Mornin Entries

Mornin’ Entries

Sometimes things can be hard for me. Lately I don’t have many friends and I can get kinda lonely. I don’t want to bother anyone or annoy anyone so I try not to text to much or let them talk to me. I tell them I’ll always be here for them and that’s true, I care for the people in my life, but I’m afraid that if I constantly want to talk to them, they’ll get bored. I talk about a lot of things, I talk a lot in general, I don’t want them to be frustrated with me.

It can be difficult to try and communicate my feelings. On here sometimes I really want to talk to people, I want to get to know them, understand them. I’m intensely curious about so much, about anything and everything, including people and their interests and their ideas. But I can’t do that, you know? I can’t just say “hey, you wanna talk about alien abductions or dinosaur zoos till 3 am? Can I describe in fine detail how I would make a spaceship my home and live comfortably in space? Or what this music makes me feel and the images it gives me in my mind?” Lmao. People would look at me like I had three heads! For a long time in my life I’ve been the odd one out, I guess, which is ironic because I’ve always been the guy everybody knew but only had a select group of friends. Idk. Maybe I’m complaining? I don’t mean to whine. Anyway, good morning everybody, and good day to you all.

- your friend, Zachariah

I • Am • Risen

The world is on fire.

Black flames rise and scream with horrendous agonized howls, spreading to every corner of a wretched, twisted, blackened globe. The fire is grotesque, like liquid night that scalds, hungrily ablaze.

Buildings fold in on themselves—inverted, bending lines that groan out in terrible pain. Wriggling worming tormented shadows of human beings are glimpsed in those half seconds before thorny tendrils snatch at them, impaling, grasping, pulling.

Midnight fire warbles in non-Euclidian geometries. Resonant symphonies made in un-sound notation ring out like some nightmare cathedral billowing it’s bells, but these notes scream and scream and scream, the very fundamentals of reality aglow in this awful terror.

An unending sky cracks with jagged shards like broken glass, like starving and diseased teeth; shattering downward to devour all of the Earth, all of forever..

Ocean waves curl upward and upward and upward, unnaturally colossal. Crimson waves shake and shudder and squirm with livid suffering from unseen slithering serpents.

All of the Earth is burning in black flame, rising and screaming, crumbling sanities cascading into unending dark pits.

I

AM

RISEN

Lights, Action, and Relaxation

Late night tonight. I watched a lot of movies today, and relaxed, did my usual walk, picked up the house. Still feeling kind of sick, on and off. Tired. But relaxed. Happy. Excited for Mother’s Day, it’ll be really nice to hangout with my mom and my sister, do something enjoyable for my mom. She’s a really great woman. She works very hard for all that she has. I hope everybody had a good day today, whoever reads these, you crazy bastards. I can’t imagine I say anything very interesting, and I’m sorry I kind of ramble.

- your friend, Zachariah

Beneath

I never thought about what Aunt Lily did in her basement, or why she went down their so often. You’d be surprised what you don’t notice when you’re young and there’s a big sprawling tv screen clear as any window and you’re up in the countryside with ponds to splash in, woods to play in. You don’t notice when the adult your with—especially someone as lovely and kind and fun as Aunt Lily—disappears for several hours at time. You just don’t notice.

Then I got a little older. While now I had a phone, and a game system I could carry in my backpack, I started to get a little.. bored. The pond seemed dinky and tiny. The woods were hot, filled with too many bugs too eager to nip and bite.

And I started to notice Aunt Lily disappearing. I noticed how bare her lovely country home seemed. Few pictures or artworks, just a bit furniture.. It was like Aunt Lily didn’t really do much other than spend time in her basement. And by the time she finished it was only an hour of tv or so with me before she was snoring away.

It’d be always been a kind of unspoken rule between us to not go into the basement. I wasn’t a fussy kid, and didn’t break rules: so why would I just barge down there? Aunt Lily was obviously busy on something, so by right could I go on and barge in, disrupt her? As a kid, the thought seemed impossibly rude, nearly sacrilegious.

