tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26491153861284772002024-03-05T16:04:01.075-08:00A VestigeBeelzeBobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804893501046543826noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649115386128477200.post-74926076734459831492016-01-19T11:57:00.001-08:002018-04-16T17:49:53.253-07:00A Vestige, Part IV of IV<div style="text-align: center;">
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He plodded southward along the comatose beach. His feet were aching and his throat was growing increasingly dry and scratchy. His weary mind continued to search inward for the how and why of where he was at. Could this be some kind of boring nightmare? The kind of dream where one is faced by an enemy that is neither completely apparent nor fully absent. Just a gray eerie presence that exists everywhere and yet nowhere all at the same time. The farther he walked, the more he convinced himself that he was having some sort of strange dream.<br />
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Upon reaching the southernmost bend of the atoll, he noticed there was more of a breeze and somewhat of a relief from the humid atmosphere of the northwest end. The foliage seemed more sparse and allowed easier access to the thin area between the lagoon and the outer beach. He was able to locate a clearing that was oddly shaped very much like the number 7. Offering views of both the lagoon and the endless ocean, he decided this was the spot to set up temporary residence. He languidly set about gathering palm leaves, both from the ground and directly from the tree, that would form a roof for his makeshift camp.<br />
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Though the portions were tiny, the stringy and chewy meat from the rats and crabs was without end. He had painfully learned how to ration his meager fresh water supply to allow for him to barely survive. His days were filled with local explorations up the eastern coastline and also out into the ocean, as far as his braveness would allow. Learning how to spear fish was a welcomed accomplishment in an otherwise futile existence. The nights were dark and lonely, which always invited thoughts of times long gone. Tortured by what were seemingly dreams within a dream, he grew increasingly dissatisfied with his current state.<br />
<br />
Any attempts to wake himself up from what he believed to be the worst of dreams had failed. His body weight had dropped to an alarming amount and his overall health was getting worse still. Emaciated and bordering on delirium, he'd decided he'd finally had all he could take. Using tied together leaves from the surrounding Buka trees, he'd fashioned an approximately 12 - 13 foot piece of surprisingly strong rope. He found a coconut tree with terrible posture that grew out of the sandy ground almost sideways. The tree extended out over the lagoon for a good 20 - 30 feet. Although not in the healthiest state of mind by a long shot, he mulled his options.<br />
<br />
At worst, this is not a dream and by taking his own life, he will forever cease to exist. If this is some kind of bizarre dream, hanging himself should cause him to wake from this horrid slumber. Either way, it would be an escape from this wretched state of limbo. Deep down he had always felt that everything was an illusion and that the very fact that he existed at all was completely absurd. He understood existence too well to take great joy in anything. His passing would go with little to no notice and his entire existence would be forgotten within a single generation of family and close friends. He had figured out long ago the terrible secret that everything was just an exercise in futility and all things living will come to the same end eventually.<br />
<br />
He gathered his rope and began his short journey across the low lying tree above the lagoon. Upon reaching a suitable point that allowed for him to hang without any interference from anything below, he began tightly tying the rope to the tree. When that was finished, he pulled the already completed slip knot loop over his head and around his skinny neck. He sat there for what seemed like hours, but was really only about a half an hour. This was it, as he gazed up at the cloudy gray sky and listened to the rhythmic crashing of the waves out on the coral, he leaned back and fell about 9 feet until the rope snapped tightly around his neck and all attempts to breathe and struggle quickly came to a stop within seconds. He was finally free. Free from the horrors of the imposition known as life. There he died as all have lived, A Vestige.<br />
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-BeelzebobBeelzeBobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804893501046543826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649115386128477200.post-69990460690810445582015-11-28T14:44:00.000-08:002015-11-28T14:44:21.494-08:00A Vestige, Part III of IV<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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“Thanks again for your hard work on this, Charles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m gonna make sure the investors hear about
what you’ve done for this project the last few months”, he said shaking hands
with one of his most valuable research team members.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He held a high ranking position at an invest
firm in downtown Kansas City, Missouri.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The love he had for his accomplishments was only surpassed by the love
he had for his beautiful wife and soon to be mother of his child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They shared a modest two story townhome with
a single car garage perched atop a fairly steep concrete driveway, which made
the icy winters somewhat of a challenge, but nothing a little proactive salt
spreading couldn’t handle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He awoke
every morning laying in a queen size bed next to his beautiful, albeit lately
moody, pregnant love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was the girl
that upon first seeing her shuffle quickly from her bedroom to the bathroom in
her panties to brush her teeth, had forever locked his heart into a vulnerable
and helpless state.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No other would ever do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was the love of his life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The immediate rollover morning kiss that you
see in movies and on tv, was mutually understood between the two as better left
until after the brushing of the teeth and a swift gargle of mouthwash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His workdays were challenging and stress-filled,
but ultimately rewarding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not just the
