Documente Academic
Documente Profesional
Documente Cultură
Timothy Ballan
2010
Contents
Acknowledgements.............................................................................3
Disclaimer..........................................................................................4
A Possible World................................................................................5
Absurd Poems..................................................................................45
Chasing the Shrinking Universe......................................................48
Serious Poems..................................................................................52
"Maxims".........................................................................................56
Yashid's Dream................................................................................59
About the Author ..............................................................................74
Acknowledgements
I would like to acknowledge my friend Molly Kienzler for helping
proofread this book.
Disclaimer
I refuse to use quotation marks in such a way that envelopes any
commas or periods not suggested by the quoted material. For
example, quoting a child saying the words "I don't want to go now",
I did not put the comma within the quotation marks, as the comma is
not suggested by the child's words. On the other hand, I will end
this next sentence in a different way. As someone once said, "Use
your head, not your rule book."
With a similar emphasis on clarity over convention, I also
follow dashes with commas at times. Even if preceded by a dash
as I will now demonstrate, I retain commas that retain usefulness.
Beyond just punctuation, though, I'd hope abundant clarity pervades
my writing, from word order, to sentence structure, to overall
presentation of ideas.
A Possible World
My head hurts, but it's wearing off. I was hit with a football in gym
class, making me less apt to enthusiastically participate in the
future; I'm just not athletic. But I do love naturedifferent from
how many athletes perceive it as something to "use" as a
playground. I wish there were some place I could easily find
some school, area, state, countrywhere people thought more like
me, and I could learn from them rather than constantly being
annoyed by small-mindedness.
I'm on a walk in the woods behind the school in a part I've never
been, moving along speedily to calm my mind and "walk off" my
head injury. But, my head starts hurting again, as I'm blinded by
something shining in my eye attached to a rocky incline a bit in
front of me. I think it's a door.
I'm not even supposed to be hereI should have gone to the nurse
or at least told someone I was leaving the gym. But, my distaste for
all mundane and usual emboldens my steps forward; I am
determined to explore deeper into these woods.
I see, as I come closer to it, that this is a tiny door, but gilded,
ornately carved, and shiningly maintained as if leading to a chamber
of some still-living king of antiquity.
I am feeling at least
adventurous enough to give this door a try.
Unsurprisingly, it doesn't open easily. I pull enough to slip off the
strangely modern angular handle and fall backward, while it then,
even more strangely, opens inward, and slowly. Thankfully I didn't
get hurt again in this fall. I don't understand why I am so clumsy.
As I gather myself up, even as I approach the door, I can't make out
anything but shallow darkness beyond it. I decide, hesitantly, that I
5
As I hear myself coming even closer to the gong now, I see the lady
yet againwho, actually, may be a different lady, I suppose, but
she now appears to have the body type of an extreme anorexic. I
don't give her much attention at all this time as I rush around a
couple more corners and finally spot the gong, played by a little boy.
This small blonde boy seems very shy, sitting in a corner on a small
foldable rusted metal chair, hitting the gong with a padded mallet
with one hand and, with his other, holding a poorly red-painted sign
that reads, "I cannot smile".
Despite all my angst leading up to this point, at least I am certainly
made to smile here.
"I bet I can make you smile," I say.
The boy responds only by tentatively looking further away from me
than he already has been. I begin to dance a strange little jig while
singing a song filled with nonsense words, only increasingly
exaggerating my voice and movements little by little. I can tell the
boy is trying to hold back a smile, and, all of a sudden, I see him let
out a large grinbut for a moment. His grin quickly fades into a
look of utter horror. His body soon explodes with a powerful blast,
as I hurry backwards away from him, bumping into a sarcophagus
on the way.
I'm not hurt, but apparently the boy, who was a robot, is. A large
amount of springs, screws, spokes, wheels, smoldering artificial
flesh, and blue gassy-smelling liquid has spread all over the room. I
feel very bad about this, but how was I supposed to know this would
happen?
10
I guess I found the source of the gong, but now what? I know I
could turn back, but I am feeling strangely more confident that I can
and somehow should stay hereat least for a while. I feel that I am
shaking with adrenaline that I'm sure is at least partly from fear, but
something is pulling me through and outshining this and all other
negative feelings.
As I leave the room full of robot parts and juice, I find that I'm
closer to an exit from this place than I thought; I can see a strong
light surely coming from just around a few more corners. I run
excitedly through three rooms, but the next room is filled with the
faces of just about twenty sleeping green ladies somehow built into
the floor.
