A Man And Just What That Entails

     The evening was black, the woods gray from the white moon and the wood of the deck a pale brown with cracks of an infinitely obsidian hue. My chair was green, yet in the lighting of now it too was a shade of morose gray. The table was white ringing nothingness, for the glass surface was nowhere to be seen. My hand was a dark tan, a dark tan that light would reveal to be false, shouting "liar" all the while. It would shy away and let the hand's pallor resume that of a pale cream and the light would flaunt this victory eternal, for that is what it does.

      My drink was no more, drained of vital fluids and reminiscent of an empty cup. Well, no, it was an empty cup, wasn't it? Could something be reminiscent of its self? Perhaps, in the right inflection, the right mindset, but tonight, no, I don't believe it can. I don't believe in anything but the empty cup.

     It was once vibrant, though... a veritable ocean of sloshing delight. A brown, sparkling mixture of fizzing water, not water in the least. There were no landmasses here, just the finite deep surrounded throughout the compass by smooth walls of mammoth proportions. Gradually these walls grew higher, and the deep in turn grew increasingly less so until it could be called shallow, until it could be called empty. And that is how it goes, isn't it? The bottom revealed at last and all for... what? To look up and see at an insurmountable distance your only path out again?

     If I had time, I would imagine myself in that cup. I would frolic and plan and become bored with my cup-world adventures. I would gather my friends and foes, for we would have made amends in the name of higher glory, and strive to scale those holdless walls. It would be epic, a tale of monumental significance. We would reach the top at long last, the few of us that didn't fall back into the terrible pit that was once so perfect. We would see more than the eye could hold. And then, adventure would ensue again, on a scale that one cannot even begin to fathom... but I don't have time.

     I saw it through the trees. There was a road. There was never a road before, but there it was. There were no cars to be had but I felt confident that at the right moment, there would be and I would confirm that this road was in fact a true road, connected with its brethren both winding and straight and fully functional to social matters of the gravest import. It was, for all intents and purposes, just a road.

     After some time, I perceived more than a road. I saw life. I saw a mass the size of a raccoon. This was fitting, as the mass was truly a raccoon and it had, in turn, perceived me. It rose up on hind and began the journey towards me, presumably to have a chat. As it ambled the woods parted, like the sea some of us heard and few believed, making the path clear and easy for our tiny friend. No, not tiny, not tiny in the least.

     You see, I perceived a raccoon. I doubt you have forgotten such already, but this is a crucial detail of such immense proportions for such simple message that I cannot stress it enough. I saw the racoon. It was the size of a raccoon.

     Now, those of us familiar with seeing things will have already grasped that madness of this statement and called me out as a fool, a liar, a boy who called far too many times already. For those of you who are unused to seeing, I shall enlighten you.

     When something is at a distance, it appears much smaller than it actually is. There are reasons for this, but the simple answer is that it is farther away. That's all you need to know. I saw this raccoon as I would see a raccoon, which is to say that it was the size of a raccoon. You will recall that it was also some distance away. Now, it was not.

     What I've been trying to convey is also the first thing that caught my attention, the fact that this was a rather large raccoon. 6'7" standing, if I recall correctly, and I do. It reached me. I was puzzled and vaguely frightened. It spoke.

     "Hello, Jonathan"

     "Hello," I replied, for even though my name was Mark I was sure that the matter would clarify itself before any false identities proved dangerous. I was so very sure of that.

     "It has been eons, but I've come to tell you once more of the sun, for the sun will rise again."

      I nodded absent mindedly.

     "When it rises we shall all rejoice, we shall all be happy again. But it has yet to do so. While the moon lingers and casts black, there will be no joy, no reprieve from the horrors to witness. This is an era of terrible acts and deeds, an era where the raccoon is king and the lowly have only one another to rely. See how the worms gnaw ceaselessly at the earth? See how they grind?"

     Again, I nodded.

     "Wonderful! Wonderful, Jonathan! You have eyes, and these eyes will seperate you from the blind, from the thoughtless."

     "I should probably stop you here, as I am not Jonathan. I am Mark, and though I see of the moon and the worms, I see no sun to speak of, nor do I will it rise."