pay, but the sense that he was succeeding in both matters of a good leader and
of a vested heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would come home to
a warm cooked meal peppered with the thoughts and gossip of his wife concerning
the neighborhood wives and other such petty goings-on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the night would draw to a close, they
ultimately exchanged a kiss and sometimes more, then gave their goodnights and
turned out the lights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
This was what life was supposed to
be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So why then was this more of a
nightmare than a happy dream?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was it
because that if you never ultimately achieved this ideal expectation, you had
somehow failed at a position you were unwillingly thrust into to begin with?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or was it because there really is no “way
life is supposed to be”?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or both?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As with every single aspect of anything to do
with the human, happiness is completely subjective and fleeting at best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Happiness does more damage than good, as it
fills it’s host with the toxin known as hope, that is to say, the false and
completely unsupported idea that everything is gonna be okay!<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
He
awoke with a sweat soaked start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
still dark and the fire was down to a few smoldering cinders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Waves crashing in the distance, always with
the waves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few rats bolted away as he
sat up and took in his surroundings, like one of those moments when one awakens
from a slumber and for a very brief time doesn’t know where they are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no breeze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The damp air just kind of sat there like an
uninvited guest with nowhere else to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He immediately set about adding more tropical kindling to the dying
blaze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whenever daylight arrived, he
knew he would have to hike on to find a more desirable spot on the island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A spot where he could at least feel some kind
of breeze and where he could set up some kind of more permanent way to collect
fresh water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A place such as this
harbored no ill will, nor did it cater to any ideas of surviving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was only a complete phlegmatic oneness.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Daylight
was finally beginning to break.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
gathered his shirt and wooden spears and was on his way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he headed out, he made sure to pass by
where he had left his freshwater holding coconut shells and drank the small
remaining amount.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It either had to rain or he had to find some
sort of fresh water spring of some sort somewhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He traveled south at a moderate pace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sky was overcast and the heat
unforgiving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he walked, he remembered
the days of his youth spent in the country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Being from the country meant having a respect for the great outdoors and
everything that style of life brought to the table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
While his mother went in to the
city during the day to work, he was left to the care of his elderly
grandmother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was a kind and
well-meaning woman with wiry grey hair that sat atop her head like a straggly
birds nest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Faith was a big part of her
life, as it always had been growing up in the rural south.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She did her best to teach him manners and to
make thanking the Lord an everyday occurrence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He never really grasped the idea of worship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To him it was just something that was
expected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But like a seasoned thespian,
he could close his eyes and bow his head and begin to pray with astonishing
conviction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To whom or what he didn’t
know, nor would he ever.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
A creeping sadness constantly
stalked him like a mischievous specter, a feeling that was no stranger to
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His devout and caring grandmother
had even noted to his mother about his occasionally sullen and distant appearance,
like it was a kind of sad wistfulness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Throughout his life whenever he came into close proximity of a mentally
challenged or somehow otherly afflicted person, he oddly never really felt pity
for that exact person, only sadness and pity for mankind on the whole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That just being born into this world brought
the chance of being one of these helpless victims of a mistaken biological
mutation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d always regarded humans as
a sad lot indeed.</div>
BeelzeBobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804893501046543826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649115386128477200.post-87224460064405032012015-11-10T07:46:00.001-08:002015-11-27T07:57:09.254-08:00A Vestige, Part II of IV<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<br />
He walked across the dusty wooden floor with a slow purpose towards the
outdated and rather foul smelling kitchen. Sunlight illuminated the
depression era eastern facing room, a large wash pan was propped against
the wall by the deteriorating back door. A small table buttressed
against a termite scarred wall with two benches so as to look out the
single paned window into the expansive rear of the property. A boy was
playing fetch with a small hound dog. The corners of his chapped lips
curled ever so slightly as he watched the young boy with his dog. He
walked over to the dilapidated door and gave the pearl circular knob a
turn but it would not budge. Pulling on the door also proved fruitless.