I tiptoe between the ladies' faces as I note that each wears an
identically-painted extreme and exotic display of makeup. As I stop
to examine the makeup on one face near the room's center, it
suddenly awakes with wide eyes and begins to shriek. As all other
faces awake, they each also begin shrieking. Frustrated, I give up
on tiptoeing and just walk forward out of this room. I think I may
even have stepped on part of one of the faces on my way out.
Quickly forgetting about this situation, though, I rush past a few
more corners and am surprised by a gentle spring breeze coming
from below and all around me, as I am exiting an apparent cave on a
low hill in a brightly green and yellow forest. I am sure it was fall
before I came down, or over, or however I got here. Although, I'm
not so sure that I shouldn't question my memory if so much I
thought I knew has been cast into doubt even within the last half
hour.
I am startled to feel someone approach from behind me, but they
proceed to speak soothingly enough for me to avoid reacting
jerkingly, as they take my hand and caress it, saying, "Shh... I am
here." I turn around to see a lady of apparently Eastern Asian
11
peeking through my hands every few seconds. I notice that the tribe
has disappeared but that, thankfully, the noise of the stampede
seems to be moving away from me.
After a few more seconds of waiting, I am left in a cloud of dust dug
up from the savanna in front of me. There's no one left around
meeven the flower lady and her muse have disappeared. A
sudden feeling of desertion overtakes me and motivates me to
energetically sprint to chase after the tail end of the stampede.
The animals pull exponentially further and further away from me,
though, and I quickly lose breath and am forced to rest; I just am not
athletic. And, when I finally feel less dizzy and more able to
breathe, I see that the stampede has somehow gone far past where I
can see. I feel disappointedbut not for long. I soon begin to make
out what looks to be some some preserved old city very much like
an Old West frontier town, lying on the horizon.
I really am tired of walking, but I make it to the town after only a
few minutes of trudging feet. As I enter the seeming city limits, I
happily notice that all the animals I saw before are enjoying a small
water park further in. This water park has no clear water though
only different colors and consistencies of some sludge that everyone
is splashing in and through, down slides, in pools, and on inflatable
tubes through built streams. And, mixed in with the sludge are tiny
babies that look very much like the boy who exploded earlier. I'm
hoping these are robots as well.
As I am slightly disgusted by this, I move past this "water" park to
the other side of the city, where, just past its limits, there lies what
seems to be a miniature desert only about one square mile in area.
Continuing to walk on, not far into this "desert", I go up to some
strange animal sitting beneath a palm tree next to one of the tribal
menan adult-human-sized dinosaur-like lizard.
Somehow
unsurprisingly, the tribal man swiftly begins slicing this animal open
16
rather than a bus stop, a simple bench along the outside of tracks
where a train is slowly approaching from the far left.
As I turn my head from the train, though, I notice a tall green lizard
and panda bear semi-smilingly waving and running toward me from
the far right, to the right of the train tracks that curve off toward the
horizon before me.
They shout out "Hey! Hey! Hey!" over and over, though with some
pauses here and there, until they reach me.
"...Hi."
"Are you new here?" the lizard asks.
Interrupting him, the panda says, "Of course he's newand he's
obviously just visiting. Am I right?"
"...Yes."
"Well, Tim, is it?"
"...How did you know?"
"You're wearing a name tag."
I just remember that I never took off a name tag from a student
assembly I assisted just before gym class.
"Ohhh... I thought you were reading my mind."
"No, we can't do that here, but we are a type that prides ourselves on
being open-minded but also skeptical of things of all natures."
"Well, I guess that's good!
20
head sticks to the archway and some falls to the ground, but he
continues to smile, unfazed the whole time.
Three very short characters follow behind this man, one with a nose
bulbous but long enough to nearly touch the ground in front of her,
one with two front teeth similarly large and positioned, and one with
eel-like ears long enough to dangle along the ground behind them.
This third character, however, seems to be asleep or dead, rolling
along while propped up on a wheeled pole similar to the skating
poles I witnessed in the first area I came across in this world just a
few hours ago.
Finally, following far behind the other characters, a man very slowly
saunters on while hunched over likely because weighed down by
crescent-shaped structures jutting out from under his chin and up
from the top of his head. These structures jut out at least fifteen feet
in front of him and must cause great pressure to both weigh down
and pull on him. He looks completely unpained, however, exposing
a wide silly buck-toothed smile.
