The End of the World, Untenable Whale, Elvis, and A Large, White Balloon
Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.
Had a blast with our video today. Featured a new talent, and also a post by one of our pillars. Here's the link. Author tags in the comments.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mPItivmEYiw
And.
As
Always...
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team.
Cooking with the abstract concept of free will.
oh, winter is cold and unrelenting, the snow is falling, and you know school will open and you will again need to feed the offsprings meals that will perk them up, after the depressing, crushing days of adolecence. on top of that, budgets are getting tight and you need to find a way to pay off the loanshark, before they come calling with their baseball-bat inducments. really, that habit needs to stop...
his season, though, there is a lot of free will. its the best time to gather some up in the wild, or you can also find free will in any supermarket. it is both cheap and nutritious.
Now , I know what you'd say: abstract concepts are hard to work with, and they often don't appeal to everyone at the table. but let's not be defeatists. let's not fall victim to the feeling that the world is miving along theoretically definable determinism. that is not how food gets made!! in fact, it is more than possible to serve a well prepared meal with free will as the major ingredient.
here is a preperation of a traditional meal, serving five:
Free will CASSEROLE:
take a fair amount of eggs, pasta, tomato sauce, cauliflower, and bacon.
first sautee the free will after you thinly chopped it. i find that free will breaks into a nice aroma when fried in butter, but olive oil could be good too.
Rob a bank-it is important at thos stage to note that once you start cooking with free will you become, by logical extention a rational actor. don't let criminal resposibility daunt you. try to avoid unpleasentness and dont come out shooting. it seldom works out.
Rob a bank-it is important at thos stage to note that once you start cooking with freewill you become, by logical extention a rational actor. don't let criminal resposibility daunt you. try to avoid unpleasentness and dont come out shooting. it seldom works out. you. try to avoid unpleasentness and don't come out shooting. it seldom works out. remember, that when cooking with the abstract concept of free will, casualties are to be avoided, if at all possible.
Once the bank is robbed and the free will is nice and golden-brown, add bacon, onion and cauliflower. notice how the internal conflicts bubble into the surface , as the sugars are caramelized, and the fats are melted in the heat.
The smells cause your stomach to churn. memories of other days throb in your conciencness, joys of eating together, fears of dining alone. at this point you might doubt that free will exists at all, and that it is not an illusionary reaction to emotions and physical needs. but dont let these fears overtake you, as that the casserole will burn.
Prepare some pasta. it is up to you to choose which kind you would use. shapes and colors are a matter of preference, and of resolve. just remember to consider the fact that you will encounter the reaction of your 'patrons' who may or may have a clear and different idea of what is the ideal sort to use. do not be swayed by their fanaticism, nor callus by to their outbursts.
Mix in the chopped tomatoes with the free will . when the FRUIT (yes, tomato is a fruit and that is a fact!!!!!!!!!!!!!) has released its juices, add a can of tomato pasta sauce. i find
free will goes very well with canned sauces, it is a wonderful contrast between the fatalism of the preserved condiment, against the gritty texture of the self. if you fear it will start to burn or nagate each other as a logical argument, reduce the fire and add some liquid, preferrably red wine.
once the dish has acheived the correct texture, add shredded basil, salt and pepper to taste, you may also benefit from the sharp bite of a dash of regret into the mix, but to each his own.
once food is prepared, declare to the diners what itvis that they are being served. putting a label on things is important and will teach the young'uns to critical thinking. ladle the dish upon the pasta, and explain the epistemological definition , in your eyes of casseroles. invite them to question the details you present to them and only then tell them about your heroics at the bank.
There is only now
I am the last of those who hears the stars sing, who watches the air dance in delight and who walks between the raindrops in the light.
Eternal night approaches; the abyss is at my feet. The Mists of Time have enveloped the Earth, as they have done before…and will do again. The blessing, or the curse of eternal return is upon us.
It is written in the stars if you dare to listen with your eyes, see with your ears…
As I stand here on this precipice I am at peace for I have knowledge: the knowledge that though I am the last at this time I am not the last for all time. This is not the first time that this experiment called life on earth has devolved into oblivion. From the ashes life will rise, to ashes it will return…to rise again.
Humanity has existed far longer than recorded in the annals of history of recent millennia. It has been made ash and returned innumerable times, each iteration as ignorant of the last as of the next. Each version has gnawed away at every limb until the rot within has decimated life on earth, only to bloom again from the ashes of what never was. All memory erased, no lessons carried forth, each incarnation destined, perhaps damned, to become as fated to be, ad infinitum.
But, this time is different.