Suddenly, from the south end of the house, the sound of a man and woman
shouting at the top of their lungs could be heard. He made his way back
out into the hall and towards the direction of the shouting. He entered
the south facing room which appeared to be a guest room. There was
nothing but a wooden chair in the corner and the outline of where a bed
apparently used to be. He noticed the belligerent couple shouting in
each others faces, what they were saying was not decipherable. The man
abruptly struck her in the face and she fell to her hands and knees. The
man then presented a revolver from his right overall pocket, pointed it
directly at the woman, and pulled the trigger as the woman pleaded and
cried for mercy. He took the chair from the corner of the room and tried
to smash out the window but to no avail. He noticed the man remove his
farmer’s hat, as his dark thin wisps of hair fluttered freely, put the
barrel of the revolver in his mouth, and pull the trigger. He looked
away quickly.<br />
<br />
It was as if he was stuck in some kind of dank
purgatory. A place where he could look out on both the beauty and the
horrors that conscious existence brings. He realized then and there that
that was all life was for every human ever brought in to this world; a
subjective window peering out into a lawless objective universe where we
constantly trick ourselves into thinking that the things we do and the
things we buy and believe somehow will result in a triumph other than an
inevitable lonely meaningless death. So what now for a biological
prisoner in this house of doom for which there is no living escape?<br />
<br />
Drip. Drip. Drip. His eyes slowly began to open and the realization that
rain was falling quickly came to him. He felt near death. He lay
destitute on the damp tropical floor. All around and about his
bedraggled body crawled dozens of some species of Hermit crab,
meticulously scanning him as a potential source of food. He slowly rose,
shaking off the pesky crabs. Suddenly remembering his dire need of
fresh water, he clamored about for the coconut shells he had picked up
earlier and ran out of the cover of the tree onto the beach where he
could capture the most rainwater. He collapsed onto the sand and coral
once he had roughly a dozen shells set out. What had made him so deathly
ill? The pooled rainwater in the misshapen tree was the only clear
answer.<br />
<br />
Why was he alive and not dead? A question that has
habitually plagued the minds of serious thinkers throughout human
history. If a man’s life is equal to what he has put into it, what then
of the man who contributes naught? Either way, the ending is always the
same, from the most brilliant and philanthropic do-gooder to the most
vile putrid excuse of a “civilized” person. If a god existed, he/she
must surely be the maddest being ever contrived. Why would he/she bless
his/her children with “free will” only to chide them should they choose
to question it? Likely a more ubiquitous view than is ever actually let
on by those who must maintain the hopeful pious exterior.<br />
<br />
The rain
began to lessen, his coconut shells were full. Though, clearly he needed
to set up a more thorough system to collect water as this method would
only quench his thirst briefly at best. He guessed the time to be late
afternoon by the way the sun peaked through the passing rain clouds. His
focus was now on food. Luckily, his surroundings abounded with rats and
crustaceans. He drank a fair amount of rain water leaving a few shells
worth left. He carefully carried each shell back into the thick brush
and placed them beneath the large leaves of a Mao plant. Next, he sought
out a few roughly waist length sticks of medium thickness and strength.