Even while this man does move on very slowly, he fails to take the
time to duck beneath the arch that the grapefruit-like man also ran
into. About five feet of his top crescent structure crumbles upon
hitting the archway, along with part of the archway, clearly a
material only slightly less dense than the enamel-like crescent
breaking part of it. Just as with the grapefruit man, this moon man
seems neither to notice nor care about any of this. Behind him,
what has broken off from his top crescent structure withers and
shrivels as if under some extremely bright light, turning into jellycoated leaf-like substances.
None of these characters looked unhappy, nor like they were
feigning happiness. I suppose many in my world parade while
feigning happiness.
24
After she finishes reading this short book, as she tries to descend,
she falls to the ground, smacking her head and cracking it open.
Blood leaks all over the stage as random dogs rush from backstage
to lick it up. The curtains draw in front of the chair, but the lady's
legs are sticking out through them, and dogs continue to brush and
move back and forth under the curtains.
The lady is apparently dead, but everyone laughs.
"...What just happened?" I whisper to the panda.
"Oh, she'll be back next month."
I figure this is something like the melting lady, and I presume this
lady felt as little pain as the melting lady appeared to feel as she
smilingly died. This somehow makes sense to me, and I let this
issue alone in my mind.
Once all life and non-life has been removed from the center of the
stage, the lights are brought back on. Extending from outside the
right side entrance at the front of the auditorium, there stands a line
of characters of all different species each holding their private areas
as if needing to use bathroom. There is a toilet on stage and they all
use it, apparently not acting. As usual, I'm not sure what to make of
this. On the other hand, everyone else in the audience seems
emotionally moved by this act, crying, sniffling, or otherwise
looking touched and sobered.
Finally, once this is over, the third playor "movement", or
whateveris performed. Two enormous black-painted unicycles
are ridden around the stage by large-mustached top-hatted men
sitting on chairs propped upon the large seats above about fifteenfoot wheels. From both sides of the backstage appear many
anteaters with axes attached to their heads who chop at the stage
until it collapses. Finally, people clap, and while providing a
27
standing ovation.
To end all of this, a little penguin in diapers comes out in front of
the collapsed stage, looking nervously about the auditorium which
has quieted and re-darkened except for a spotlight on him. When a
girl comes from backstage to hold the penguin's hand, he begins to
look less nervous. Upon clearly appearing decidedly comfortable,
the audience roars into applause while the girl and penguin bow.
I ask, "Why are they bowing?" even though I know I won't receive a
sensible (or, "sensible") answer.
Everyone around me semi-admonishingly shushes me.
As the applause fades, so does the crowd, mostly exiting by
breaking and jumping out of the stained-glass windows. If this
happens every concert, replacing these windows (along with the
stage!) could become expensive I assumethough not necessarily
very much more so than replacing smashing guitars, I suppose.
The lizard, panda, and I decide to use the exit door and stairs. We
retrace our steps to the edge of the city and stop by the city dump
just outside of it. I guess this is part of the "tour" I'm being provided
by the lizard and panda.
The dump itself is housed within a building that looks like a large
upside-down bee's nest, but, once we make our way inside, there is
no visible ceilingjust a garbage chute from far above; it seems I
am again "underground". The area all around looks very much like
a large well, but not cemented or with stones, just a wall of soil, and
about the circumference of a rounded average high school
classroom.
As we are led by a tiny snail "gatekeeper" around a ledge built into
the chute at the same level as the entrance, he introduces a red28
world."
The panda responds, "Well, it's more complicated than can be easily
explained, I suppose."
The gatekeeper continues, "We get instruments delivered from all
over the... your world. But, cheap restaurants make their ownout
of pine cones, shaven sticks, hollowed grass, and mushrooms. And,
some are made out of pans and/or tubes and filled with water."
Continuing on with enthusiasm, "One type we make looks like a
fountain spilling from a tube in the center of a bowl surrounded by
another bowl; it has holes you can cover in different patterns as you
hit the side of the bowls with sticks. Another is a cylindrical harp
that wraps around two heads of skin drawn upon circles connected
by a wooden pole in between the instrument frame; the frame starts
as long as the harp itself but then wraps around until it's very small
in the middle; the strings are attached between the bottom and the
top of the frame and at two-inch intervals so that the higher-pitched
strings in between, closer to the center of the instrument, can be
reached easily."
"Wow... That's... awesome," I respond.
As if taking credit for it, the gatekeeper responds faux-modestly,
"Hehe, yeah... And, you know, we know about that girl that was
killed in Hollywood in, I think, the thirties."
"What?"
"Ya know, the 'Black Dahlia'."
"...Oh yeah, I've heard about that."
"Yeah. We have a memorial service for her every year in here."
