The Edge [of all] Journeys

[I am not making this up. Zach wrote this completely from his own brain for school. I am merely the scribe. Enjoy. –Andrew]

Part 1 – 6/7/2012:

Once upon a time there was a family and their last name was the Lundquists. They were a family of spies. There was four people altogether. There was a dad, a mom, a boy who was six, and a girl who was nine.

The dad taught the older class how to be spies. The mom taught the younger class. They gave the kids grappling hooks and taught them how to climb walls.

One day: the dad quit his job and started a new job. His new job was to guard the button that turns the whole world upside down. The button is on the wall of the tallest bank in the world.

The people who wanted to push the button were ninjas! There were 3 of them. And they lived in the African Savannah.

The spy family lived in Colorado.

Part 2 – added 7/4/2012:

The ninjas came to Colorado to invade. The spy family tried to stop them, but it was too late.

The ninjas pushed the button and the reason why they wanted to push the button was because it snapped the vault open and the money fell out.

Three weeks later the spies tricked the ninjas for a bribe and because the ninjas believed the trick they gave the money back to the spies.

Then at night the spies dragged the ninjas into the trees while they were sleeping and kept the house.

[to be continued… (I hope)]

Life is a river filled with self-reflexive microcosms. The Road.

Mostly it is a constant rushing, a blur of events carrying us incessantly forward, inexorably onward. Time.

But there are moments. An eddy in the currant snags the shore and strands time’s gaze. The river doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow, but the inertia temporarily presses perspective into a recline between the water and the sky, and it feels like floating inside a transparent womb. There is no up or down, east, west, north or south.

There is no movement but constant motion surrounds. Weightless.

And then time’s tyranny takes account, finds a subject stranded, re-asserts its impatient decree. The womb shatters. And for a fraction of perception everything stops: motion, sound, pulse, vision… every gaze is frozen, pure, unfiltered, and collides into a choice: cling to jagged womb fragments or PLUNGE.

Such chatic contentions consume themselves before they even exist – time reverses upon itself for a span too short to measure and the decision is made before the choice has even penetrated the mind. Falling.

Down.

Then forward, into a vague familiar rushing. Momentums match and fuse. The shore fades away. It’s almost as if nothing changed yet something feels different… there is a dull throbbing.

Several shards of womb removed leave vivid scars of joy. Memories.

Older scars fade slightly.

The rushing intensifies and there is only the river. The Road.