Omcatient (Catfinition): A person who seems to know what cats are thinking.
In Use: “Omcatient, she always addresses the cat’s needs, whether it’s food, a pet, or going outside, just by a glance.”
Zombie
I, Juancho, was concerned.
Science may explain many things, but not everything, not everything. Even the scientists will tell you so.
I am concerned when science and technology tells me the person addressing me is dead. My sanity may be abridged, or they may be a zombie. I lack the wherewithal to address my sanity. If I am insane, then I am insane. I inhabit a bubble of impressions and thoughts, do I not? Someone must help me from the outside.
I don’t know how to even think about how I can be insane. If this man is here, from the Beagle, but —
But, you see, but, I, Juancho, know that we on the Coronado know that those on the Beagle passed away. All were gone, killed for reasons we don’t know.
So I believe, if, I, Juancho, am sane. Perhaps I’m insane, and the Beagle never exploded and killed all onboard. Conversely, perhaps, I, Juancho, am as sane as I thought I was before this man appeared, and he is a zombie.
I, Juancho, am just a bureaucrat. I have shot weapons with sufficient accuracy to be awarded points and a carry permit, but that’s no matter, as I’m not armed.
The man across from me doesn’t appeared armed, either. He is wearing a standard Beagle utility uniform, the sort worn by engineering corps on the ship. The consistency of my possible insanity impressed me. “We have arrived at a frightening crossroads,” I said.
He watched me with narrowed eyes. “What crossroads?”
“My systems tell me that you’re deceased. If you were onboard the Beagle, then you must be dead.”
He pursed his lips, eyes narrowing more, a suspicious and irritated expression. “I was onboard the Beagle. I don’t see how that would make me dead.” He sounded petulant and childish.
Tread carefully, I, Juancho, told myself. “Do you know what happened to the Beagle?”
He became as still as a person can. I’ve seen such stillness in other aspects of my position when sharing news that surprises other people. He did not know what had happened to the Beagle. But, of course, if he was onboard it, it may have exploded and killed him without warning.
“What happened to the Beagle?” he asked.
“I, Juancho, can show you. We have records. I’ll show you.” I watched him carefully, and vowed that I would keep wary eyes on him. Whether he died onboard the Beagle or not, that was four years ago, if the Coronado’s records were correct. Where has he been in the interim?
Although he didn’t appear the least decayed, he could still be a zombie, which made him a threat to me. I, Juancho, could still be insane. It’s a conundrum. I feel haggard, and wish for a drink. I still have alcohol. The systems can compile it from collected materials, and has been doing so. If he’d arrived later in the day, I would have already been enjoying my afternoon alcoholic buzz.
“Let us go look,” I said. “This way.” I indicated for him to walk.
He eyed me. “You first.”
“No, I insist. You go first.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Nor can I.”
“Then I guess we can’t go.”
“Then we will remain at a troubling, frightening crossroads.”
His obstinance irritated me. “First you won’t tell me your name. Now, you refuse to go see the records which will show to you what happened to the Beagle.”
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
“I do not believe you would believe me.”
He shrugged. “Why should I?”
“Why should lie to you?”
“Because you’re alone on the Coronado.”
“Clarify what you mean.”
“I mean what I said. You’re alone on an exploration vessel that should have a crew of thirty. You’re being evasive and obstinate.”
“I am not being obstinate. You’re being obstinate.”
He smiled. “I don’t see it that way.” Standing, he stretched, flexing impressive muscles. “I’ve had enough of this. I think you’re a troubled individual. I wish I could stay and help you, but I need to get back to the Beagle. I’m going to go find someone who can help me, because you, obviously, can’t – or won’t.” He shrugged. “The difference is immaterial, because the outcome is the same.”
He walked off, a smug, muscular, broad-shouldered blond man in a tight Beagles engineering corps utility uniform.
I did not like him. I decided that despite the hour, I would get a drink. I decided that I would also get a weapon, because he, the prig, would be back, and I, Juancho, wanted to be ready.
The prig could still be a zombie.
Someday
Someday, I hope to be an overnight sensation.
I think it can happen in a couple years.
I guess we’ll see.
What Would You Write If No One Was Looking?
I wrestle continually with this. I write many pieces that aren’t shared anywhere. Right now, as I edit a book, I’m goofing around and writing two other novels. I’ll just write a few paragraphs in each every day. I don’t know what will ever happen with them. They don’t shame or embarrass me, but the tedious process of publishing deflates me. When I finish, they’ll probably be added to the stack of finished but unpublished material, as I write on, riding the muse and just trying to hold on.
So I struggle with this, not because I write for others, but because I write for me, and I’m growing calloused about what others think of my writing. Is it good or bad?
Does that matter?
by Destine Williams
Hey everybody, today I wanted to do another Day In the Life post. And for today’s topic, I wanted to shift our focus inward and talk about something that’s been on my mind a lot these days. It’s this idea of being more honest when we write, draw, compose, or just create well…anything.
On Where This All Came From…
You see I’ve always had this feeling before I had the words to express them, but it was finally cleared up for me when I heard about artists that have sketchbooks that are made for the sole purpose of showing people and separate sketchbooks that are just for them.
View original post 824 more words
Strings
The strings are there, tying you up, tangling you up with effort, pain, memories, loss, frustration, and weariness. Others hold onto them, pulling you down, dragging you back, trying to steer you with their tugs.