30
what you mean to say. I don't mean to say you're wrong and I'm
right, but, like I said before, I follow you sometimes, but then, there
are times where I feel we're on irreconcilably different pages."
The panda interjects, "Well, we may be and/or we may not be."
I catch myself almost rolling my eyes but, instead, choose to smile,
knowing that this is the right thing to door, rather, the seemingly
or likely right thing to do. I feel these people emphasize uncertainty
too much. But then, everyoneeven in my world and my part of
ithas their own different emphases that work for them, and one
person's emphases can be just as good as another's. Sometimes it
might be best for one to change their life emphases, but everyone I
guess can improve. And, this is a whole different world! There may
indeed be irreconcilable differencesalthough, I guess I'm not so
sure about that. Seeming irreconcilable differences might actually
be reconcilable in some way that Iand maybe these seemingly
wise but silly, or seemingly silly, peoplecan't know. ...I'm so
confident in my day-to-day life; this place has helped open my eyes
a bit to how small I keep my mindthough I do consider myself
smart. It has also opened my eyes to how much at least nearly
infinite knowledge lies outside my ability, time, and energy to grasp.
My inward reflecting is interrupted as the lizard and panda break
their own side conversation as the lizard insists that we all start
flying. They immediately begin to fly and, without realizing it, I do
as well. I didn't even feel myself willing my body to begin to fly...
The sky is overcast. It is all beautiful, and I am jubilant. I fly faster
and higher to try to see above the clouds and, too late, notice a thick
"ceiling" of some orange sponge-like, wax-like, goo-like substance
as I brush my head against the disgusting stuff.
The lizard laughingly calls to me, "Oh! We forgot to tell you! Don't
fly too high there! Hahaha!"
32
We are all served some cabbage-type soup without yet finishing our
dessert-oriented food, but all the food somehow fits together and
seems right and perfectly tasty.
I notice this increasing sound of wind chimesbut from under the
table. I look underneath and see that, sure enough, hung from under
the table center is a set of wind chimes that we are all accidentally
or, I suppose accidentallysounding. I guess I didn't notice the
sound before because it blended together with the sound of the wind
chimes that are hung outside on the porchuntil the grandma sat
down and rather forcefully rustled the table's chimes with her legs.
No one mentions anything about the wind chimes under the table, so
I assume it is a custom that I wasn't made aware of. Although, it is
hard to converse easily over the sometimes noisy chimes. I can't
argue that there aren't similarly seemingly meaningless and
inconvenient customs like this on Earthor "my earth", though.
Suddenly, a grey deranged sort of cat head with five legs dressed in
black spandex with pink socks and black sneakers lands on the table
from the ceiling apparently, asking in a weird baby-ish voice,
"Wanna watch me dance?"
Without leaving time for a response, she proceeds to wildly dance
on the table for several seconds, spilling our food and drink all over
before jumping back up to the ceiling and saying no more.
"Oh, Jezebel... That's my pet, Samantha."
We all clean up what was spilled, though I'm the only one who
cleans it up not by eating it, but by giving it to others to eat. We
finish eating mostly in silence, but with sincere smiling glances
given to one another.
36
car partsand are led out to the back porch where there is no food,
just a view into the forest where I started my adventure. Seeing no
alternative, as we begin to sit onto different parts of cars that do not
even closely resemble chairs, as if on cue, four lampposts in the
woods come lit, looking like two cats' eyes. The lampposts' lights
then start moving like two dancing cats, rhythmically chanting in an
almost rap-like style:
"Little kitty Lintite,
Woken in the moonlight, to
Find about her boyfriend, so
She can ...tell you... all her ...stories..."
It seems they lost their rhythm, energy, and breath by the end of the
verse. They start again refreshed, though:
"Little Kitty Lintite,
Dancing in the moonlight, she
Likes to be in twilight, but
Dances on her night... so...
She can... tell you all her stories!"
They finish well, but the fat fish lady asks, "Ma'am-ma'ams? Would
you mind singing a bit quieter? ...You're very loud and I just came
out here to read."
"Oh-oh. Why, I'm sorry honey, sir. We'll come back another time."
"Yes, doI'd like to hear your stories!"
Sitting upon our sharp objects, each of us appears to be in pain
except the fish. Panda, Lizard, and I all eye each other with
nervous, pained glances as if to coax one of us to say something
about our discomfort. Panda speaks first.
38
"Well, it was a wonderful meal, read, and chat that we had here,
ma'am"
"Call me Wanda!"
Smiling, "...Wandabut, we all have somewhere very important to
be."