For I did listen to the stars, and to the silence of the Mists of Time. In the infinite darkness, I found a light. I found the words for humanity to make a better life than any that has gone before. Words that if taken to heart can make every life a better one and therefore the world as a whole a better place. And if humanity can evolve, perhaps this will be the last time we destroy ourselves. Perhaps next time, we will cherish ourselves and each other and build a better world together.
And so, I will speak these words to the ether and bury the parchment upon which they are writ in blood here in the face of this indomitable mountain as I give myself to the mists. To the infinite darkness. May these words echo in the vast nothingness till the spark burns bright once again.
THERE IS ONLY NOW
The past is like the stone of the cliff at my back: you cannot change it. Learn from it but do not live there for life is not there. The future is like that which is cloaked in the mists gathered before me. It cannot be seen. Do not live there, for worrying about what may or may not be is a waste of precious life. That does not mean do not dream or do not prepare for tomorrow. It does not mean don’t learn as much as you can, or don’t work hard to be better, to give effort, to live well, to love deeply. It does not mean if you fall, do not get up. Get up. Fall and get up again. It does not mean forget about others. Indeed, if we cannot learn that we are all threads in the same beautiful tapestry, destruction will find us once again. It does not mean forget about tomorrow.
It means do not build a life in the mists.
Dependent
I waited an hour before I called. Didn't want to be needy, clingy. I'd ruined too many friendships that way. With desperation. Mania. Not this time.
Okay, so it wasn't quite an hour. I only made it 58 minutes. But that's fine. It was close enough.
No answer.
Damn it. I fucked up. Do I call again? Send a text? Is that weird?
I type out a text. The safer route.
Hey, wya?
No, that's too desperate. Tone it down. You don't want to be that person again.
Never mind. Don't text. Just sit and wait like a normal person. You're going to scare them away. Just like last time. And the time before that.
Maybe I did it again. Just another casualty of my codependency. Great work.
"Are you waiting on someone?"
"Yes." My voice sounds all wrong. Pull yourself together. No more of this wishy washy bullshit.
"Do you want a coffee while you wait?"
I stand up.
"I'm okay. I think I'll just come back later."
The waitress offers me a sad smile. She thinks I've been stood up. I haven't. I don't think I have. Have I?
The road seems to crumble around me, asphalt shifting and twisting below my wheels as I start the car. Yellow lines blurred together with tears.
I did it again. I did it again. This always fucking happens.
Step on the gas. Tires peeling away, layers of my sadness staining the street a burnt black. No more. Let it all go. Let it all—
Shattered glass. Head slammed into the steering wheel. Blood that's mine. Blood that isn't. Too fast. I was going too fast. I'm still going too fast, even after I've stopped moving it all keeps going, red and blue, blood and a cerulean shirt slowly stained black by blood and grease, cop cars and screaming and...
Oh my god. I know that car. I recognize the white finish and the out of state license plate. It's their car.
My phone buzzes.
Three fucking letters.
OMW.
And everything goes black.
To Know
My reasons are myriad.
In the literal sense, it's usually because little hands begin pulling at me in the predawn hours, beckoning me out of bed long before I'd wish to depart. Sleeping in is a mythical creature, a remnant of a world extinct an era ago. I fight waking these days. I want just a few minutes more. I'm desperate for a good night's sleep. My mind won't go to bed until well past midnight, driven to the brink by the billion ideas swirling in a make-believe toilet bowl. But the Children are up at five.
So, I drag myself out of bed, part from blankets with a bitter glare, and find my second reason waiting downstairs. Sometimes I've had the forethought to set the coffee pot the night before, and on those mornings my mood is greatly improved. I am in love with the me of yesterday, who knew how badly I'd need the boost. I sip in reason number two and relish in the artificial energy. When I am fully awake, I can revisit reason number one again. I can smile and cuddle and bark orders in the mom voice that no one in my family really believes.
Reason number one comes in a package of four: Boy, Girl, Girl, Girl.
The boy is tender. The boy has dusty brown hair and light green eyes. He is quick to laugh and obedient to a fault. The boy carries a deep sadness within him- a sadness we share. The boy spends long hours in his bedroom falling into tunnels of imagination, devouring literature, writing stories well beyond the reasonable limitations of his age. The boy is desperate to please, hopelessly in love with the world around him, hoping that someday he'll find someone other than his mother to share his fervor. The boy is reason enough all on his own.
The Girls. The girls have golden locks and eyes the shade of oceans.
The girls are quick-witted and clever. The girls are cunning. The girls are masters of manipulation already. The girls are made of the stone that is the other half of me, with outrageously high IQs, gifted from their father. But their cracks show, too. The oldest is so intelligent it hurts. She is a master of the mind, reading emotions accurately, analyzing them, deciding on the most logical conclusion before any action. She limits herself with her reasoning. She is hungry to know. She's starved for the truth. She has been taking textbooks and encyclopedias to bed since she turned 3. She cannot sleep either. So she reads. She learns. She knows. The girl is reason enough all on her own.
