I can’t say I won’t miss this, I can’t say I won’t be back, but for the next little while I’ll be at Yoyo Jump. Puzzled? It’s a reference to the conclusion of Catch-22.

Joseph’s mind flew jarringly back to the here and now as the transport came to a stop in the underground drop off. The front door opened and the passengers began to exactly disembark in what had long been established as the most efficient manner. The drop off was a large rectangular room intersecting with the transport system like a huge geometric tumor attached to the side of the sweeping tubular tunnel. A permanently nocturnal place, the decor reflected the freedom given to it’s minimalist creators as they played with barely tinted point lights and faded pastels on their secret canvas safely hidden from the sun. To Joseph the shifting gradients and shadows falling across the technicolor surfaces were estranged lovers. They instilled no hope of re-connection; just a sore memory of what might have been.

The passengers shuffled forward slowly as those closest to the far wall walked onto wide stepped conveyors pulling upwards line after line of uniformly outfitted grey humanity. Only remaining distinct through skin tone and body shape. The transport system divided the earth’s population into manageable chunks. It was flawless, yet it lost efficiency compensating for the chaotic nature of its cargo at the start and end of every journey.

That’s not to say though, that the transitional, impersonal and efficient part of the system came to an end upon the humans arrival. Their day of physical preparation for pod insertion took place on one huge assembly line. Joseph reached the top of the conveyor and looked back briefly at the shadows and colors at the bottom of the drop off. It quickly became a bottomless black hole as his eyes adjusted to the pristine sky lit connection factory. He stood at the abstracted beginning to the boxed process, it knew but two things of the world outside: humans emerged from the darkness of the tunnel and humans returned to the darkness of the tunnel. It could only assume darkness was their natural habitat, and the sun it’s own invention.

Sharpen the blade of reality,
For it has been dulled by familiarity.

Go outside and be stabbed, again and again and again.

I’ll be at peace when I find someone to agree
All is not as it should be.

But I’ll have to leave if you ever say
It doesn’t have to be this way.

Colonisation, hailing both at once from somewhere in eastern Europe and a humanoid yet certainly extra terrestrial race.

I was in the city the first time I knew I was going to die. The first explosion peaked over the top of the skyscrapers. I saw the second as it came, a huge propeller driven zeppelin let go a small cylinder, The very same immense structures evaporated like rigid hydrogen balloons. A chain reaction that removed rather than leveled half the skyline. The third was too close, I saw it dropping and knew running was of no use. Utterly useless, this was boolean and we were dead. I huddled among my parents and siblings as we prepared to meet sweet Jesus our Savior.

Suddenly; elsewhere, home, further away, local, and a more subtle realisation. No college today, obviously never, but all I could piece together were the consequences for today.  Then an explosion, a flare shooting up into the sky, an invader has arrived. We round ourselves up to stand helpless before him. He has short blonde hair and is heavily built. He fires many more flares, signaling to others. Gives a ammunition shell to me, I’m confused, now it’s a grenade. 20 seconds.

“Give it to someone else” he says.

Uselessly I look around, the outcome it obvious and time skips forward. I look for an empty space in the crowd, I lie down with the explosive under my stomach. 3 seconds. I’m going to die. 2… 1 second. I’ll be somewhere else soon. Jesus.

Nothing happens, the invader picks up the grenade. A test, an experiment, the invader looks at me. The anti-climax hits full of subtle amusement. I see her in the crowd, catch her eye, she smiles and says something. I wake up.

All I wanted to do was say sorry to everyone,
But now, repenting of that,
I’ll try to put the world back down.

But you’re all still plotting against me,
I plague your every waking thought and invade your dreams.
If you so wish you can observe my actions at any time,
No matter how secluded I may be.
I’m never really alone.

I hear laughter around the next corner,
I want to turn back, shy away from the abuse.
Into my luxurious and lonely landscape sane company arrives.
Speaking kind words that make much more sense.
But my soul leaves it’s home whenever they appear,
Then returning I wonder how things got so tidy,
And it won’t be long until I make a mess of it again.

I’m far too pitiful, and I remain too proud.
Progress Yes (perhaps even success), but no answer.