Lizard adds, though, "I'd like to stay...as long as I don't have to sit
on this any longer?"
"Bwah-bwah-bwah! Oh, honey, you just needed to speak up
sooner! I have no feeling in my body, so I don't mind sitting on
these sharp parts here! Oh, bwah-bwah-bwah-bwah!"
Panda whispers to me, "I think they like one another." Then, louder,
"Well, we'll be off. I think Lizard finds himself right where he
needs to be."
After some waves and smiles, Panda and I walk into and through the
woods. We have to be careful so as not to wake up the sleeping
creatures everywherefrom kangaroos, lions, leopards, zebras,
deer, to others unidentifiable. But, morning is apparently coming
quicklyeven after only about an hour-long night, as I see the
sun rising already.
The edge of this part of the woods is the beginning of a subtly
rolling near-treeless valley, perfect for a sunrise watch. We sit to
watch how, as the sun rises, the ocean-looking sky pours water
through funnels into the valley beneath it. I conclude, however right
or wrong, that this is normal here for a sunriseand, maybe, a
sunset reverses this pattern so that the night world becomes not only
a different-looking world, but a much drier world here on the
ground, and a much wetter one in the sky.
39
"You've been at Mercy Street Hospital for the past few daysbut
you somehow snuck outslept-walkedpeople called the police!"
"NoNo, no no!... You don't understandit wasn't a dreameven
if that's what all the scientists in the world explained it as. ...Or,
even if I was dreaming, maybe I was also somewhere else
physically at the same time."
"Tim, I think we need to get you to rest; you're not making sense.
I'm glad you had a nice dream, though."
"No! No It was more than that! It was a gainful experience!
I've learned that it's not possible to say anything with certainty! It's
not certain that my conscious mind was somewhere away from my
body or that my body was at two places at once, but it is certainly
possibleor at least possibly possible... And, this here may or may
not exist. Something more, something greater or differentso
different... and it's all beautiful... or not. ...I'm confused; they told
me that this type of thinking can get me confusedor anyone
confused. I have to moderate mental exertion. I feel good about all
of this, though."
"Well, Tim, I don't know what to say to that."
I ride with my mom in her minivan away from the park where I
potentially slept-walked as the song "Don't You Forget About Me"
barely perceptibly comes onto the low-volume radio. I start to cry
but am then startled by someone from the park's small zoo waving,
dressed as a lizard and holding a very fat fish who is spitting water
everywhere. Next to himin the cage he's cleaningis an actual
panda bear, also waving.
Even if this was a dream, it was the most educational and
inspirational dream ever.
44
Absurd Poems
Salt
Salt heals all wounds.
Pum
Pum
What a good word!
A Good Game
If the person before you in a circle guesses a number less than you,
they lose.
If You Run
If you run in circles in a park screaming "Help!", no one is going to
help you.
A Society Without People
I still can't think of anything about this.
Many
many many many many many many many many many many many
many many many many many many many many
We Can See
We can see that it is only not yet quite dawn but as we approach
through their house's open front door onto a front porch, and.
45
Barbara Ann
There's a baby in my house and her old name is Barbara Ann.
She ate a ball of butter and a rammy tam tam tam.
If I were Billy Bob kadoodle I'd put it in the ram,
'cause then I'd know the world but a nostril and a ham.
I Wanna Push Your Breath
I wanna push your breath,
I wanna sing your song,
I wanna love your life and suck on your socks;
I wanna touch your eye,
I wanna play your games,
I wanna eat your parents
and live all alone in the dark and believe in my heart that the world
will end.
Children Never Get Old
Children never get old
because nothing is all right with anything,
and, as a rat's nest will always welcome worms,
so wilt there always wither the desk upon the poet's palm.
There is nothing wrong with Delver, the helpful Pussitfrowler,
yet I cannot stop and tither what the weather whethers
where its wheat is worn by whom the wearers were,
the wendhidthdst did korlorn.
Not yet, you pretentious fool who speaks
loftily of himself as if it were deserved,
on Hoak's ether-edged, a perriwwikenelledess,
the end of latter-splorr.
46
47
This planet has melded with another's deep red center seemingly
drawn to a nearby aquamarine star bending into itself, contorted in
"u"-shapes stretching inward, as I am pulled by something like
reverse elasticity. All color begins to dim but grow a more intense
white. Soon all left is growing white brightness and, resonating
from deep within and all around me I hear, "We were, we are, we
will be, we are, we were." This may have been an illusion, but I
suddenly felt an equal meaning to life and non-life more clearly than
I had ever before, and then I disappeared.
