the dining room. On the table, next to my camera, sat the letter. Perhaps I should mention that other than a stray cat who sometimes wandered by, I lived alone. I quickly glanced around the room, but no one was there. A cursory, fruitless, search of the rest of the rooms in my house did nothing to ease the sudden feeling in my chest that spoke of danger. I picked up the letter and began to read.
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that I must tell you that [she’s] dead. I know this will reach you a bit late. I hope you find consolation in that she died while doing what she loved. The following is a picture of her latest finding. She named it Hemaflora.”
Contained within was a photograph of a flower. A gorgeous flower. It looked like an orchid, but the face of the bloom was entrancing. It told stories with its look, but I didn’t care about that. I only stood and gazed at that photograph and letter. She finally died. Of course, she had died to me years ago. That day she told me that her travels would give her more than I could, but now that finality was real. Now the anticipation of something that couldn’t be, that hopeless hope of a life unreal, it was gone.
I’ve told you already of how I felt. I don’t think that would do me or you much good to repeat. I didn’t tell you, however, of what transpired later. I had gone back outside to try and clear my head. The letter was in my pocket, and I gradually gravitated towards the spot where I had earlier found that new plant. Once again, for the second time that day, I started. It was, as I then perceived it, the moment of most clarity in the midst of my depression, but I now question the reality of it at all. The bloom that sat atop the stem was gorgeous and complex. The gaze of the orchid (for I knew not what to call it) seemed to look into my heart. I sat for the longest time, looking at this flower, and eventually, I removed the letter and photograph from my pocket.
I studied the paper for a little while longer, and then I began to tear up the letter and photo together. I scattered the pieces in the garden and turned back to the flower. It shuddered slightly, and then began to rend. A feeling of utter despair washed over me as I watched the bloom begin to drip a dark red substance from the tears that appeared in its flesh. It looked, if a flower can look such, as though it had felt the worst feeling possible, and then it gradually wilted down into a pile of bloody stem and leaves.
Hemaflora, I thought. That’s what she called it. I imagine I won’t see it again. To this day, I haven’t, and sometimes I question if I ever did.
The man looked up at the giant building and its rows of blinding mirrored windows. “The Idea is Simple,” read the slogan emblazoned on the sign. A giant TCE logo sat midway up the face, playing host to several nervous pigeons. Our friend checked the time once more before taking a deep breath and plunging into the crowd that flowed into the building. As he looked around, he noticed that some of the people wore suits and professional wear, but most of the throng was dressed quite casually, even too casually, he thought, as he noticed some boys in pajama bottoms.
The crowd was split into queue lines as they moved through the door. The scene was not unlike a transport station of sorts. Ticket lines and baggage checks stretched as far as the eye could see to the left and right. “The Concept Engine, experience total connectedness. Experience simplicity.” A woman’s voice repeated TCE propaganda on a loop as the people moved to their various lines. Glass elevators shot up and down the walls constantly, the screens within showing various nature scenes with soothing TCE voice-overs. “Welcome to The Concept Engine. Go beyond your thoughts. Experience the Concepts.”
Our man joined a line labeled “First Time” and began reading a brochure he had picked up at the front.
“All of humankind,” it began, “is now connected through the Internet. We can contact anyone we wish and see their image, live. We can send files from New York to Hong Kong in less time than it takes to hand your officemate a paper, but we still have the barrier of language-based communication. International imagery is confusing, and translators are expensive. The Concept Engine aims to fix the problem of communication. We will revolutionize the way you talk, or rather, don’t talk. With communications streams to over 100 different countries, you can talk to virtually anyone anywhere in the world.
Think of your topic, consider what you want to do, and your partner will immediately understand you. The next level of human communication has emerged. Welcome to The Concept Engine.”
With his ticket in hand, he jogged to reach elevator 37, his designated transport. “From the cave man’s drawings and grunts, to the discovery of the Rosetta stone, to the emergence of acronymous text language, communication has evolved and changed drastically over time. We have eliminated language all together. Prepare yourself for raw communication.” The elevator voice droned on as elevator itself flew towards its destination.
The seat was fairly comfortable, he thought, as he settled into the white chair labeled 23,947. The helmet-looking apparatus was waiting for him, and the arms straps secured his wrists against the armrests. “Hey..!” he began as the device automatically began to close. Soon, his thoughts were blurred. He could no longer form the words he felt were necessary. His ideas were nothing but raw conceptions. His years of training as a journalist faded into nothingness. All he felt was an extraordinary affinity for the idea of a concept. Happiness flooded his mind.
“Language elimination complete. Subject 23,947 conformed.” The message flashed briefly on a computer screen somewhere deep in TCE offices. “Subject 23,948… 23,949…”
The man walked out into the sweltering heat of the building’s front mall. He blinked several times and looked around him in a confused manner. He looked up at the TCE sign and felt comforted, though he wasn’t sure why. Another man walked out behind him and smiled in his direction, and though they said nothing, each understood the other, almost as if they could read each other’s minds. They thought for a few more minutes about the deals their companies had required them to make, and soon, their negotiations were at an end. The lights faded again and he found himself sitting in a chair labeled 23,947. He felt as though he would never need to read or talk again.