Now, things seemed different. I noticed how Aunt Lily had numerous solar panels on the roof and even three churning turbines like odd, white trees on the hillside. I noticed how sometimes the power seemed to fluctuate, oddly. I noticed how far away Lily lived from everything, even in the country; easily a four hour drive, two of which seemed only dirt roads deep in redwood country..

By the time I was eighteen and spending a last summer there before college; I couldn’t contain my curiosity.

What the fuck was Aunt Lily doing down there?

One night she went to bed. Tired as always after our of tv and some supper, she kissed my cheek and ruffled my hair before climbing the steps. As soon as I heard her door close my heart began to race. My skin tingled. Thoughts raced. I waited fifteen, twenty minutes. Just to be sure.

The basement door was colossal, and heavy. Metal like something out of a laboratory or security room, not a dainty little wood entrance. The stairs went down into a hallway, and onward.

To where?

I descended. Heart thrumming with intensity. The hallway seemed to go on for moments, smoothly carved black rock with soft but discernible lights carved at equal distance. I noticed how strangely tall the ceiling was, how wide the walls were from another. Almost like a hospital..?

I waked for five, ten minutes. It seemed longer.

The room was large. Larger than the entire house above it, easily twice or double that, maybe more. Dark electric blue-black light played over the slick, sterile surfaces. Bulbous machines seemed to line the walls in rows, like twisted glassy-synthetic plants from some otherworldly oasis. Scientifc instruments and mechanisms sprawled along the tables and islands, files in open piles.

What the fuck was she doing down here?

I noticed the hatchery.

A singular, bowl-shaped placement the width and breadth of a dinner table covered by a glass top. Within was a bedding of grass or moss, and a thin fog seemed to trail within.

There were eggs. Easily twenty, thirty eggs. Maybe more. The smallest were seemingly normal chicken-sized eggs, ovular and grey. Then.. there were the others. Eggs thin and lengthy, with leathery coatings, which seemed to softly breathe. Round, ball-shaped eggs with dark splotched coverings in bizarre patterns. Skinny almost tubular eggs tinted a rich, almost creepy bluish purple.

A singular camera or watching device dangled from the glass dome, gently swiveling, ever observant.

Was Aunt Lily some kind of farmer..? A really weird, underground chicken breeder?

When my hand touched the cool glass, a digital printout sprang to life under my fingertips, outlining the egg in a soft virtual outline. Temperature readings, internal diagnostics, likelihood of hatching within a certain timeframe..

But what caught my attention were the species names.

Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Triceratops Horridus.

Allosaurus Fragilis.

They were dinosaurs. And in that moment, I understood.

Excerpt from the Intergalactic: Unrest on the Frontier

In an interview with the Intergalactic, David Randal (photographed above in his Exo-Multiplatform Unit, or EMU) expressed the viewpoints common amongst spacers in these trying times. “It’s hard work, work that can kill or maim with even the greatest in safety tech. And out here, on the frontier? We’re undersupplied, practically forgotten about. Now rumors of war, whispers of aggressive aliens? The Company has practically abandoned us to the Deep Black.”

Tensions continue to mount as protests Galaxywide have spread to nearly five hundred systems now. We reached out to Haven-Uros-Iln Industries for commentary, and respectfully received none.

Thunder in the distance

Rain falls down from leaded skies between colossal trees, thick entangled branches. Wet moss and dripping, vibrantly green clover sways in slight breezes that whisper here, here, here. Slick muddy earth richly black against red-brown bark and vivid greenery. My three-toed talons sink into the softly sucking, cool mud with infinite balance. My steps are swift and elegant, naturally quick in organic movement.

Disembodied symphonies fill my sensitive hearing. Footsteps miles away from a Leviathan, ten thousand years old and nearly a thousand feet long, moving like a living mountain. I can hear the breeze moving through the rooted trees upon its ancient back. I can hear migratory herds hooting and calling, singing with millennia aged durges about the sky, about important rivers, about familiar nesting sites.

I am quiet. My vocalizations resound like thunder. Felt in the chest and in the bones of friend or foe alike. But for now, I am quiet. My jaws open and close, sampling the air, obsidian railroad-spike-teeth glistening with condensation wetness.

Somewhere far away, thunder rumbles.