Snip, snip, snip, cut them away. Free yourself and soar.
We Wait
For an angle
a bargain
a chance
a death
an ending
a friend
a good reason
a hopeful outcome
an idea
a jolt
a king
a love
a meaningful encounter
a new beginning
an opportunity
a purpose
a result
a sign
a time
an understanding
a vacancy
a win
an x-ray
the young
and a zephyr of change
Should Be A Bumper Sticker
“I’m not aware of anything that I have seen.”
Marc Lotter, spokesman for VP Pence, 2017
Deceased
I, Juancho, stared at the man. “Why are you telling me this?”
He measured me with annoyance, which irritated me. That’s how it always happens. We bureaucrats deliver truth, and others take it personally. The truth here is, I didn’t care about his missing Uncle Vaughn. I knew who Vaughn Parks was, yes, he was a distinguished person, but he was on the Beagle. They’re all dead. I’m surprised this man was alive. That’s who concerned me.
“You asked me how I came here, so I was telling you my story.”
“Your story is gibberish. It’s garbage. Why are you spewing garbage at me? What have I, Juancho, done to you? I asked you a simple question, “How did you get here?” And you give me garbage. Stop giving me garbage.”
“It isn’t garbage, I’m telling you how I came to be here.”
“You haven’t even told me your name.”
He looked insulted. “Why should I tell you my name? Your system should have picked it up.” A frown of deep thought and suspicion creased his forehead and mouth. “Isn’t this the Coronado? Aren’t you from the Beagle? I thought you were. I pinged your systems. They tell me that you’re Juancho Ferrado, and that you’re assigned to the Beagle, and you’re on — we’re on — the Coronado, which was a Beagle research vessel commanded by Commander Alves that was sent down to Feynman.”
He was correct about all of those things. “Very good,” I said. “What’s your name?”
Glancing around, he reared back. “Say, where is everyone else? Where is Commander Alves? She’s a personal friend of mine. I’d like to talk to her, or her second.”
I saw his mind look for Cark’s name. I could have given it, but I let him ask his systems, or think of it for himself. Why should I help him, when he was being such an arrogant asshole? “Lieutenant Commander Cark. Where is he?”
“You haven’t told me your name,” I answered.
I saw the fury grow on his face like black mold. I refused to capitulate. I wanted him to tell me his name so I could watch his face and look for the truth. Our systems will indicate when others are lying, but I believe the systems that nature gave me remain more capable. Those technological systems can be cheated and misled, I assure you.
“Why can’t you ping my name?”
“I want you to tell me. Why can’t you tell me?”
“Why should I tell you when I can ping it?”
“Because I’m asking you, human to human, to speak your name to me. It’s the way we prefer to do it in my culture.”
“What’s your culture?”
“That doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have said that. Forget that I did, please.”
“I can’t. You can’t put your words back in your mouth.”
“Just tell me your name, please.”
“No. I want to speak to Commander Alves.”
“Very well. Ping her.”
“I have pinged her.”
“I’m sure she’ll be here at any moment, then.”
He stared at me.
I smiled back. “See, I know what’s going on,” I said.
He scowled. “Where is everyone? Who are you, Juancho Ferrado?”
“See how easy that was? You said my name. It was very easy. Why won’t you say your name? What are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding anything, and I’m not going to answer any more of your questions.”
“Fine, don’t. Then I won’t answer your questions.”
He sputtered with indignation. “I’m a Level Ten Engineer. You’re just a bureaucrat. I outrank you. I order you to answer my questions, or better yet, summon Commander Alves for me. My systems seem to be malfunctioning, so if you would just summon her….”
“Summon her?” I showed him my amused derision.
“Yes, or point me in her direction.”
I chuckled. “What will you do if I don’t summon her, or point you in her direction?”
He stood. “Never mind.” He looked around. “I”ll find her myself. I know the Coronado. My systems know it, too. I know the operating deck’s location. I’ll go find her, myself.”
“Very well. Go, go find her. Tell her hello from me, Juancho.” I laughed. “Tell her, I, Juancho, say hello.”
He was snubbing me, walking away like he was a king. I was furious. “Of course, it’ll be difficult to do,” I shouted. “Because she’s dead.”
That drew him up enough to slow his step and prompt him to turn back to me. “Commander Alves is dead?” He appeared shocked.
I gave him the best mocking smile that I could summon. “Didn’t your systems tell you that?”
He came back more slowly. “No. No, it didn’t tell me. She’s deceased? How did it happen? When?”
I stared at him. His response surprised me. I pinged Commander Alves for myself. “Commander Alves is not available,” my system said. “She is deceased.”
“Your system isn’t telling you that?” I asked him.
“No.” He looked genuinely disturbed. Either this was real, or he was an actor worthy of awards.
I pinged his system to confirm his name. It gave it to me. Then I asked my system, “What is his status?”
“Deceased,” my system responded.
Inspirational Quote # 695
Yeah, you’re on a leash, being pulled along, trying to tell everyone, “Get out of my way,” but the demon doesn’t allow that voice; it must all be written.
Google Search Image How To Outline By the Seat of Your Pants
This is such an organized approach. I just wing that mutha, myself.
We all need to find and develop what works. As Stephanie O’Brien wrote, “The creative process is a very personal, subjective thing. What works for one person won’t necessarily work for everyone.” I’ve always considered it as personal and unique as enjoying sex.