“Subject released. Infection complete. Logged and prepared for return.” The computer screen flashed names and information at a dizzying rate.
“Goodbye for now, and remember, for the most complete communication experience, use The Concept Engine.”
And so he headed out of the building, trying to remember why he visited in the first place but sure of one thing: language is dead, and he would definitely be back soon.
“TCE — It’s the Thought that Counts.”
So, I haven’t written in like… forever. You’re welcome. The Concept Engine was an idea I had a couple years back when I thought I wanted to write some sci-fi. I wanted to expand on Orwell’s idea of simplified language, and what better way than to eliminate language altogether! Perhaps you’ll see this idea exploited some more at some point, and I’ll try to make it a bit more cohesive next time. Right now, I’m working on an alphabet for use in a fantasy series at some point, whenever I get around to actually writing something. I’ll post some more on that sometime soon. Good to see you again!
Bye for now,
The following post is a mash-up of all of my drafts. They are not meant to, nor do they, make a whole lot of sense. Enjoy.
To the people of America, not including those not residents of the United States and the Virgin Isles, I bid you good morning. It is with great pleasure and pride that I stand here to address you this evening.
*kkkrrrrkkkk TV static*
Those words are funny, are they not? They can lead to one or several of a nearly infinite pool of results. They could prompt destruction, or they could forbear the tidings of an unheard-of miracle cure. They could bring about a completely ridiculous idea, or they could hearken the coming of a perfectly marvelous proposition. This is bound to be of the former.
What if blogs were sentient? You know, they could could think thoughts and feel emotions. What would they say? Could they learn from the others in their realm, or would they be limited to the input provided them by their owners? In a way, any writing is alive through its readers, especially when the ideas contained within prompt discussion and debate, but what if the blog itself could observe its readers, form opions on its contents, and think about world events? What would it say?
I was going to write an article on hipsters. In fact, it was even requested of me, but I found the task inconceivably difficult, nigh insurmountable. Being the lazy chap that I am, I decided to write something vaguely close.
Everyone should have some taste of the nerd culture at some point in his or her life. Nerds are everywhere, especially in their natural habitat: the internet. To effectually know what a nerd is talking about, one must first understand several key concepts and phrases. I have compiled a list of said items.
The knowledge and even usage of certain nerd culture terms does not make one a nerd; many people will mix in references to popular nerd culture in their regular conversation. Let’s start off with the most basic of nerd languages, 1337 5p34k (leet speak).
1337 can be fairly inconsistent, as the language is not “officially” regulated. The goal is to substitute as many common roman letters with numbers or symbols. The language can be fairly cryptic; for example, if I wished to write my blog name as ><4n7|-|u5|<1|)|), this could easily confuse someone not familiar with the regular text name.
Moving on, many tv shows and movies contain token lines and items that are commonly referenced by nerds. Doctor Who, Star Wars, and Star Trek are incredibly popular examples.
The time, my friends, has indeed been long since we last discussed the theories and principles that govern the common views of food. The psychological influences and contributors were discussed in the last installment, but this post aims to bring the focus back to the theological. This article will focus on certain doctrines held by the believers in one true Chef.
Unfortunately, much contention has always existed amongst the followers of the Chef. Two chief factions of the Chef-followers have emerged.
Once upon a time, in a little metropolis, there lived a woman and her only daughter. Her daughter was a very kind little girl; everyone in the apartment complex loved her. She was given a red hoodie with little green zipper pulls when she was little, and that shirt and her iPhone were her constant companions throughout life. In fact, she was known throughout the community as Little Red iPhone Hoodie (or simply Red, for short).
As with all young girls of her age and era, she loved silly bandz, Apple products, and other shiny things. Unlike most of the children her age, she was very nice-tempered and kind towards others. One day, her mother asked her to take a new pair of headphones to Red’s grandmother. The girl obligingly complied, for she knew that there were many silly bandz shops along the streets on the way to her grandmother’s house. So, Red started on her way, looking at silly bands and finding all sorts of pretty things in the shops.
*kkkrrrrkkkk…. moar TV static*
I have a confession to make. I HATE (with capital everythings) the crunching sound of people eating.* This isn’t just a petty annoyance or a minor peeve. This is a major thing. The real deal. An Article of Maximum Disturbance. You know that scene in Return of the King in which Denethor is munching on some snacks whilst Merry sings to him? That is my least favorite movie scene of all time. The foley is disgusting and disgusts me. Needless to say, I was disgusted.
Now, I’m pretty bad at ranting; in fact, I’ve pretty much run out of things to say, but here is a list of unforgivables–things that could get you banned from this blog. FOREVER.
- The crunching of one’s non-crunchy food is not to be tolerated.
- The talking of one upon one’s phone should be minimal in volume.
- When eating, one should take care to keep one’s food within one’s mouth at all times.
And that’s all he wrote.