Fairy Tale Thursday

"The point." Part 1

Some time, in eternity, some guys show up, and one of them in particular is special. He wears sneakers and a t-shirt with a heart on it. Beneath the white heart on the red t-shirt, deep inside himself is the point within his real heart. And this is the story of that point.
The point had wondered for a long time whether it was the soul of man. It had, after all felt the pain of loss, the grief of suffering, and the ache of longing. It had wished for a thousand things to better itself, promoted a generosity, and analyzed it's greed. It had felt many things and said fewer than it would care to admit. Though it certainly felt that it's position within the context of the body was central, it began to wonder about what change could come from relocation. It eyed the familiar walls of the left ventricle, which dance with thumping rhythm.
"Heart, why here, what can I do here?" it asked unexpectedly. The heart palpated, astonished. It had never heard the point's voice before, and indeed was even astonished to find that it could understand the words.
"Why, whatever do you mean?" The left ventricle asked, nervously. The point had thrown off it's rhythm and it immediately began to search for the proper pace.
"Why am I here, Heart?" The point repeated. "What is it about this place that makes my presence here important?"
"Because," said the heart nonchalantly. It had rhythm to keep. "Here is where it all passes by. every bit of energy that continues us onward comes through here. In the blood."
"What is the blood?" The point asked quietly, looking about.
"All of what is between you and my walls, which is surrounding you and passing onward out my valves is the blood. Don't you know this place? What did you think it was?" The Left ventricle murmured absently.
"I suppose I thought it was air. I don't know if I saw anything at all before. But know I notice it all swirling about. Amazing." The point could see it all now, with effort, cells and platelets, white and red, all speeding past at a pace so quick that it the point had to strain to catch anything at all.
"It is air, and food. Everything that fuels the body." Chanted the Left ventricle.
"Well then, bless it. And I hope it carries on, but still, miraculous and complex as it is, I see your part but do not see my own. What is my part, Heart?"
"I do not know, except to say that your part is very important, point. I'm sure of that." Then the Left ventricle resumed it's pumping and forgot thoughts, and that it could talk or listen at all.
The pounding walls thumped, and red air swirled about and the point thought to itself in familiar noise.
"If I cannot figure a reason why I am here, then it surely stands to reason that that reason is not substantial, and therefore offers no boundaries or revelations at all. Perhaps by leaving the heart I can find out why it is important." The theory seemed sound. The point had made itself set upon it.
"Where shall I go to then?" The point thought. It had never know any other place than the left ventricle, ans wondered if there were any other places at all to go.
"At any rate, movement is the proper course to take, I should think." thought the point. And so with no small amount of trepidation. It began to wander.
First, it exited the heart and turned about. a great many tunnels stretched out before it, with blood swirling this way and that, down every available exit. The point fell the pull of the current, and something from beneath beckoned him downward.
"I shall go this way, then, because something is calling to me." And downward it went.
It passed muscles which strained together and were in such deep concentration that they could not be roused to conversation at all, and it passed the bones which were quite inert, stoically, they stared back at the point, and could offer no advice at all. At long length, the point found a large fellow who seemed positively bloated, and asked his name.
"Excuse me," the point called out.
"Not now, point. I am eating." The fellow answered.
"I'm terrible sorry to interrupt your meal, but I was wondering,"
" I am terribly busy, point, there is much to dissect." The fellow grumbled.
"Again, I am very sorry but what are you called?" The point forced out.
" I am the stomach. And I am eating now."
" I'll come back later then."
" A shame, I would've liked to make some friends on my trip, but it seems that everyone has such a lot to do. Perhaps I should do my best not to bother anyone at all." And for a long while the point travelled downward towards the pulling feeling in complete silence. All about him there seemed a teeming life, a chorus of harmonizing work, which he found to be ever expanding in complexity.
"How perfectly shaped, everything I've seen, fitting seamlessly into everything else." the point wondered." The pulling tugged at the point, and further along it went, until at long last it found the deadest of all ends. After much thinking, it sat down on a piece of bone and became quite blank. It was then that his first friend since the heart spoke.
"A traveller?" It asked suddenly, startling the point half to death.
"Why, I don't know." the point answered.
"Oh we love travelers. That is what we are." The voice said bubbling over with excitement.
"I hope that you don't mind me sitting here, then. That is to say, I hope that I am not interrupting. I am on my way to somewhere."
"Not at all, That is what we do. We carry everything on it's way to somewhere else. We are the feet."
"I am very pleased to meet you, The Feet, I am point." The point gushed happily. This was only his second introduction.
"Where do you wish to go?" The Feet asked.
"I'm not sure at all, The Feet, this is the only time I have ever gone travelling."
"We are always travelling. Unless we are resting, point."
"Well, then where is it that you want to go, I shall go with you."
"We don't know what you mean by want, point. What does it mean to want?"
"Well, I'm not at all sure, I suppose." The point said embarrassedly. " I should think it has something to do with curiosity, and with need."
"What do those things mean?"The feet asked.
the point was only just himself discovering what those things meant. "Perhaps I shall stay here and learn by travelling what it means to want, and to be curious, and to need. And teach The Feet when I learn. Certainly there can be no better task than the one that involves teaching and learning. Maybe The feet will become better traveller's from learning by travelling too." And the point said "I shall stay with you, the Feet, and we can learn about all of these things together."
"Learn about what things" The feet asked.
"About wanting, and curiosity, and need." The point replied with confusion.
"We do not wish to understand such things, point." said the Feet.
"But perhaps It will make you better travelers," the point said, "And help you to connect with the places that you are going. "
"We do not wish to understand such things." the feet replied. "we only wish to travel, and to carry."
"And I was beginning to think that this was my true place." The point thought aloud. "I can see now that I was mistaken."
"Perhaps your place is with our brothers, the hands." The feet interjected.
"The hands?"
" Yes, travel upward towards the arms, and when you have reached the end of the arms, you shall meet the hands."
"What are the hands like?" The point asked.
"We do not know of such things," said the Feet. "We only know that the journey isn't far."
"Thank you, Feet, for carrying me this short while, perhaps I can repay you if we meet again." the point said with genuinely.
"That is unnecessary, point."
" I'm off to see the hands . Thank you, again feet, I have learned quite allot."
" Farewell, and good journey, point."
And the point set off upward, towards the arms.

