03-04-2012, 12:01 AM
I sat atop my wagon, my gypsy wagon.
To my right and to my left, were lanterns. Each was a single white
lite brite peg, suspended from the canopy over my head. The metal
bench I sat on was covered with fronds of green grass to make it
soft. Three or for fronds... grass is so thick and large. I had my
tail running across the bench but under a frond of grass because it
was a bit cold. I held the reins tightly in my paws, but I really
didn’t need them. The steeds were good caterpillars, id had them
for a week, they were old, but reliable, and I loved them for it. My
home was my wagon, for so long now I can hardly recall a time before
I had it. I was traveling, I came under the great sheet mountain in
my little cart, across the plains and through the forest, I was
heading towards the great square mountain, far across the plains
nestled in the corner of the plains where they met the sheet
mountains. It was so strange, stacked next to it were great logs,
each 10 times the length and 8 times the width of a man, stacked high
like hills, but not as high as the hollow mountain. Hollow mountain
had no top, it was magic place. Where other people lived. So I
traveled. I wish I could read what the side of my wagon said,
something like “Strike Anywhere”. It was an alien tongue, a
mystery. Sometimes I see the gods. One dropped this near a great fire
in a metal mountain, so I took it, as it I think meant I was supposed
to, for the gods had bestowed it. So I rode, and told stories of
those gods I had seen. Why could the other snot see, so high, in the
sky, legs like trees of stone. Footsteps that echo. Other people said
it was thunder, or those were just more things in background moving
slow. But sometimes, I could see them moving fast and they were
alive. Real. I itched my chin. And thought on this some more.
Finally, we entered the hollow
mountain. Mount tool shed id heard it called, I don’t know where
that name came from. From a thousand years ago probably. The other
people, the came out to see me. The light from the sun glinted on
their eyes. They didn’t seem very friendly. Their fur was a bit
darker then mine. They hadn’t really build homes, just kinda nested
everywhere in cracks. They crapped all over their own valley. Ahh,
these were cavemen. I stood in front of my wagon, and petted my
caterpillars. They needed rest and fresh leaves. I gave them my grass
padding, like I always do. I stood out front and bowed. The other
people just looked at me. Now I was confused. One came and sniffed me
like an animal and ran back. It went on and on like this. Nobody
spoke. And they sometimes stood on their legs like real people, but
most of the time ran around on all fours like animals. Like my
caterpillars. When night came, I lit a campfire in front of the
wagon. I was bored, so I took out my lute, I made it from a reed and
a strange acorn/thimble. And some of my own whiskers. And began
playing. By the fire, to myself. These looked like people, but where
they people? Was I still alone, like all my life, a whole year,
forever. Now I am getting old, and still searching. I put all of this
into my song, and sang with a voice.
All the people, they came and
touched me, when I played. The leader, he reached for the lute I gave
it to him. He tried playing, just a noise but soon he was playing
well. The night lasts for three weeks, like the day. As life flows.
Ill speed up the writing here hehe. When morning came, the people
were like real people. Walking on back legs, learning to talk, to
play music, some had built wagons like mine. To travel. Some of those
travelers, who now could speak and play, left before the morning.
What a morning, what a day! We built a true city, with walls to keep
out snakes, we left our poop in tubes and it shot out the hollow
hill. Music and art, laughter and dance and love. Finally, I had
found home. Home. The place for which I searched. Weeks and weeks,
the perfect day. And then came the dusk. And with it, Destruction,
and death.
She stood like a mountain, this
god. And she brought with her a...monster. A Cat, black as night,
with teeth larger then a man. How the cat towered, like an elephant
so large, so large. And fast. The others were wrong. They were not
slow walkers, they just LIVED sower, but they were fast, fast to
pounce, fast to kill. The walls, the god throws them down talking
about the mess, the beast, the great beast, it kills...eats, grabs
and I hear the people screaming. As it shaked them, disembowels them,
eats them. I look to the god to help, but she does not care. She
seems...glad...the beast works for the god? She wants us out, dead.