Girl number two has uncanny charisma. When she walks into a room it is brighter for her presence. She laughs and others echo. She's sad and eyes weep. She turns her gaze in interest on some small thing, and the world grovels to put it into her grasp. She is the one who is sickly, too. She is a thin waif where her siblings are robust. She nearly died two years ago and it clings. It has made her live with unmatched intensity. She loves with reckless abandon, her rage is swift and explosive, her joy brighter than the flash of lightning on a dark night. She is so stubbornly alive- it makes everyone she meets want to be that way along with her. The girl is reason enough all on her own.
Girl number 3 is the comedian. She is naturally funny in a way the rest of the family fails to be. She is barely out of toddlerhood, but her mastery of comedic timing and necessary inflection is a wonderment to behold. She is pure delight. Animals gravitate to her presence-- they sense that special thing in her--the good humor. She regularly outwits her gifted siblings. She is a beacon of limitless potential. She is the one that keeps our family approachable. The rest of us are weirdos, and she has already fallen into an unintentional role of making us accessible to the world. She is our glue. The girl is reason enough all on her own.
With children like these, how could one possibly stay abed? Watching their progress is reason enough unto itself. But I have more reasons.
Reason number three is a great hulking beast of a man. He is tall and muscled and ridiculously smart. It is infuriating beyond belief to argue with him. When we met, he had a reputation as a know-it-all. I quickly learned why. He would spout facts in the midst of regular conversation as if he were reading it off of google right then and there. I hated it-- at first. And then I realized that he hardly even knows he's doing it. The truth is important to him, and in that big, brilliant brain of his, he is able to store so much information... it occasionally comes leaking out. He wears a mask of indifference, to protect his heart, but when you pull it back, there is a sweet boy hiding beneath: a boy who's a lot like our son. The man is dynamic and brutish and handsome. He is a lock with an ever-changing set of keys. He is a puzzle that I never grow tired of finding new pieces for. He is a lover beyond my wildest dreams. He feeds my body and my mind. Loving him is a quest of intrigue and I never grow tired of it. The man is enough reason all on his own.
But then there is me. How did I get up before these people were a part of my life?
The answer is simple and perhaps boring in comparison to the reason that is my people.
I am starved.
I could devour the world if given the opportunity. That desire in my daughter: to KNOW. I have it, too. I want to know. I want to learn. I want to soak up every last little ray of sunshine. I want to walk through forests and deserts and caves and endless amber fields. I want to live so recklessly, so passionately, so fully.
I want the world to know I was here.
I want to string symphonies in black ink upon the pages of time.
I want to love.
The reason I get up in the morning is because I know in some place deep inside myself, that anything can happen.
And I want to be the first to see it.
Those eyes, they scare me
There was a loud thud in front of the kitchen door.
Sarah was dumbstruck, frozen in place.
It was late at night but still couldn't make herself fall asleep, Sarah had an urge to go out of her room and drink some water.
As she slowly walk pass the corridor, a shuffling sound can be heard inside the kitchen with a few rustles here and there.
Suddenly anxious, Sarah had a bad premonition.
She stopped walking and slowly peek towards the dim lit kitchen, holding her breath.
Heart beating faster every second, unconsciously gripping her phone tight.
What met her gaze were eyes hidden in the shadows.
Suddenly couldn't process of what she saw, Sarah accidentally dropped her phone.
Silence had now engulfed the kitchen.
Two eyes meet, both shocked from the discovery. Her eyes turned into confusion, then disbelief.
She pleaded with the look of uncertainty, meeting the gaze she had once trusted.
Sarah couldn't help but feel betrayed. Her unsteady breathing can now be heard by the other.
The eyes within the shadow provoked her, forming a grin followed by a chuckle. Clearly enjoying her reaction.
Her words stuck on her throat, still pleading, she had witnessed the last scoop of her favorite chocolate flavored ice cream be eaten with delight.
After finishing the small container, he left it on the sink and confidently left the kitchen, leaving Sarah still frozen in front of the door.
Few seconds pass,
A scream of anguish can be heard.
Sarah shouting his name in annoyance, which Damien can clearly hear even after closing his room door.
Waves Of Longing
Turn your back and walk away as
The waves caress the sand.
Your footsteps get lost in the sea foam.
I can't trace them back.
The water washes away
The sins of yesterday, but
It can't erase the bitter
Memories of today.
Our love won't be reborn out of the sea; It'll stay lost among the waves of longing.