Much later, I reappeared and heard these same sounds. This began a
dream of all these preceding events in reverse order and until I
awoke sitting here these billions of years later. I did not come to
this dream directly from the universe's last life cycle so far in my
past, though, but after thirty-seven years of the life I've yet lived
but also lived exactly before then, and before then, and before then
forever. This dream merely prodded my memoryalthough, this
specific memory could be as fantastical an illusion as that of free
will, or the uniqueness of each moment.
But I sat here reading before my dream that everything happens
only once, but all at the same time; time is just another dimension
like one of space. There may seem to be a preferred direction of
time, but only because that is the direction that intelligence works
into reverse events would merely cause backward thinking of
backward events, identical to how we'd say we now think. But there
is also no preferred moment of time, just as there is no preferred
direction or spot in space; there is no movement, and no
repositioning really; it is only perfect symmetry, a perfect pattern
that would offer complete self-explanation to someone who could
see it. But I thought I saw it. But I've seen parts of it also every day
of my last many years and without understanding. It just warms me
in this moment at least to know that everything must make sense, as
I suppose I've always known, but it must make sense in a way that I
can at least now taste as a drop of saltwater from vast oceans. And I
50
51
Serious Poems
A Story Bad and Good
There is no time of good
who would not see as life
all dead lain beneath them
of times past they soon will be.
There is no time of bad
who would not see as dead
all life lain beneath them
passing but to never stop.
Yet good and bad finds by conscious minds
worth or not through feeling
with just what's built from those before
and with what's built for those ahead.
Yet in good worth is found through this known;
all's a story writ but once.
Some Sense Anew
Copper-colored blocks unseen
by dreaming blind in bed,
some swirling heat untouched
by numb and sitting legs,
Pure rippling air unheard
by fractured inner ears,
and salty waves untasted
tongue and nose gone dry;
52
55
"Maxims"
Beneath sex
is nonsense.
No one wants people who most want just to be wanted.
Even if spiting seeming social courtesy, reason isn't interested in
balancing what is fallacious with what is not.
"Carbon life-forms" on Earth are not necessarily more special than
unique gaseous forms on Jupiter, though we don't detect these to be
as valuable as we.
Every major new scientific discovery seems to always "surprise" at
least many scientists. Maybe they should have learned by now that
at least some things they believe are correctable.
Imagination cannot be taught, but it can be taught to shrivel.
Why are "ignorant" people usually also "arrogant"? Probably
because they think those who claim a distinction between the words
are wrong.
Our covers are part of our books.
Repeat the most obvious lie more and more and the masses will find
it more and more true.
Tactics of good debating are deceitful, as the good debater doesn't
care about truth to begin with. Yet, an honest and steadfast eye will
see through this.
The unspoken Neoconservative motto:
56
Anti-judgment:
Everyone can report of past actions reasons
explaining their feeling to have willed and/or (while oblivious and/
or not) not willed them.
Acknowledging all people as fundamentally similar should exist
alongside our drawing of enemy lines, not as a contradiction, but as
a reminder of the greater good that a tremblingly sensitive war
seeks.
As much as we hate each other, we are not only part of the same
singular universe, on the same earth so small in this universe, but we
are part of the same very specific pattern of elements definably "our
species".
Things make sense even if I can't make sense of them.
58
Yashid's Dream
I'm only ten and I'm alone. I don't know how I got here. The first
thing I remember is sliding down these networks of tube-like neon
and pastel plastic slidesI could direct which one I would go to at
their "intersections", but I didn't know why I chose the ones I did.
In any case, I ended up here in this small room with a chipping thin
tile floor beneath me that looks like cookies and cream ice cream,
white with black streaks all over.
I look up at the ceiling hiding the network of slides above me, about
ten rectangular sponge blocks white with faint black streaks less
noticeable than brown water stains dotted here and there. There
appears to be no way out other than climbing back up the slide.
Naturally I attempt this.
My hair statically floats above me while my nylon Sunday tights
and dress are being charged beneath me. My hands are kind of
hurting as I resist sliding back down, pulling myself knee length by
knee length upward and over bumps where parts of the tube slides
are probably bolted together on the slides' exterior.
I finally make it to a semi-level area about twenty feet up where I
made my split-second decision to go straight down instead of
shifting to the right. To my right, which was my left on the way
down, I now notice a large area holding pastel and neon mostly
pink, maroon, purple, and blue plastic toy balls. This is like a fast
food restaurant's "ball pit" I guess, held up by about a classroom's
size net of blue and red thick rope. I don't exactly trust this rope,
though, especially since it hangs above some sort of thick pool of
ink and nearly touches it at the net's dipping center.
