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In this universe the value of Pi is the square root of two. This universe does not exist because God created it. In this universe God exists because the universe created Him. In this universe the sun is at the center of the earth. The earth is a hollow sphere surrounding the sun. What about the moon, you may ask. What does this have to do with the existence of god, you may ask. The moon is there. It more or less orbits the sun. There is a popular theory that the spherical earth was created as a space ark.
I thought about checking the door to see if it was locked. I even briefly glanced down the hall in that direction. I noted the glint of the lamp off the brass door knob and the reflection in the window in the door. I noticed the carpet runner racing out to meet the door. I did not, however look at the space between the jamb and the door to see if I could see the reflection of the bolt. I will have plenty of time to check the door later, after I make coffee, after I complete my 100 words.
In the picture, four women wearing green aprons looked at the photographer. There was something printed on the aprons, but I canít recall what it was. There was a large store-front window behind themÖreversed red lettering on the windows, and cars passing by outside. This wasnít the main store, however. It was a store room of some kind. The room was filled with racks containing pots and pans and boxes. There was a thick stainless steel counter to the right. One of the woman was leaning, her left hand on a rack. She looked tired, but also a little surprised.
It was so cold at the barn today. My feet got cold. In the barn the concrete floors suck the heat out of anything in contact with them. And it was around fifteen degrees outside with a breeze. Outside it was just brutal. It was hard to breathe. Iím trying to remember. I think I got six of the horses and ponies out to the arena. I couldnít get one of them to agree to go with me, though. That was Ollie. Ollie pointed out that he was not familiar with me. Then he turned his face to the wall.
I remember I used to have a fish tank. I have had a number of them, but I remember my first one. My first tank was a five-gallon tank with an under-gravel filter. I had zebras, butterfly fish, and pink gouramis. I think I had some neons too and plants growing in the back corners of the tank. The tank sat on a table in my bedroom. I had my own bedroom. I had burnt orange curtains. I must have been in junior high school then. In seventh grade we had a big fish tank in the science room.
The grass never needs mowed here. It never gets more than a couple of inches high. It stays just a nose above the water. You can see the water glisten in the sunlight. In the evening we go out to spear the flat fish in the shallow valleys. The flat fish glisten in the sunlight too. They flash different colors, mostly purple and gold, but when you spear them and pull them out they are just silver-grey. The colors are a trick of the structure of their scales. I suppose that is all any color is: just a trick of some structure.
There was this guy who used to work for me. He was a little strange. He seemed angry all the time. I was never sure why. He kept mumbling about bringing a gun to work. I knew this because the people who sat around him would come tell me about it. If this were to happen these days, Iíd probably have gone to HR or even the police. Then it was just weird. I was never sure what Ron really wanted. It did seem he wanted something. Nor was I ever to find out why he was angry.
My computer died yesterday...a totally blank screen. It was my desktop. The fix looked messy, so I took it to the local repair shop after Googling the problem. I've had that computer for a long time and I am quite fond of it. It is an old Dell Inspiron all-in-one. The whole computer is inside the oversized screen. It was great for my work: I could see several pages at once easily. I've cobbled together my laptop to work in the interim. If the local guy cannot fix it, I suppose I'll have to shell out for a new one.
I got my new desktop today. I am still missing the old one. The new one still feels awkward. Iíve got to admit that they do configure more easily than they used to. Of course I do store a lot more things on the cloud. There are some problems with the cloud though. It stores files in funny places, locally andÖuhmÖcloudly. It doesnít treat files consistently and shows me multiple copies of the same files, which it seems to think are the same file. I may have to start doing more of my work on the cloud because of this. .
It was a mouse, but it had a chicken head, a little biddy mouse-sized chicken head. It ran around on four feet, four mice feet, and it had a mouse tail. It was pretty much a normal mouse. It was just the chicken head. It also had a sort of a chicken neck. With feathers. It had a chicken beak and little round chicken eyes. Where did such a thing come from? Was it a chicken or an egg? Maybe it wasnít the first of its kind. There had to be others, right? Such a thing doesnít come outta nowhere.
