June 26, 2013
The truth is that I'm lost. There is nowhere on earth that is home. As always, happiness is fleeting and I love what cannot ever love me back. Never mind it -- I should be content anyway. And I am.
America is a large mansion, full of drafty rooms, filled with space and things that decay after not so long. We scream and speak loudly to fill the space between us. Somehow, I don't think all of that sound will ever be enough. But a tight space is claustrophobic. There is no place for those of us who search. We are pulled back and forth between large and small.
Being back here is a soft reminder that I was right to leave. It is hard to leave my family and harder to stay with them. I am a ghost to them, someone they don't know anymore and someone who was always a step apart. I try to make a family elsewhere but the only real family I'll ever have is the voice inside my head - the vision of that certain, inevitable future that awaits me at the end of any road I'll choose.
It is good to write again. I have missed it. I have missed the steadfast companion of words that run down my arm and drip onto a page like water. I have missed the companion of traveling alone, of the open road, of transience.
Should I ask if love is a word or a compilation of actions? Or a feeling that burns once and then goes out? - Or a feeling that settles and takes root to spread across the continent of time that is a lifespan?
If it is a word, I never received it. If it is a fire, I burned it out. And if it is a continent, I require a flight across it to see it from above.
But if it is not any of those, if it is merely a convenience to postpone the guilt of destroying a friend, then I require the truth.
The truth is that I am lost. I grew up in this house. It is as if I never left. Is the way I miss the people i love a waste of energy? Have I burnt them all out either way by coming and going?
Should I ask if love is a song instead? If it is a missing note, or the melody played too many times on repeat?
If it is a song, then I am the voice that sings it to an empty room. I know they think they've lost me. That I'm a memory that didn't grow into the life they imagined for me. I'd rather fill a room than a drafty mansion.
I'd rather contract the walls and disappear. It's the opposite of what I used to want.
I wanted to be remember, but memory is painful. I wanted to be understood but some things are impossible.
Now I go home to a place far away from the one where I was born. But it isn't home. Because the truth is that I am lost.
Will there ever be someone who loves me completely the way I love? It seems to be the one important thing I am unable to do. I am incapable of making someone happy. And I want to so much - but I can't fix the world.
If I can do anything, though, I suppose I can let things go. Maybe nothing and no one can make him happy. The one thing that is certain is that I cannot make him happy - but that he deserves to be.
Even if nothing and no one can make him happy, the fact that I can't is a certainty. If there is someone out there, he deserves to meet her...So I will go. The longer I stay just postpones the inevitable.
I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.
Perspective from a distance is always a help - aids in showing what joys I can survive living without. But I love him and he will be free of the chains I am. He is happiest alone, at least until he meets his match.
I reacquaint myself with my own bed and my own sheets, with my hands and my loneliness that only stood off in the corner for a little while. Still I know I'll ask the empty room I sing an endless love song to if there is anyone out there for me. I will send a futile request into the air hoping that somehow, someone will feel it and come to me.
Let me be the love of your life,
the battle and not the field,
the stab and not the sword,
the hand and not the dagger --
Let me be the cornerstone that breathes in the bend of the arch.
I wish it could be you, my darling, and because I love you, you are free.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
NOUCO: Alison I
ALISON
It has been years since I felt the tracker hunting me down, but here it is. That old familiar feeling of the mite crawling around in my brain, trying to crack the code that hides me.
The headaches are becoming more frequent now, growing in intensity. I know it is the tracker.
It isn't like I didn't know this day would come. I can see it. In all but he most improbable of futures, I am tracked. In 50% of all probable futures, I am found. Which means the trick is to choose the right 50 of the 50/50 so that I am not found.
Time Telling is a game of probability where the dice we throw are ourselves. It is a game of weight and balance, measuring between the genius of what Man can create and what he is made of. And man can never understand what he is made of. The human body is a miracle. The brain is nature's best technological feat.
I am good at hiding from technology. Bit if the tracker is boosted by another Time Teller, I'll have to reevaluate my situation. We can always see past the wires. Unless the Time Teller lies and tells them I'm not in view. The scope is too small. Something like that would be a miracle. But Time Telling is a miracle, so who are we to judge?
