evolution
The evolution of science, science fiction, and mankind throughout the years.
Pro Se
Doors open now, I couldn't begin to start sooner, anytime I stepped up and out nothing but missals flew by to greet me, stopping all forward motion and sending us backwards through time, again and again. It wasn't long before the heart shaped locket disappeared into the darkness. It seemed to be the game being played since the beginning of time. Control the past, controls the present, manipulate the future. It does seem odd, though, it isn't as far fetched as I had first imagined. No matter how hard pressed anything was, it seemed it wasn't ever enough for the darkness. Any sliver of light it snuffed out with its innate ability to redefine lines of justification. The brighter the light, the more the darkness grew. Just as soon as a thought could formulate, there was the darkness, like missals on my door step. When did waving become taboo. When did acknowledging each other become so dangerous. We were all too busy destroying the world to even notice that the natural inhabitants, (bunnies, birds, squirrels) wanted the least to do with us. The very gesture of making presence known sends the birds right back to the sky, the squirrels into trees, and the bunnies across the road after the chickens. I can't tell if it was ever good, or ever bad. Thats to say I could say how it was/is suppose to be at all. It is as though I am just now waking up, everything I understood as normal became the very notion of prison life. Work eat sleep work eat sleep work eat sleep, like a robot, no time. The very system we all bought into created no time for us to experience this place. And now, now that it failed those who believed in it, we all fell. There were few who got out early on, off the grid sustainable living. If it wasn't for these pioneers who stepped away from the system and reclaimed the power, there could be no future around the bend. Though even now it feels removed, like a distant planet flourishing without control, or regulations, true love. That was the first time I could really account a need for love. That first look into ourselves where we could see that making any decisions that brought hardship to another was not the way. Does it always have to get worse before it gets better? Something the wildlife picked up on. Something we all over looked for too long. Taking it on the chin became the evolution. When we began to level off, we began to see what was worth fighting for, we began to see the games. The most impressive aspect of it all; not knowing who to blame, and they made it this way. Now as I reflect into my memories, it begins to dawn on me how the darkness is as fruitful as is deadly. True truths get lost in the dark, like the heart shaped locket, what it represents. It is more than just a possession, it is an ideal. Who's dam matters most? and who will be able to explain it to me when the time arrives? and does it even matter? It won't be long, in the end, love will take over, we will all leave the same way we came in, and I imagine that is different for everyone. For me it'll be kicking and screaming, for others, I hope with grace and dignity. It has been almost a year since I wrote in this thing. I am writing today because it has been quiet, and I can finally feel my thoughts returning home. It feels brighter than it has been, like a shift is finally happening. It could be a calm before a great storm, living most of this life with that feeling knocking from the outside in. I have to keep believing, it is all I have ever known despite all the difficulties and fall backs, keeping our beliefs during these unclear scenarios, these disaster protocols, these misdirecting mishaps. If there is one thing I have grown to appreciate, no matter what is happening, our best answer is a guess as the truth walks quietly unspoken, for as soon as truth begins its journey, nothing but what appears to be perversion formulates. You must be a good listener and that is easier said than done. Finding an ability to not respond to the information being presented in order to refrain from corrupting the exposure, it truly is a delicate art. That shall be thy biggest challenge, speaking truth, and being met with misunderstandings. I have always heard the point is to be understood. I tend to retract from carrying points around, especially sharp ones. Sword or no sword, any truth is a heavy burden. We all died yesterday. I can't remember my name. It is partly the reason for this diary. We could call it a map, a network. To keep the spark alive. We are all carrying seeds for the future, we must endure, we must evolve. This is only the beginning.
By Agador Sparticus5 years ago in Futurism
I'll Be Right Back
The traffic on the I-5 was all buggered up, like it always is. It was bumper to bumper and cars and obnoxiously big trucks were randomly nudging into lanes on the perception that maybe that particular lane might make progress. Heather was not deterred. She left a little early to pick up her husband at SEA-TAC airport and was anxious to see him. The AC was blowing full blast and ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ was pounding out from her speakers. How could she not sing along?
By B Everett Kirn5 years ago in Futurism
The Faceless Visitor
He was the only man, boy, brother, son -whatever you want to call it- who could do it. The only one left who could make them all proud. “It’s a lot of pressure to put on a kid,” he’d heard her say once. He didn’t really remember that day because he was sobbing rather uglily. Crying with snot all over his face, hiccupping and trying to take deep breaths to calm his rapidly beating heart.
By Isca Irangwe5 years ago in Futurism
Splice
Darkness. That’s what lay before us. The head of Goneril’s torch were the only light for miles, n’ Ma 'n I could only make out his twisted fingers as they gripped tightly around his wooden candle. Each of Goneril’s four fingers ended in a long pointed nail, black with the dirt that had caked on since his last bath.
By Trey DiGioia5 years ago in Futurism
How We Owe Everything To A Spark Of Pure Genius
Being a baby boomer, I go all the way back to a time when for us poor folk modern technology consisted of a kettle with a whistle to call your attention to the fact that the water had reached boiling point for making a pot of tea. In many ways, we have come an awful long way, and yet I'm not so sure about calling it progress.
By Liam Ireland5 years ago in Futurism
I Am A Muralist
Future generations of humans will run across descriptions of the “shift” in their history books, in the logs and blogs of their ancestors and wonder what it must have been like before it happened. I can assure you that it wasn’t very nice BA (before ascension).
By David Zinke aka ZINK5 years ago in Futurism