I look more closely into this odd area and notice dull pink and blue
Christmas lights scattered around but connected by no cords, each
59
bulb screwed into the black-painted cement block walls to which the
netting is fastened. What light the bulbs emit helps me make out on
the black cement high ceiling small stalactites that look like melting
cheese. I even notice some of this "cheese" drip onto some balls
near me. And, looking more closely onto the net of probably two
thousand balls, I see there is this mozzarella-ish cheese dotted all
around, some still moist-looking and some hard and molded. Gross.
Nearly gagging, I turn away from this room and toward the slide I
chose not to go down. This one is a pastel lavender, as opposed to
the sort of hot pink one I chose before. I peer down it but don't see
anything clearly; the only light in this whole slide network seems to
come from these semi-level areas, probably from something like the
Christmas lights I just saw.
"Shit."
Daddy would kill me if he heard me say that. I slap my hand to my
mouth and almost with a sting. I need to get home before I fall into
a bad habit of swearing. I feel so uneasy here and I suppose that's
why I just swore. ...But I swore because I have no way of knowing
if this slide leads anywhere any better than the one I just climbed up
from.
"Shit."
Angry with myself for swearing again, I sort of shake my fists but
lose balance even in my crawling position in this relatively shallow
mostly levelly-placed "intersection tube".
Somehow I slip
backwards and down the same slide I just crawled up.
Back in the same small room as before, I find myself not as scared
as before, but just frustrated and actually pretty angry with myself
instead. And I must look all staticky and unkempt. I stop to
readjust my skirt, hosiery, and hair, turning toward the slide while
60
started.
I stare at the rabbit urine puddle with my footprints on its edges and
being to cry a little. But now I'm mad. I'm going to make Hell.
I start kicking the soily and plastery hole and throwing my body into
the soft walls. I kick off my shoe and scream at the top of my lungs,
"I want out!"
But this lasts no more than half a minute before I start crying again.
I'm not hopeless enough to slump into the urine again, though, but
I'm sad enough to exert only the amount of energy needed to move a
foot away from it and slump there.
I decide to take a small nap. Maybe this all will go away with that.
...I wake up after what could have been minutes or hours, I don't
know. I feel all disoriented now. But maybe this is because I awoke
to the sound of a collapsing wall down the tunnel.
Flustered but aware enough to rise to my feet, I rush away from the
sound, but it stopsso I stop. I slowly approach a pile of rubble I
can see just a dozen or so yards away.
O.M.G.
The center of the tunnel!
Why didn't I think of
that! ...Well, I guess anywhere beyond the walls could have been a
way out, but the center seems so obvious. I think when I was
kicking it made part of the center wall collapse and now I'm
psyched.
"Woah." This is beautiful. ...But it's just a stupid courtyard.
"O.K. What the Hell." I suddenly don't care about the fresh air or
grassprobably mostly because that's all there is. The grass is wet
enough for it to just have rained, but the sky is mostly blue. The
63
soily walls around me are too tall to see anything above me besides
this part of the sky, though. And thus I have no way of knowing if
I'm near anything like civilization.
I suppose maybe it was obvious that this wouldn't lead anywhere
after all. But I'm just very confused now. I could try collapsing a
wall not bordering this center. But, I don't know that any other
place leads anywhere besides the slides. I could still try to climb
any slides I find, though ...But then I don't even know that I could
really physically climb them. I think I just have to hope and try.
I'm starting to get a little scared and then I actually am somehow
startled enough to jump.
"Ahhh!" There's the red bunny again. For some reason, it looks
like it's almost smiling now. What?
It runs away once again, even though I didn't approach it at all. But
now I see it was sitting on somethinga manhole cover. ...Well, if
I've already taken a mud and pee bath, I don't think a sewer is much
beyond me...
"Although, it is below me." For some reason this pun makes me
laugh. Maybe just because I thought of it myself. Teehee!
The manhole cover is surprisingly light and, surprisingly, there is no
sewer beneath itjust a cast iron wire staircase. "Interesting." This
is actually kind of awesome for some reason. I almost feel a little
sense of adventure.
I step down into the hole and find that the stairs are surrounded by
walls different from those of the tunnel I was just inthey appear to
be more solidified, but not quite yet "rock". There is no lighting,
but I can sense where I'm going because the stairs go down in a
pattern of five steps, a platform, a turn, five steps, a platform, a turn.