Once he had those, he then set about collecting lava rocks about the
size of his fists and slightly larger, which seemed quite plentiful. If
he could bang the rocks together at just the perfect angle, they would
come apart and he could fashion a sharp-edged tool on which to whittle a
good solid wooden spear head.<br />
He managed to block out the
hopelessness of his current mysterious situation by setting about
employing himself as a sort of primitive arms manufacturer. In a sudden
moment of proud accomplishment, much like that of the common man in
modern society who occupies himself with the illusory nine to five daily
workload, he felt as though his triumph in the face of this shitty
predicament somehow meant something on some sort of larger scale. He
produced three needlepoint sharp spears upon which he hoped a few
invasive rodents might die honorably for a higher purpose. But before
that would transpire, a means of rapid oxidation would have to be
concocted. So, much like he had seen in some movie in what he now
considered a past life, he needed to gather some dried leaves and
vegetation from the surrounding green fortress he currently called home.<br />
<br />
He amassed a small pile of damp dried leaves and sticks. Being that it
had just rained recently, this fire was going to be more difficult to
start than originally expected. But with the well timed friction created
by furiously rubbing the tough, dried out wood and light bursts of air
from his mouth, he was able to achieve a steady flame. Before long, he
had a nice roaring fire going. There was a primitive pride he felt by
achieving this feat. A feat first performed long long ago by his hominid
ancestors which forever changed the fate of his species. Fire protected
man from the natural predators of the night which waited curiously just
out of reach of the bright licks of firelight. Fire would play host to
countless tribal ceremonies by indigenous peoples worshiping their gods,
celebrating feasts, and preparing for war. But now most importantly,
fire would be used to cook the carcasses of rats and crabs that fell
victim to his sharp wooden spears. Rat meat was exactly as to be
expected; stringy, unfulfilling, and nearly non-existent in between the
tiny bones. The eating was incredibly tedious, trying to suck small
slivers of skin and meat from the bones. But above all, these recent
accomplishments meant that he could remain alive for at least the time
being, until perhaps a ship or airplane were to pass close enough to see
his fire.<br />
<br />
Darkness had now completely encompassed the small coral
atoll that lay in the middle of nowhere, like a rogue dwarf planet in an
infinitely dark expanse. He stepped away from his fire out to the beach
of the lagoon, where he gazed up at the innumerable bright specks of
light in the otherwise black sky. The view was astonishing. He had never
in his life been witness to such an area where the pollution from
man-made light dared not exist. Although he was completely alone and
deserted, he felt no more alone than when he was surrounded by people on
a busy city sidewalk. Mindless, thoughtless drones completely ensconced
in their meaningless daily existence. Whether they were to be admired
for their blissfully ignorant state, or abhorred for their involuntary
emotional investment in the fallacy otherwise known as society. He was
alone as he always had been, alone as he always would be; a tragic
victim to an evolutionary crime known as conscious existence.<br />
<br />
He
returned fireside to his makeshift camp. He knew his freshwater supply
was in an unimaginably scarce state. But for now, he fed his fire so as
to invest in at least a few hours worth of protection from the intruding
native rats and crabs. Using his flimsy shirt as a pillow, he drifted
off into a troubled, comatose-like slumber.BeelzeBobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804893501046543826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649115386128477200.post-37975463292589173892015-11-10T07:07:00.001-08:002015-11-27T07:57:23.841-08:00A Vestige, Part I of IV<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<br />
Darkness comforts the soul. Not all souls, just this particular one. But
that’s how it’s supposed to be, naturally. From the beginning, eons of
centuries ago, in a dark remote corner of the universe, this filthy
little planet took shape. Darkness encompassed all. There was no love,
no hate, no due dates, no time. Just the fledgling stages of the most
beautiful and pure indifference ever conceived.<br />
<br />
Waves constantly
crashed against the unforgiving coral. It was dark and he could barely
make out his hands that he held up in front of his sweat covered face.
The heat was sweltering, despite the blackness of night. He had no clue
where he was or why he was there. But clearly it was some place tropical
and remote. He felt no pain, so any kind of injury was not a factor.