Why must we all die, why is our city destroyed, why? I m not afraid.
The gods gave me my wagon. And visions of their slow fast walking. So
I wait. Right in the middle. Wait. For fate. I want to know. And I am
not afraid, I want to KNOW.
She pulls a great object from her
dress pocket. A fork? How do I know that word, fork? And pins my tail
in it. In the middle. For the cat to eat...and he comes...muzzle with
the blood of the other people. I...know this cat.
I...remember...another time. When I said eeeeeeeeeek like I was
shrieking now. And the house that flew. Riverside ca. A post about
that dream. What is a dream, I am confused.
I know this god, and this beast.
Almost, like from a dream. I cry out...WHHHHHHy? WHHHHHHHHHy? BABA?
My baba, my friend (the black cat) why do you do this evil thing? It
is baba, onyx, my cat that disappeared more then a year now. He turns
to the god, he voice. She says what is it,
she calls him another name. It snot quite baba baba was old. Im
reemerging with the mind reading somewhat here it gets unclear even
for me to tell haha.
She turns to the cat, and says,
what is it, did he tell you to stop? Laughing. Shes just a little
girl, maybe a teen, young. Not a god. Cleaning a shed in the back of
the yard. No a hollow valley, and a forest, and the plains. No the
back yard and some bushes and the tool shed. I can not accept it,
that my whole world is something else, and so small. No! I am a
person, not a mouse, not vermin. So I call to her, when she looks
like she will stomp me dead. I cry again, plead. “I am alive, I am
a peeeerson. Don’t you remember me, I loooved you, you looove me,
remember? Remember? And she does. Little mouse!
She cried, and scoops me up, you are
alive, you are real...i thought you were a dream. I thought the gods
were almost dreams too.
I am sad for those that died, but
she was kind, when she knew we were people too. She protected the
valley, and buried the dead. Until it was her time to wander, as even
gods do sometimes when they grow up, from home it seems. But that was
many years, many generation in the future, past when I was dead. Now
she kept me with her, the god I remembered. I think she raised me,
and I got out of the cage. But she remembered me, and that I could
speak. So I lived, the second part of my life, back with the gods.
Reading, learning. This little god, she would take me with her in her
shirt pocket, were i would sleep in a ball. One day, when I was very
old, we took an airplane. And I was new, a meeting. I saw a strange
man. I KNEW him. He grabbed his luggage, and smiled. He had a goatee.
He thought he had cleaned it, but I saw a clump of cinnabun icing
still in his beard. What a goof. His suite looked like it would taste
good. Hah he did not notice the moths had already eaten some. Why did
no one else see the holes in the coat? Maybe they are like that gods.
Cant see the fine details. And then, I die.
I was so old, little mouse. The
god did not know when I died, but I did, in that shirt pocket. I
left, though, into the funny messy man. Who was, after all, always
me. Latter, he read a book, and I went out of his awareness, with it,
and into its words. My words, my life, my world. I am in it, in the
energy, words, forever, it is my home. My caterpillars, the city we
built, the god who loved me, and learned that we were people like
her. I live there forever, with her, with the all. And I can still
leave, I just did, but I am energy. I am the form it is given by the
words. Am I created, or did I create the man in the airport? Who is
dreaming. Am I, the little mouse, lucid, and him the figment. I do
not know. I do not care. I just am. I go back, into the words, that
are reality. The story. That only fixes the power into a form. I am
at peace, and immortal. Little mouse. Never forget us. Never forget
me.
I stop reading there.
I...I...don’t know what to say. I don’t wake yet, I said im going
all in, all in with the narrator this night. But I cry. But im not
even sure why. I’m happy, and sad, and I cant explain. Yes, my
mind was just blown. I know there is no way to explain what I just
lived saw. When i wake. But ill try. It might actually kill me, but
ill try. Hah well I just did it I think. End of part 2. I need
another break now I am I cant explain. I need calm rest. In the
dream, I bowed my head as if in prayer, hah I called on baba babaji
too. And then I was able to sleep a dreamless sleep in the dream. So
when I write some more it is last part. Part three.