     "Not Jonathan, you say?"

     "No."

     "Well then, that is my mistake. I am sorry for any trouble I may have caused you."

     The raccoon ambled back through the woods and the parting they had formed was undone with each step he took, as the closing of a zipper. The road, I noticed, was nowhere to be seen. I went back inside and fell asleep in my bed, which was green in reality but pale gray in the now, in this lighting.

 

 

 

     3 is 2 lower than the second degree of Red, but only 1 lower than the third. This is crucial.

     9+0+1+13+0+1+11+15+14+5="We are together."

     Did you catch the drift? The lie?

     We are together and thus all is hopeless. Ultimately it all falls to this statement, doesn't it? This statement which is not the statement that was said, which you don't yet know because you didn't pay attention. It was crucial.

     9+0+1+13+0+21+14+4+15+14+5="Something that must happen, eventually."

     It is eventual, though. This much is true. The timing is very important though. Now that is crucial.

     Think in 9/8, with the 3 as a pulse and all is comfort. Then we move the three, with only a one being stressed, to 1/3rd the value and shift it to the conclusion, and all up to that point is divided between the pairs. These pairs unsettle and corrupt that gentle flow and that is when you trip.

     You rise, but a shifting flow, 5/8, overlaps your sensibilities while the past has yet to resolve itself. Now you're stuck and confused but in time it will all be made clear and you can enjoy the show.

     11/16 dives into focus and now there is no hope for resolution. But you don't realize, no, not yet. You just keep writing, pen to paper, pencil to paper, pen to paper, pencil to paper, pen to paper, pencil to paper. One dies slow, the other abruptly. The timing drives on, incessant. No longer crucial.

     4+9+4+0+25+15+21+0+3+1+20+3+8="The drift."

     I truly hope you did.

 

 

     The tapping woke me up, glassy and clear. The raccoon had returned, this time with four baskets.

     "Jonathan, wake up. This is urgent! We need so dearly to converse."

     I rose, monolithic for an instant gone before attention thought it worthy to glance upon, dying before the spotlight nudged its way forward, and opened the sliding door. "I told you once already, my name is Chris."

     "Which basket is yours?"

     "I haven't a clue. I don't believe that any are to be mine, unless I'm given more notion."

     "This one, the blue, is full of liquid. We won't know which until you drink it. You could be refreshed, you could die. It is a complete gamble of massive probability based upon all the clear liquids that could possibly form in nature."

     Mmhmm.

     "This one, the green, is full of a gas. I was blindfolded when it was packed, though I can tell you that the gas is either fatal or of such a nature that bliss will be all you know. It is an even shot."

     Mmhmm.

     "This one, the red, is full of candy. It is a sure thing, a perfect opportunity. However, the contents will run out quickly and you will soon forget the encounter entire."

     Mmhmm.

     "This one, the white, isn't a basket at all, but a bomb. You will reach inside and it will detonate, a sure death."

      Mmhmm.

     "Which basket is yours, good sir?"

     My speech came languidly and not entirely of free volition, "I would have to say the liquid would fill my empty cup, it will not do. The gas will fill my nostrils, driving out the primitations within... it will not do. The candy will rot my joy, leave me regretful and wanting... it will not do. The bomb will destroy me and it, surely, will not do. Thusly, I choose you raccoon, to be my basket. Now, I bid thee leave me." With this I returned to slumber, the raccoon watching me all the while.

 

 

     20+8+9+19+0+9+19+0+1+2+15+21+20+0+1+0+14+9+8+9+12+1+19+20+0+13+5+18+5+0+13+15+13+5+14+20+19+0+2+5+6+15+18+5="All that needs to be said, albeit incomplete in many respects."

 

 

     I woke up and it was dawn. The sun shining, the cup sat waiting, full of brown luster. The bed and chair were green, my hand pale, the raccoon missing. My name is Jonathan, and I won't live the next moon.

Reviews

[ICE]

Why is there a racoon in that tree?!! I think the cup is empty therefore the cup is empty...or is it? That just made my mind explode. So in the end he's what the racoon wanted him to be? Or is it all a matter of perception?