I am sleepy. I donít think I can stay awake much longer. I may not stay awake long enough to finish 100 words. I was up late last night. My legs were moving around. They were so jittery. I got up and walked around the house for awhile. I ate some graham crackers and drank some milk. That didnít work. I put on my coat and went for a walk outside in the dark. I should have layered up more. Usually I do in this weather. It was really cold outside. It totally woke me up. I went home awake.
It's my fatherís birthday. Heís lying in the Southeastern corner of Evergreen Cemetery in the town where I grew up. He can see his home from where he is planted. It is the house he built by hand himself on the lot his mother gave him. Someone else lives in that house now. My sister, however lives next door, and her daughter lives next door to her, and you can see both those houses from my fatherís grave. He is sleeping next to his oldest daughter. Sheís been there a for a long time. I donít know where Iíll sleep.
It was a day like any other. It was a good day. Most of them are. I taught this morning. Then I played the piano for a while, maybe an hour and a half. I had a piano lesson today, and I needed to review the material for the lesson. I think I had made good progress with it this week. I still donít have the material down, but playing the piano is definitely a journey rather than a destination. I went to the computer repair shop after that to pick up the hard drive out of my dead desktop.
I got nothing. It is not unusual for me to come here with a bag full of nothing. Sometimes I got something, but then I leave it behind somewhere, at the gas station, at the pool. I get home and it is gone. The distance between got nothing and got it all is not so very much. Sometimes it is a matter of perception. You got nothing, but youíre pumped about it and you convince yourself that itís completely something, or (worse?) You got something and you convince yourself itís nothing. You delete it and wander off for a beer.
It was the night of the moon behind the tree. Sooner or later it seems the moon always goes behind the tree, but it is only a couple of times a year that someone looks out at it at just the right time. When they do, things line up. The moon lines up with the tree and the window. Things line up in the personís mind. It all happens in an instant and when it does, someone is left powerless to exercise their own will. At least they are robbed of the illusion of having ever had any free will.
It was a night just like that when Donny Robinson looked out the window and saw the moon behind the tree. It was a clear night and the moon was bright in the sky throwing a big bright corona around itself in the night sky. Donny looked up at the bare bleached trunk of the tree and the perfectly round disc of the moon behind it. Something about it just took his breath away. He felt his spirit lifting out the window and beyond the tree, lifting out to the moon in the sky. He didnít even feel the cold.
I suppose that was what made Donny go scooting out the door without his coat or hat. He went even without his shoes or pants. And it was about 16 degrees F and there was wind. Donny didnít really get very far. What? Maybe a half mile? Three-quarters of a mile? There is no way he made a mile. They found him the next morning lying next to the Raisin River, up against the bank, tucked into a little hollow there. His frozen hands were stretched out in front of him, as if he were reaching for something.
Donny Robinson grew up in Newp. He rode his bicycle to school every day right up until he dropped out in Grade 8. He was the first in his family to make it all the way to Grade 8. Donny was proud of that. Two years after him his little sister made it into high school and into her Sophomore year before getting pregnant and dropping out to go live with Roger French. They had lived in the area for eighteen months before leaving. Donny did not know where they went. He never heard from her or her baby again.
Donny had met Roger French once. He had sorta met him. He didnít like Frenchy. He didnít need a reason for not liking Frenchy. There were plenty of others who didnít like him. Donny waited for Frenchy one day. He wasnít sure what he was waiting for, but he knew it was something. He smoked a longish butt he had found, inhaling the smoke as he waited. When Frenchy came out and got on his bike, Donny got on his on and followed him. Passing him he suddenly punched his fist out knocking Frenchy off his bike into the street.
Donnie was watching the TV when the moon lined up behind the tree in his window. He happened to look up at just the right time. He was eating gum drops and he paused with a gum drop halfway to his mouth. After a moment he dropped the gum drop to the carpet and stood up, still staring at the moon that was now out of his line of sight, but it was as if he could still see it. He walked across the room and slipped out the door wall leaving it open. In an instant he was gone.
