You should have seen this scottish time-traveler’s cabin, it was just glorious; neon-green textured totem poles of dense agar as far as the eye could see. He had one of those trampolines with near-infinite tensile strength, and a pit of foam rubber polyhedrons in a wide range of colours. I had once heard he had an asymmetrical disco-ball; the whole works. He’d have friends over sometimes, but all he’d ever want to do is play round-after-round of skittles. He once refurbished his walls to consist of little more than thin sheets of rubber between sandwichboard-like materials. He had a fish tank in the corner containing specimens such as no one else could ever imagine; coldfire gobies and yellow filtration-rex sharks as well as a clown kangaroo catfish all sat there in their lurid brilliance under blacklight in the house of the time traveler. On the walls of his room lay an assortment of advanced purkinje light-inspired imagery arranged into a fleur-bedecking of parapornographic imagery that allowed the scotsman’s syrup soaked brain to take solace in the proper workings of it’s host through the undignified transformation of primatoid digits into those of a twisted bird through the application of autoerotic stimulation. It was located in the depths of this place called “Psyberwoods”; a vast woodland of twisting chrome, fake trees, and nonsensical lights that is rumoured by many to have grown up from temporal contamination from future times. Many of the trees in this forest can be tapped for their bright purple sap, which can distilled into a vile-tasting syrup well known for facilitating tetra-dimensional retrospection; in layman’s terms, time travel. And that’s why this scottish time-traveler fellow was so interested in making his home in such godforsaken country; as it seems that in his homeland in the past, he had once committed some felonious-yet-forgotten deed that had landed him deported from the british isles; and now he planned on regaining his missing past through all the means that he currently had available. This time-traveler’s story reaches a frightening crescendo as he is forced to face down a vast horde of terrifying, feral beings known as Jibblymen, eternal guardians of the Psyberwoods. With no proper weaponry at his disposal; and the Jibblymen well armed with horrifically powerful shop-vacs of war and enshrouded in a mind-numbing haze of marzipan-flavoured fog; the time-traveler should have--logically speaking--been absolutely terrified. Instead, the time-traveller merely started to tell his attackers a story:
“A long time ago, I owned a fine double-malt scotch plantation in Aberfeldy. It was glorious...I think; I don’t actually remember much of my time spent there. In fact, I have almost no memory of my past life or how it was that I was even able to make it to the Psyberwoods of the great state of Mainesota. I spend my days harvesting the peculiar purple syrup that accumulates within the types of “trees” that grow in this forest; I say “trees” in quotes because these monstrosities are a lot less woody and more robotic than what most tree-identifying experts are probably used to. Here in my cabin it’s usually just me and my dog, Bo--he’s a deerhound who just came to my porch one day as a whelp and never left my side since then--, sometimes I think I can almost see the soul of a 6th century buddhist monk behind his eyes.
One day not long ago, Bo started barking over a mysterious shape out there in the woods. Upon investigating I could not believe my eyes! I was looking straight on into the face of one of the dreaded Jibblymen, legendary wildfolk of the psyberwoods. Exuding a sweet, amygdalic scent to entrance would-be opponents; these wirehaired semi-cousins of the sasquatch armed their terrible shop-vacs (strong enough to suck the prints from a man’s fingers even!). I told the Jibblymen how I had used the violet syrup of their forest to facilitate time travel, having lost my own past I sought to regain it; but I also told them how I had used it to see into the future just as well. As I told this story to them, Bo suddenly spoke up for the first time ever; claiming himself to be the true reincarnation of Bodhidharma, founder of Zen Buddhism.
Bo told the Jibblymen that by me telling them/you this story about their/your own future; I am collapsing the waveform of their/your timeline and effectively stranding all of them/you in the present with no discernible past or future to escape to; the ultimate zen state. Problem???”
...But now it seems that our protagonist has indeed backed himself into a corner of sorts, for he too has rendered himself unable to escape from the absolute present moment. Bewildered as to what to do next, he resolves to flee to the bottom of the ocean.
No comments:
Post a Comment