There was a tree line he could make out some yards behind where he was
standing. Oddly, he felt no need to call out for help or to see if
anyone would answer. He was wearing ragged loose fitting clothing, his
beard not much unlike that of some unsightly vagrant. He just plopped
down right there in the sand and didn’t know what to think. Recollection
was proving a challenge given his sudden state of confused
bewilderment. There were only the unrelenting waves and the random
arrangement of tiny specks of light spattered across a black canvas.<br />
<br />
It was beginning to become light out and the man woke with a start from
the fetal position on his new bed of sand and coral fragments. He
noticed rats scurrying into the dense foliage that made up the tree
line. Fresh water, he needed fresh water immediately. His throat felt
like fleshy sandpaper. He began to jog at a slow lope south down the
beach along the tree line looking for something, anything that might
resemble some semblance of human life. At that moment, he immediately
thought of all the times in his life that he would have done anything to
get away from human life. But this was no time for reflecting on his
past misanthropic desires.<br />
<br />
He suddenly spotted just up ahead a
clearing that appeared to lead into the profuse vegetation made up
mostly of dense scrub and towering Pisonia and Coconut palm trees. It
was still mostly dark as he peered into the abundant gnarly flora that
lay before him. His failing loafers and ragamuffin clothing were not the
most desirable combo to be trudging about a dense forest in, but it’s
not like he had other options at this juncture. He stepped thru dead
palm branches and incredibly sharp low lying bushes. His skin constantly
being scratched and scraped by foliage that looks like it was designed
by a masochist with a hard-on for pointed punishment. At the base of a
curved and oddly shaped tree he was able to make out a knot in the wood
with an opening at the top which had managed to collect a small amount
of rain water. He dove at the sudden opportunity for a much needed
drink. He quickly sipped and lapped up the small amount of water
accumulation at the base of the warped little tree. It wasn't nearly
enough to quench his undying desire for more. Such is life.<br />
<br />
Ahead he
was able to make out the first rays of oppressive sunlight which would
soon be all the way up. He made it thru the jungle forest of thick
undergrowth and came to a massive lagoon. The island he was on, while
seemingly covering a large area, was really only a small strip of atoll
in the shape of a Toucan’s bill with a fairly shallow lagoon comprising
the middle. Again he resumed walking, this time in a northerly
direction. Coconuts, rats, and different varieties of crabs abounded.
The sun, that universally unimpressive ball of fusion, was already
punishing and it was still only early morning. He seemed to be coming to
a point on the beach where there was a narrow entrance for the lagoon
water to enter. It appeared to be low tide as the water was shallow and
didn’t rise past the knees. By this time, his stomach was churning with
hunger and was not shy about voicing it’s yearnings. Despite being in
shock, he noticed old cracked coconut shells lying about and had the
wherewithal to grab a few to use for catching falling rain should a
storm cloud pass over. He once again headed into the dense shrubbery for
the shade of the looming palm trees. A clearing with nothing but old
dead palm leaves and branches seemed worthy of a spot to stop and rest.<br />
<br />
He sat down with a thud and leaned back resting on his bony elbows.
Tipping his head back and staring up at the straggly canopy overhead, he
began to drift off into his former life. She had long dark satin hair
just past her perfectly proportioned shoulders. Her skin was as close as
one could get to porcelain white and peppered with little freckles in
all the ideal places. With breasts as if molded by a talented young
artist with everything to prove. She had gripped his youthful unassuming
heart from the first moment he met her. Like most young and
inexperienced folk, he thought he knew all there was to know about life.
But her emergence shattered any and all control he thought he had over
even his most basic emotions and actions. Time spent with her was time
spent without a concept of time at all. When times were good, they were
the best of his life, unrivaled by any other. But when times got bad, as
they inevitably do, his life came to a screeching halt and all
knowledge of an outside world ceased to exist.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, a shooting
pain gripped his midsection and he began to vomit despite not much
coming up. Then, he immediately removed his trousers as he suddenly felt
the urge to defecate. After about three or four rounds of dry heaves at
both ends, shaking and sweating profusely, he fell unconscious.BeelzeBobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804893501046543826noreply@blogger.com0