If the trackers is boosted by a Time Teller who doesn't lie, I'll have to reevaluate my situation. Retrain my cloaking mechanisms, meditate more. It means I'll have to breach my cover for awhile, make myself more vulnerable, subtract hours from my linear day. I'll have to find David and hope he hasn't been compromised...in one way or another.
Today is January 7, 2013. "Today" is a relative term. I have seen "Today" like it was tomorrow and like it will be yesterday. But here you are experiencing this little slice of time like it has never been and never will be again. And here I am trying to tow the line between both experiences and tell it in a language someone else can understand.
Today is January 7, 2013, twenty-one linear years to the future from the First Encounter between me and the New Agency. I was the typical age of a Second Generation at the point of First Encounter: somewhere between three years old and five.
My talent was my own, nothing created by a biochemical genius in a lab. boosted, maybe. Enhanced, controlled - definitely. But they didn't pick me out because they saw the Time Signature. They discovered that later.
I was a great bargain. I was chosen originally for my superior intelligence, for my advanced motor function, calm temperament in the face of unconventional stresses and for my advanced creativity.
The Time Signature came later, maybe triggered by unconventional stress. I inverted my mind - extreme introversion - when faced with stress. The calm for which I was recruited was not calmness at all. It was misinterpreted Time Signature Introversion.
If cool calculation can be used as a weapon, a Time Teller can destroy whole universes if given the correct dosage of the Time Serum. The information I report makes me more valuable than seven armies. And no one will ever suspect how or why information was breached.
It has been years since I felt the tracker hunting me down, but here it is. That old familiar feeling of the mite crawling around in my brain, trying to crack the code that hides me.
The headaches are becoming more frequent now, growing in intensity. I know it is the tracker.
It isn't like I didn't know this day would come. I can see it. In all but he most improbable of futures, I am tracked. In 50% of all probable futures, I am found. Which means the trick is to choose the right 50 of the 50/50 so that I am not found.
Time Telling is a game of probability where the dice we throw are ourselves. It is a game of weight and balance, measuring between the genius of what Man can create and what he is made of. And man can never understand what he is made of. The human body is a miracle. The brain is nature's best technological feat.
I am good at hiding from technology. Bit if the tracker is boosted by another Time Teller, I'll have to reevaluate my situation. We can always see past the wires. Unless the Time Teller lies and tells them I'm not in view. The scope is too small. Something like that would be a miracle. But Time Telling is a miracle, so who are we to judge?
If the trackers is boosted by a Time Teller who doesn't lie, I'll have to reevaluate my situation. Retrain my cloaking mechanisms, meditate more. It means I'll have to breach my cover for awhile, make myself more vulnerable, subtract hours from my linear day. I'll have to find David and hope he hasn't been compromised...in one way or another.
Today is January 7, 2013. "Today" is a relative term. I have seen "Today" like it was tomorrow and like it will be yesterday. But here you are experiencing this little slice of time like it has never been and never will be again. And here I am trying to tow the line between both experiences and tell it in a language someone else can understand.
Today is January 7, 2013, twenty-one linear years to the future from the First Encounter between me and the New Agency. I was the typical age of a Second Generation at the point of First Encounter: somewhere between three years old and five.
My talent was my own, nothing created by a biochemical genius in a lab. boosted, maybe. Enhanced, controlled - definitely. But they didn't pick me out because they saw the Time Signature. They discovered that later.
I was a great bargain. I was chosen originally for my superior intelligence, for my advanced motor function, calm temperament in the face of unconventional stresses and for my advanced creativity.
The Time Signature came later, maybe triggered by unconventional stress. I inverted my mind - extreme introversion - when faced with stress. The calm for which I was recruited was not calmness at all. It was misinterpreted Time Signature Introversion.
If cool calculation can be used as a weapon, a Time Teller can destroy whole universes if given the correct dosage of the Time Serum. The information I report makes me more valuable than seven armies. And no one will ever suspect how or why information was breached.
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