Snowball

I hereby resolve by the impetus of antiquity to record a discharge of my brain in the proper receptacle. I also hereby pledge to overcome pretentiousness by means of a complete disregard of my own thought. I hereby recognize that that recognizing means thinking. I hereby disavow all knowledge that my keyboard has a button marked "delete" and a button marked "backspace." I hereby pledge to stop typing the word "hereby" and the word "I."

A story a day, as different as possible.

A road flare was burning on a copper wire stand in the shoulder of the bridge, between the concrete sidewalk and the white lane that bordered the road. It made a whooshing sound and a buzzing sound, like the fireworks that spit green torches of flame and spin furiously until they stop and sit errant, smoldering cigars in driveway ashtrays. An officer had pulled the plastic cap and struck it alight and placed it there, and plumes of sulfur wafted into open car windows. It made cigarettes taste of cavernous breaches in Terra, where solids turned to liquids and poured through veins. Lungs couldn't taste it. Lungs tried to breathe it. Tongue and lips let it pass at the behest of brain. Cough. Or don't.

Guessing that traffic lights near the fairgrounds mean little when the carnival is on. Beep. Left or right or straight. Move, please. Belly full of fried dough and powdered sugar. Pocket full of empty space where bingo money was. Back seat full of nothing. Front seats full of music. Seat belt full of me. Beep.

Me at twelve. A standardized test, and a mower outside the window. A fresh cut school rightaway with zero days on the schedule, and a growing list of bruises and grass stains to accumulate. A dark room at night with a firework storm in the sky, a dinner party on the back porch. Murmured talk. Boom-crack-boom. Dave Brubeck. Boom-crack-pop. A remote carnival outside, inside mind. Anonymous age twelve, classmate, top car, Ferris wheel, organ piping, bell ringing and silence at the first spark of powder. Smell of food, grass, sound of river air, and people. Tried to pick a stuffed animal up from the curb out a moving Car with open door, no seat belt.

Overwhelmed, drowning in recollection, across worn synapse jumps to tastes and ambiance so clear like a bell ringing between ears of a note that is named. Beep. Front seat warm with fresh breeze and sulfur. Sky like inky water with firework trails, dissipating. Cars full of people. belly full of fried dough, pockets full of empty space where once was bingo money, back seat full of nothing, front seat full of music, seat belt full of me.

Wonder if communicating a smell or a thought or an experience is like lighting a firework, pluming the smoke about and wafting into people's lungs. All present breathing tasting, recording. Wonder if communicating a smell or a thought or an experience is like letting it spit colored sparks, reflecting in their eyes, tickling nerves, mapping, recording. Wonder if communicating a thought or smell or experience is like letting it buzz and hiss, ringing it's howl like a bell between present ears, echoing, waving, recording, resonating. Wonder if a shared thought or smell or experience is clearer. Wonder if gathered separate synapses sing together from their solitary skulls like a chorus of the bells, if they build like fireworks displays upon each other. Wonder where the powerful thought is, how it acts.

Beep. A turn at the line of the intersection. A burning flare. An officer who put it by the side of the road. A finished carnival. A line of cars full of people. A belly full of fried dough. Pockets full of nothing. A backseat full of emptiness. A front seat full of music. A seat belt full of me. A sky full of smoke. A red light.

Wonder how many enumerations while waiting for lights to change.