To mr. president,

I heard you from the holographic projection:

“we can’t accept

this anymore! We will fight!

This is war." War, war. Life is

war. Your image faltered, transmission cut off

and I left, sick. Because really,

our enemies were only your hallucination,

Fata Morgana under the blinding light of hydrogen bomb that

became the sun.

And outside they shouted, "this is war!"

and I put on a metal plate on my face, and they injected

hate that grew in my aorta, that spread but

artificial venom disappeared easily, filtered

by heart.

And when their enemies came, I opened my arms to greet them.

And outside they shouted. "This is war!"

And at that time, the sun was only an invisible star.

I heard you from the faltering holographic projection:

"we can't accept this anymore!"

in a room in this hospital.

Somebody in someplace in some time

not alive not dead, somewhere in the between, greeting anyone who came by.

I heard you from the holographic projection: but your voice was cut off.

And outside they shouted.

The sun, yellow star, greeted everyone with a final flash.

-------

Kepada pak presiden,

Aku mendengarmu lewat proyeksi hologram:

“kami tidak bisa menerima

hal ini lagi! Kami akan melawan!

Ini perang.” Perang, perang. Hidup adalah

perang. Gambarmu terdiam sejenak, transmisi rusak,

dan aku keluar, muak. Karena sungguh,

musuh kita hanyalah halusinasimu,

fatamorgana di bawah terik bom hidrogen yang telah

menjadi matahari.

Dan di luar mereka berteriak, “ini perang!”

dan aku memasang plat metal di mukaku, dan mereka menyuntikkan

rasa benci yang tumbuh dalam aortaku, yang menyebar tetapi

racun yang artifisial cepat hilang, tersaring

oleh hati.

Dan saat musuh mereka datang, aku membuka tanganku untuk menyambutnya.

Dan di luar mereka berteriak. “Ini perang!”

Dan saat itu, matahari hanyalah sebuah bintang yang tak terlihat.

Aku mendengarmu lewat proyeksi hologram yang rusak:

“kami tidak bisa menerima hal ini lagi!”

di suatu ruangan di rumah sakit ini.

Suatu orang di suatu tempat di suatu waktu

tidak hidup tidak mati, tetapi di tengah, menyambut siapapun yang datang.

Aku mendengarmu lewat proyeksi hologram: tetapi suaramu terputus.

Dan di luar mereka berteriak.

Matahari, bintang kuning, menyambut semua dengan ledakan terakhir.

 

Parts

Me     : Lovely thing about Life is that it comes around. If it doesn’t, well.

        Ø We’re in deep trouble.

________________________________________________________________________________

|Ernest|

That was a good one.

Thanks. Conferences… not my thing.

You might have been nervous, but you don’t

know how insanely hard it is to get

something not a placebo.

I can imagine, though.

Don’t. That cancer thing was from Julianne,

wasn’t it?

Sorry about that.

No. It’s good. Awareness is the start for

everything. The rest is up to them. We

can only hope they don’t feign ignorance.

| Jules|

Guess who now have a loooot of plants now?

Like so much they don’t know what to do with it

It’s getting hard to move around here.

Wow, calm down.

Hard to do that. We don’t have much time left. I’m

not the sort to talk about redemption, but when it’s

like this

Well, at least we tried?

________________________________________________________________________________

From: Prof. Abasolo <abasolo@berkley.lit.edu>

To: 29 recipients, Vance <vancepeterson@berkley.lit.edu>

A good question here I would like to address:

The old poems talks of nature a lot. How can we analyze them when we don’t know what it speaks of?

Well, stick to the textbook, kids. Read them, you might get an answer or two.

________________________________________________________________________________

From: Jules <juliannebrown@harvrd.edu>

To: Vance <oracularcant@maild.com>

1 attachment included. < everythingshere.zpd, 94MB > [ open ] [ download ]

   Hey, I’ve been doing the research you asked. Don’t sweat it. It’s just my adorable little spiders crawling into the dusty cellars of the web—its home, let’s just say. And man, aren’t the 2000’s logs dusty.

   Biodiversity is a way for the ecosystem to survive all sorts of disasters. When one species dies, at least there are some other variations or something to that effect. Not to mention biodiversity is also that very neat thing that gives us all the nice things we eat. I’m now very pro-biodiversity.

   From the bottom of the old food chain, diverse plants mean more food for herbivores. From the top, having carnivores helps maintain a balance so there’s enough grass to go around. It’s a delicate thing. Topple the scales and things go crazy. I think it already is, by now.

