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My First Arrival, Chapter 4There's only one advantage in sleeping in a padded pod that is only slightly bigger than a coffin, but with the same atmosphere as one with a going-out-of-business-sale price.
Whenever your ship enters an asteroid field, your body only flies several inches up and down. The downside is that the pod quickly becomes its grim relative if you don't react quickly enough. In my sheer panic, I frantically pounded on the canopy of the dome until it gave way and popped off of its hinges. Undaunted by the cheapness and so-called "reliability" of the pod, I dashed for the control bridge and plopped myself in the unpadded plastic seat.
Note; plastic, unpadded seat. You get the idea.
I then strapped myself with a flimsy seat belt and quickly stretched the fingers on my hands, hearing a few pops and cracks from my appendages. The shaking continued, both from the ship and my hands; the latter of which would soon set a nine on the Richter Scale.
"Okay, where are the contr
My First Arrival, Chapter 3"When you find yourself absolutely bored with absolutely nothing to do at all, pass the time by extending your lips and drum your finger up and down against them. Do this indefinitely." From an old pamphlet I found in one of the glove compartments in my ship.
On the day when Baldric and I took off, no one woke me up from my slumber. I suppose that there were no final words or champagne bottles being broken on our ship's hull, but at least I caught up with my sleep even though I woke up with a splitting headache and a bump on my forehead larger than my aunt's boil on her chin.
Needless to say, there was nothing to look forward to while you're on a ship such as mine and when the days have passed, at least according to the number of hours on our digital clocks, you come up with all sorts of things to keep yourself occupied. One of the most tiresome things about our space travel is the sheer lack of entertainment avenues and the absence of any decent decor on board, though what I con
My First Arrival, Chapter 2"I think the llama is fully aware that he's going to get its head lobbed off for some ritual with no other alternative. The animal just figured out that it's best to make the most of it." An Incan priest that I've been acquainted with after my escape from Machu Pichu.
It was barely morning, and I woke up to the smell of octopi eggs over easy which were resting on a table right next to my bed. I've requested room service the night before, deciding that since this may be the last time that I would ever live in civilization I might as well make it the best. Besides, it's not like anyone is going to stick me with a fat bill beyond this point, so I wrote a check in the name of Commander Tuksus the Third. A nice, formal "sod you" to the blowhard. By the time he figures that out, I'll hopefully be halfway towards the planet. Not to mention my credit or debit cards would be entirely useless over there, even though I probably wouldn't be able to purchase any single item
My First Arrival, Prelude "We [humans] are thinking beings. We are interested and excited in understanding how the world is put together. We seek out the extraordinary and if you think of these claims if only they would true then they would be amazingly interesting; we've been visited by beings who've not only have created our civilization for us but mated with human beings. In my view, [humans] [are] much more likely to successfully mate with a petunia than an extraterrestrial. But certainly there is a degree of fascination, if such accounts were true."
Carl Sagan in a PBS Nova interview, The Case of the Ancient Astronauts.
If there's any truth in that, it would be the flower bit. Of all of the thousands of memories that I have stored in both my journals and my mind, organizing them into a single memoir would be extremely tedious and pointless. However, if there's money involved then I'll be more than glad to take a shot at it. I even suggested to the publisher to include some more racy material if it mea
Bovine BitsCaptain's Log Entry #585,541
Of all the farfetched and outlandish stunts over the past few thousand years that my superiors have given me, this particular series of events have topped them all off. Any sensible being would have thought that after several decades of sneaking into the human's ranches every single night for the purposes of experimenting on the same kind of animal, without the owner's consent, and taking out the same kind of parts, on the spot, would have been repetitive after the first few minutes. I may not represent the thinking of my entire species -a fact that haunts me after finding out that my kind's preferred method of communication with other sentient species is vandalizing their food crops in our own language which they could never understand in the first place- but I may be one of the few who's head is higher than the rest.
First off is our lack of variety. Sure, we may go for the occasional goat or horse but our preferred choice of animal seem
Mass Miscommunication"So, have we managed to make contact with these people?" I queried my rather eccentric brother who was busy writing down notes on his data slate. Probably doodles of himself as some kind of local messiah whose own miracles and guidance would fail to impress a four-year-old.
"Yes we have! I've imbedded several signs into their lands as a symbol of peace and brotherhood," he said with a soothing notion at the end which, according to my experiences, indicates that he's done something foolish on a grand scale, yet again. Sparing him the whiplash, I have asked him politely, in simple words, "What signs did you make and where did you put them?"
"All kinds and everywhere," he replied.
"Well, like these." He showed me our words for "peace" and "brotherhood" on the screen of his gadget.
"Ah, such simple words to express a simple request. I'm assuming that they now understand, write and speak our language then?"
My brother licked his lips and replied nervously, "Well, y
Abandoned ChapelThe parish waits now,
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls--
chipped away by the wind,
and held together
by silk spindles;
cobwebs align them like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in an broken window
against the sun
where beads of rain
gather in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic
against the backdrop of a cemetery;
My eyes seek out the sermon
in close proximity,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
as light trickles
over the shade,
breathes a new glow over snuffed candles.
I feel the weight in these empty rows,
how a breath couldn't cease to be breath
in the midst of prayer.
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