The options are many. For example, I can walk among them, or I can walk in them.
In fact, I was in the gentleman. He had no idea I was there. He was talking to himself as he walked. We learned this little trick from the Geheinneons, and we learned many other things, as well. They were the innocents. Imagine what Twill would have done if he had acquired such knowledge.
<<Farson, I can hear you.>> This was an attempt at humor, not a sortie into egoism, you can believe me. Twill has become so important to us that even he finds it amazing.
<<From a prisoner to a pioneer, who can judge you, Twill?>>
<<I can and I do.>>
Anyway, the guy I’m went walking with today was talking to himself. He was talking about some group he is part of and petty politics. He was at first agitated then purposed and finally, toward the end, relaxed. He tried to whistle once and he was listening to an iTune playlist named “F2.” There were songs and podcasts, reminiscences by past presidents of the United States of America, books like “The Art of War” and “The Red Badge of Courage,” there were radio broadcasts, voice memos, and some recordings he had made himself. He was walking alone which helped me. Conversation is a combination of linguistic and behavioral components that twist and turn and change incessantly as though the words mean nothing, in and of themselves. Conversation is an art form, an intricate, complex art form, and really cannot be faked. I wanted a loner. I imagine that’s exactly what the Geheinneons must have thought, too. From their blackness, through an existential crisis, and into our world of light and color. Then they were trapped. Big difference with us; we can come and go at will. The people of the planet Edge became so excited at this new possibility that their archival activities fell slightly behind. if not stopped completely. For a time.
<<No one was home.>>
Farson knew of the hejira at the discovery. The Emers solution was sent to all Emers’ and that was that. Time travel suddenly became the main research tool for everyone. It’s a wonder none of us bumped into each other.
<<Correct, Erudicius. Who could blame you?>>
During our walk, he sometimes picked up things, he seemed to have no particular route in mind, and he often stopped to talk when the occasion arose. He was worried about his knees, but never mentioned it aloud. He had an ability to control what he thought about, which I found interesting. Sex, women, family, politics, losing weight, being seventy years old, missing his sisters, and thoroughly enjoying the exercise. He peered into things, when down dead ends, stopped and picked up chestnuts and acorns, and sometimes just stood looking at the ocean or the estuary or the waterfront as though it was nourishment for him of some kind. They always amaze me that they have so many problems and yet still can continuously evolve higher and higher. Just like when I was looking through history for the ScreenRent, now I am looking through humanity for something I want. I want to know why.
As the days went by I learned that he was a writer, a guitarist, and a poet. Here is one of his poems that he liked to sing. I listened along with him and was amazed at his emotion and the voice of this song:
WHEN A PERSON LIKE THAT DIES
Some people just captivate.
We stare at them with wide-open awe.
Their words are words we’ve heard before
But never with that emotion, that intensity
That tear-duct searing rip out
That leaves us breathless with shock
And fear and wonder and that craving
For more and more and more.
Like poets aflame
They transcend and bring us
A world so suddenly real:
A glimpse into how things really are,
That with their each straining effort
We feel our eking lives passing
Too fast, too slow, too feebly.
We know we are wasting every moment
Without such feeling, without such zeal,
Without such hopelessness and such fear;
Without such love and such emptiness.
Without such truth.
When a person like that dies, it’s no wonder.
How could they keep living
Among our compromises and our lies?
How could one so true
Who gave it all to us,
Who drained everything out
To the last refrain, do anything else?
When a person like that dies, it’s no wonder.
It leaves an emptiness
Like a word we can’t remember,
A lost train of thought.
It leaves us drifting in its crater.
We want to fill it, but it
Just stays empty.
Like a tune we can’t forget
But will never be able to sing;
When a person like that dies,
It’s the death of everything.
I had heard him sing it a few times. It was dedicated to Amy Winehouse.I could tell that her death (a suicide) had moved him deeply.
Each person here is so torturously labyrinthian, so full of gnarly and knotty imperfections they have earned or inflicted. The level of regret and uncertainty always surprises me in these people. 2016 was a mazy period for humanity, struggling through the yen and yang. The changing of minds from self to something else is explosive for proponents and opponents alike. There was a lot of raw energy in the mix of those days.
Oh, and he usually ended the nights that we were together watching cartoons alone at his computer in the basement.