To my right and to my left, were lanterns. Each was a single white
lite brite peg, suspended from the canopy over my head. The metal
bench I sat on was covered with fronds of green grass to make it
soft. Three or for fronds... grass is so thick and large. I had my
tail running across the bench but under a frond of grass because it
was a bit cold. I held the reins tightly in my paws, but I really
didn’t need them. The steeds were good caterpillars, id had them
for a week, they were old, but reliable, and I loved them for it. My
home was my wagon, for so long now I can hardly recall a time before
I had it. I was traveling, I came under the great sheet mountain in
my little cart, across the plains and through the forest, I was
heading towards the great square mountain, far across the plains
nestled in the corner of the plains where they met the sheet
mountains. It was so strange, stacked next to it were great logs,
each 10 times the length and 8 times the width of a man, stacked high
like hills, but not as high as the hollow mountain. Hollow mountain
had no top, it was magic place. Where other people lived. So I
traveled. I wish I could read what the side of my wagon said,
something like “Strike Anywhere”. It was an alien tongue, a
mystery. Sometimes I see the gods. One dropped this near a great fire
in a metal mountain, so I took it, as it I think meant I was supposed
to, for the gods had bestowed it. So I rode, and told stories of
those gods I had seen. Why could the other snot see, so high, in the
sky, legs like trees of stone. Footsteps that echo. Other people said
it was thunder, or those were just more things in background moving
slow. But sometimes, I could see them moving fast and they were
alive. Real. I itched my chin. And thought on this some more.
Finally, we entered the hollow
mountain. Mount tool shed id heard it called, I don’t know where
that name came from. From a thousand years ago probably. The other
people, the came out to see me. The light from the sun glinted on
their eyes. They didn’t seem very friendly. Their fur was a bit
darker then mine. They hadn’t really build homes, just kinda nested
everywhere in cracks. They crapped all over their own valley. Ahh,
these were cavemen. I stood in front of my wagon, and petted my
caterpillars. They needed rest and fresh leaves. I gave them my grass
padding, like I always do. I stood out front and bowed. The other
people just looked at me. Now I was confused. One came and sniffed me
like an animal and ran back. It went on and on like this. Nobody
spoke. And they sometimes stood on their legs like real people, but
most of the time ran around on all fours like animals. Like my
caterpillars. When night came, I lit a campfire in front of the
wagon. I was bored, so I took out my lute, I made it from a reed and
a strange acorn/thimble. And some of my own whiskers. And began
playing. By the fire, to myself. These looked like people, but where
they people? Was I still alone, like all my life, a whole year,
forever. Now I am getting old, and still searching. I put all of this
into my song, and sang with a voice.
All the people, they came and
touched me, when I played. The leader, he reached for the lute I gave
it to him. He tried playing, just a noise but soon he was playing
well. The night lasts for three weeks, like the day. As life flows.
Ill speed up the writing here hehe. When morning came, the people
were like real people. Walking on back legs, learning to talk, to
play music, some had built wagons like mine. To travel. Some of those
travelers, who now could speak and play, left before the morning.
What a morning, what a day! We built a true city, with walls to keep
out snakes, we left our poop in tubes and it shot out the hollow
hill. Music and art, laughter and dance and love. Finally, I had
found home. Home. The place for which I searched. Weeks and weeks,
the perfect day. And then came the dusk. And with it, Destruction,
and death.
She stood like a mountain, this
god. And she brought with her a...monster. A Cat, black as night,
with teeth larger then a man. How the cat towered, like an elephant
so large, so large. And fast. The others were wrong. They were not
slow walkers, they just LIVED sower, but they were fast, fast to
pounce, fast to kill. The walls, the god throws them down talking
about the mess, the beast, the great beast, it kills...eats, grabs
and I hear the people screaming. As it shaked them, disembowels them,
eats them. I look to the god to help, but she does not care. She
seems...glad...the beast works for the god? She wants us out, dead.
Why must we all die, why is our city destroyed, why? I m not afraid.