64
I see a LOT of people in there and am a little afraid but know I need
to get in. And then the face of a probably four hundred-pound
woman pops up a little ways from the window, her disappointing
grimace doing nothing to soothe my fear.
"Get in," she groans.
"Oh, hi. Okaythanks." I smile and take her hand as she stands on
the ledge of this small window near the high ceiling of this Gothicish hall. I don't know how she got up here. She is one strong
woman, though, basically pulling methough surprisingly gently
from an odd angle through this window onto the ledge with her.
I smile again and, again, with nothing in return. I look down to see
now relatively tightly spiral stairs but made of the same wire
material as the stairs I just came by. For some reason, this lady all
the while continues to hold me up and then lifts me over her
shoulder as she slowly booms down the stairs that seem to barely
hold her weight. At long last we reach the safety of the ground level
of the hall.
There are no windows here but for the kind that I just came through
evenly-spaced about every dozen yards around the top of the walls.
There are about twenty overall I think. The walls go up for about
three or four city building stories and then meet the ceiling which
curves higher stillfor about another storyto reach a crease
aligning with a long dining table far below. Though this room
almost looks like it could belong in a cathedral, it is not built
ornately, and its floors, walls, and ceiling only vary in texture along
with the relatively thin honey- and dark-brown-colored wood boards
lining them. The main wood is honeyish and the beams touching
and jutting out from the ceiling's and walls' tops are dark brown. All
this is lit by two cast iron probably five-foot lanterns hanging from
beams level with the ceiling's base, holding loudly buzzing
somehow electric bulbs.
66
I look up and down the table at which nearly identical copies of this
four-hundred-pound grumpy-looking woman sit on both sides all
around it. There are about a hundred of them, all white, all wearing
some sort of medieval-ish brown, green, or black cloak-ish plain
dress, all with dirty-looking and frizzy curled dark brown hair.
Most notably, each of them almost looks like a fat turtle, their
pursed-lip frowns bending into their fat necks. I don't know exactly
why, but I don't want to sit with them. Maybe it's because I think
they'll eat methey don't even have plates. I smile again but
somewhat hesitantly and say "thank you" as I gradually quicken my
pace toward a hallway to the left of me and the still-open window
far up behind me.
I reach a hallway similar in design to the dining hall behind me, but
probably only a story and a half tall. It curves to the left and with
similar proportions to the curve of the tunnel from before that I don't
really want to think of now.
Proceeding down the hallway, I let out a huge sigh once I turn and
can no longer see the fat turtle ladies. Only now do I notice that I
must once again be filthy-looking, though. But I only give myself a
half-hearted patting to shed some dirt. I really don't think I need to
impress anyone down here, actually.
I walk for about three minutes, no longer twiddling my fingers or
humming for some reason. I suppose it feels like I'm going
somewhere. And then I'm proven right. In front of me, to the right,
I see a pair of glass doors leading to what looks like an Ivy League
college campus courtyard.
I step out into it after having a little struggle with the right heavy
glass door. I actually left finger smudges on it which I feel a little
bad about, but I've already left a bigger mess behind me.
67
He leaps through the open purple window and down the stairs
beyond it as I follow, looking up only enough to notice that the fat
turtle ladies are now thin, smiley, and actually attractive. Plus their
skin tone looks more like mine now.
I'm rushing to follow the rabbit so intently that I didn't notice we've
taken rights wherever I took lefts beforebut I haven't cared to use
nonsense childhood expressions to make these decisions since my
first left what seems like ages ago, though I'm sure it was just an
hour at most.
He stops in front of a part of the wall where I think the glass doors
were before, but then he runs in front of me and through a square
human-sized hole in the wall covered by a hanging rubber flap, like
a "doggy door" or something.
Even though I'm a bit put off by this, I follow the rabbit even now. I
trust him for some reason. It's almost as if he is me. I don't know. I
don't know why I think this.
I crawl through what seems like a network of nearly pitch-black and
really dusty and even cobwebby crawl spaces. I don't know where
the little light there is is coming from, actually. I notice huge
spiders above me and wince and start breathing more heavily, but
still I go on.
I'm almost out of breath after a few minutes of this and am really
starting to feel claustrophobic. But I turn a corner to notice a bright
light in front of me.
Until now I seem to have forgotten the bright childlike colors that I
began this trip with. The colors of this room are even brighter than
those. But, besides the alabaster white painted plaster walls and
sponge ceiling, they are deep reds, greens, and yellows. Not that I
72
73
74