   According to the logs, we had something like several millions species and now we’re down to… Well, pretty low. I don’t think many have the records nowadays. Not a lot of biologists are into that field now. Everyone’s making synthetic meat. It’s weird how decades ago, synthetic meat is like the grossest thing since orange juice after brushing your teeth.

   So love whatever we have now! They might look a bit weird, but we do need them. Metals don’t maintain balance. It’s gonna slap us in the face sometime in the future, I could tell.

   Metals and holograph projections don’t really feel as magical as nature itself. But yes, all the details you could possibly want is in that zipped file. Hope you have 1 gigabyte to spare for that.

- Brown

PS. I added something about ozone. I mean, we both know Erne. We both know he’s dying from skin cancer. Thought you might want to add that or something.

It’s a touchy subject, but… There’s no avoiding truth.

________________________________________________________________________________

/notes/quotes/willblake.txt

     “If the doors of perception were cleansed.”

When you consider only this part of the quote, William Blake made a rather interesting point. What would happen if the doors of perception were cleansed?

     I suppose it would be for the better. I love humanity, really. I try, at least. They make it hard sometime. We never learn. We’re like a kid with minus 8 glasses that’s never cleansed.

     With the technology these days, I really wonder if glasses even need manual cleansing anymore. Everything is mechanical and fast. The only surviving minority that would dirty their hands is the artists. Bless them. Not even Biologists go down to the field anymore. I’ve heard they used to actually jump down to jungles, like Borneo, and sit for days to wait for a new species to pass by. Then again, that part of history is told only through books. I don’t even know if it’s true. It’s kind of sad.

     Losing my train of thought here. Well, if we cleansed the doors of perception, perhaps we’ll find the infinity we have searched for so long. The abstraction comes from nature, and why wouldn’t we find it there?

     The more important part is the cleansing, though. How do one clean perception when you don’t know it’s dirty? I’m already grasping at straws here. Maybe one day we’ll find out. Hopefully we’ll still be alive by then.

file accessed: 17/09/2062

file created: 08/11/2043

edited 1 times,

last edit made: 17/09/2062

    added: It seems like we won’t. I should have taken Biology all along.

Lightworks

Lightworks
Characters/Pairings: Dave Wilson, Yvett Wilson. None.
Genre: General/Family (?)
Summary: Dad left some things on Dave's desk.

A Day One

A Day One

Characters/Pairings: Dave Wilson, Ted Ambrose. None.
Genre: General
Summary: Why Dave should not leave Ted alone in the house when he's occupied.

I

            The clearing is quiet.

You only stand, not quite in the centre, but you are the only thing left to focus on. How do you feel about it? How do you deal with it? You say nothing to answer those silent questions.

The clearing is quiet, as you are the only one left.

            Have you ever wonder why you're here, alone?

It must be maddening. Questions hanging around your head, not quite sure about the answers. They are not pretty, the questions. Why are you alive? Why did they go? Where did they go? Will you die here alone?

            Death. The word sends shivers down your spine. You cannot hate it, however. Life is precious only when there is death to balance it, you understand that. Not only that- you want only to live your fair share of life. The concept of immortality does not tempt you. You have lived long enough.

            Have you ever thought of falling?

It will be only a thought, you know that. There is no such thing as suicide to you. It is not possible. You will only die naturally, as your fate is written in fine ink. But how do you live alone? The creeping sorrow, agony, all from knowing that there is no more leisure talks under the afternoon sun, no more confiding secrets under the safety of shadows. All the sweetness of life slips between your fingertips as you try to grasp the ashes.

            There is something inexplicably comforting about memories.

There is life behind them. Emotions, history. Everything that happens between the start of life until the end of death, all that transpires, are retained inside them. They are like little vessels, containing everything's essence. In that way, people eternally live inside others memories.

            Do you understand?

Others fall, content in knowing that they live inside memories. They have proof they lived. But what about you? Did you live? If no one else know you, can they say you lived? If you fall, and no one heard you fall, did you ever fall?

There is no answer, for only nothing can answer that.

            You are strong.

But you wonder why you're all that's left.

            You don't mind silence.

But company never seems so sweet.

            As you stand alone, I walk away. Your image disappears so quickly behind the hills. My heart tells me this is wrong, but you are only a tree left in a forest.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Prompt: Write in the point of view of the last tree standing in a forest. 

Words: 405