The gods gave me my wagon. And visions of their slow fast walking. So
I wait. Right in the middle. Wait. For fate. I want to know. And I am
not afraid, I want to KNOW.
She pulls a great object from her
dress pocket. A fork? How do I know that word, fork? And pins my tail
in it. In the middle. For the cat to eat...and he comes...muzzle with
the blood of the other people. I...know this cat.
I...remember...another time. When I said eeeeeeeeeek like I was
shrieking now. And the house that flew. Riverside ca. A post about
that dream. What is a dream, I am confused.
I know this god, and this beast.
Almost, like from a dream. I cry out...WHHHHHHy? WHHHHHHHHHy? BABA?
My baba, my friend (the black cat) why do you do this evil thing? It
is baba, onyx, my cat that disappeared more then a year now. He turns
to the god, he voice. She says what is it,
she calls him another name. It snot quite baba baba was old. Im
reemerging with the mind reading somewhat here it gets unclear even
for me to tell haha.
She turns to the cat, and says,
what is it, did he tell you to stop? Laughing. Shes just a little
girl, maybe a teen, young. Not a god. Cleaning a shed in the back of
the yard. No a hollow valley, and a forest, and the plains. No the
back yard and some bushes and the tool shed. I can not accept it,
that my whole world is something else, and so small. No! I am a
person, not a mouse, not vermin. So I call to her, when she looks
like she will stomp me dead. I cry again, plead. “I am alive, I am
a peeeerson. Don’t you remember me, I loooved you, you looove me,
remember? Remember? And she does. Little mouse!
She cried, and scoops me up, you are
alive, you are real...i thought you were a dream. I thought the gods
were almost dreams too.
I am sad for those that died, but
she was kind, when she knew we were people too. She protected the
valley, and buried the dead. Until it was her time to wander, as even
gods do sometimes when they grow up, from home it seems. But that was
many years, many generation in the future, past when I was dead. Now
she kept me with her, the god I remembered. I think she raised me,
and I got out of the cage. But she remembered me, and that I could
speak. So I lived, the second part of my life, back with the gods.
Reading, learning. This little god, she would take me with her in her
shirt pocket, were i would sleep in a ball. One day, when I was very
old, we took an airplane. And I was new, a meeting. I saw a strange
man. I KNEW him. He grabbed his luggage, and smiled. He had a goatee.
He thought he had cleaned it, but I saw a clump of cinnabun icing
still in his beard. What a goof. His suite looked like it would taste
good. Hah he did not notice the moths had already eaten some. Why did
no one else see the holes in the coat? Maybe they are like that gods.
Cant see the fine details. And then, I die.
I was so old, little mouse. The
god did not know when I died, but I did, in that shirt pocket. I
left, though, into the funny messy man. Who was, after all, always
me. Latter, he read a book, and I went out of his awareness, with it,
and into its words. My words, my life, my world. I am in it, in the
energy, words, forever, it is my home. My caterpillars, the city we
built, the god who loved me, and learned that we were people like
her. I live there forever, with her, with the all. And I can still
leave, I just did, but I am energy. I am the form it is given by the
words. Am I created, or did I create the man in the airport? Who is
dreaming. Am I, the little mouse, lucid, and him the figment. I do
not know. I do not care. I just am. I go back, into the words, that
are reality. The story. That only fixes the power into a form. I am
at peace, and immortal. Little mouse. Never forget us. Never forget
me.
I stop reading there.
I...I...don’t know what to say. I don’t wake yet, I said im going
all in, all in with the narrator this night. But I cry. But im not
even sure why. I’m happy, and sad, and I cant explain. Yes, my
mind was just blown. I know there is no way to explain what I just
lived saw. When i wake. But ill try. It might actually kill me, but
ill try. Hah well I just did it I think. End of part 2. I need
another break now I am I cant explain. I need calm rest. In the
dream, I bowed my head as if in prayer, hah I called on baba babaji
too. And then I was able to sleep a dreamless sleep in the dream. So
when I write some more it is last part. Part three.