It took him maybe twenty minutes to make it to the frozen river bank. That may have just been when he finally ran out of gas. He may not have been going for the river at all. Iím thinking he was going for that moon, going for both those moons, one in each eye. He didnít feel the snow wrapping around his feet and covering his ankles. He didnít notice the wind blowing through his hair. There was something else on his mind. It was drawing him forward ineluctably as far as the muscles in his body would take him.
Donny had been out to the Raisin River before. It was not so far from the apartment he and a friend rented for $750 a month plus utilities. He and his friends would come down to the river in the moonlight and drink beer and play hockey. Donny had an old pair of skates he had bought at the thrift store. He loved skating on the river. Playing hockey not so much. After enough beer, it didnít seem to matter to his friends whether he played or not, so he skated down the river, skated with his scarf flying behind.
Donny never thought about the moon much in those days. It was part of the night, the vaguely blurry alcohol hazed night that was somehow luminous even in the absence of the sun. He didnít see the sun too much. During the day he was in the factory. It was darker in the factory than it was on the river at night. It seemed that way. And the factory was covered with oil film and grit. The walls were spattered with grit. The floors were covered with a film of the oil. You had to be careful how you walked.
The sun would already be down when Donny got out of work. In the summer he would walk across the cool shadow of the freshly paved parking lot. In the Winter he would walk through slush and snow in the cold night to his car. His car was a Ford, a faded tomato red, old enough to actually have a V-8. The seat was dirty and he had one of those fake leather steering wheel covers, laced up with plastic string. It was a good car though. It started up every night, and every morning, even when it was winter.
Who was waiting by the door? Wasnít there a young man? He was thin and had wavy hair. He was smoking a cigarette. He stood on one foot and put the cigarette out against the wall when we walked by. It was on the other side of the street, so we couldnít see details like eye color. His blue shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and it was too cold out to be dressed like that, so it seemed he must have come from inside one of the buildings, maybe the one he was standing in front of.
There is no space at the top of my page. There should be a space, a margin of about an inch, an inch and a half. This is no doubt due to some update by Microsoft, and I am now supposed to change my default settings so that this page either displays differently or has a margin or header configured at the top. I still have margins to the left and the right. I suppose I should be thankful for that. I donít remember what the bottom looks like now, whether I have a footer or some stretch of space.
So what are you saying? Are you suggesting that I should not write a 100 Words entry if I have nothing to say? I canít just make it up as I go along? Have you listened to any of our politicians lately? I think the ability to write about anything, even about nothing at all is a fine art. I think we should celebrate the artists who can do this. We should have competitions for it and give out large cash awards. Practitioners of the art should be celebrated everywhere they go. They should be hailed as great human beings.
It has come time to babble about time travel again. I am not sure whether I have sorted it out any better yet, but I have this recurring notion. The notion hinges on two things. The first of these two things is that time travel is possible. It is not only possible, but it is also inevitable. Once it has been done, it will always have been done because people will quickly move back in time and they will bring their technology with them. It is inevitable that this will happen because there is money to be made this way.
True, you may say that the development of time travel technology will be accompanied by rules and laws governing its safe use. These rules and laws will prohibit movements that could change history. The problem here is that any movement, any use of this technology will change the course of history. So any use of the technology will be outlawed. But once the technology is developed it will be used. It may be done in the interest of national security or some similar apex emergency. If not that then it will be used out of pure greed. Money drives everything.
Once the technology is used it starts to spread. It spreads like a malignant and hungry virus. It cannot be stopped. It spreads across time. It spreads planet to planet. It is driven by relentless profit. The result of this is that it fills up and informs all of time. It permeates our cultures and our time. We not only know about it; we are ruled by it. We are shaken by time quakes daily. Anyone with a few million dollars can buy a trip to any point in time and change his millions into billions with very little effort.
But this has not happened. We have not been overrun by time travelers from the future. How can this be? It seems to me that this is because the necessary technology has not been developed, not because it could not be developed but because there was not enough time for it to evolve for the first time. The resolution to this paradox is fairly simple. Society has somewhere along this timeline stopped its inevitable technological march forward. The only thing that would cause this is the destruction of society itself. Whether from external or internal forces the whole thing collapses.
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