LOUDMIND

Paradise Lost
Sat, 02 Dec

Crystal clear teal colored water gently kissing soft white sand, I fell to my knees in delight. One hand full of sand, the other full of my own hair, I could not believe I was witness to such beauty. I tried desperately to wake, I could not.

Convinced of consciousness, I began thinking of other reasons I might be there; perhaps, on the way to the islands the plane went down while I was sleeping. I thought maybe the past few months of my life were wishes fulfilled and the end result would be my interpretation of Heaven (specifically the beach I described).

It was not long after this last thought that I gave up thinking all together and decided to absorb the splendor of my new environment. Never in my short, but event filled life have I been capable of such deep relaxation. I was lost in paradise, naked, alone, and completely without fear. In the warm, sunny breeze I slept. I woke at noon (startled) to the sound of a large vehicle grumbling by. It was then I realized I was still lying in my bed somewhere in America.

With tears on my face, and pain in my chest, I rose to the challenge of a new day.

However, it is nice to know that, at least in our dreams, paradise does exist.

Wake up
Sun, 03 Dec

Green, orange, and yellow rays spackled to my eyes, I could see the photosynthesis taking place. A dream? No, too strange.

With one eye open, one eye closed, I struggled desperately to interpret this vision before me.

Am I dead? Of course I'm not dead, my breath stinks.

Wild fire of color spreading faster than light across my view, I am blown away. For what seemed like a day (and was actually five minutes) I watched the phenomena unfold. I laughed aloud at the discovery.

Someone had pulled back the shades on the big window in the front of the house. It was by far the most impressive sunrise I have ever laid my imagination on.

MONEY, MOTHERFUCKIN' MONEY!
Monday, Dec. 4, 2000

MONEY, MOTHERFUCKIN' MONEY!
Money. Got no green, got no power. Cash, Man, is the word o' the hour.
MONEY, MOTHERFUCKIN' MONEY!
Pockets empty, work for food, find it hard to keep good mood.
MONEY, MOTHERFUCKIN' MONEY!
The supposed spice of life, nothin' but strife. I even lost my last two wives. Why?
MONEY, MOTHERFUCKIN' MONEY!
What happened to love? Challenged, slapped in the face with competitive glove. You ain't got no cash, bitch up and dash. The fat man with fat pockets used to respect me, but I ain't got no money, see. Now when I show my face he'd like to flee. I guess perhaps I'm really free.
OH, FREE, big word used all the time.
Young businessman, life in prime, one mistake that's all it takes, and down the ladder he slides.
MONEY, MOTHERFUCKIN' MONEY!

A young, weird, severely under-educated lad wrote this in a dingy, smoky bar in Texas just before he stepped in front of a bus. He signed it, "Jeff Davis". Poor bastard. If only he knew what was coming to him. He was unaware of the nature of his existence. Three short years after his demise the world would witness an event so moving and sad that many died of broken hearts right on the spot. It began with incredible light. For the first time in known history the entire planet was bathed in light like day. In every language from every society, the message from the ships floating above was clear and repetitive, 'where is our navigator? You would have called him Jeff.' Realizing the horrible truth, the star bound vessels disappeared into the night sky, a whole mobile civilization drifting lost and alone for all time because their navigator took his own life due to lack of patience.
What an asshole!

Next Assignment
Tue, 05 Dec 2000

Smoke in the air, fans turning slowly above our heads, no one knew what to say as it happened. A brilliant flash in the night sky followed shortly by tremendous heat. I remember looking to my left just in time to watch my girlfriend melt, a look of pitiful terror on her face. Why am I not melting too? I feel the heat, but it is a welcome sensation. I have always spent my winters here in Nassau, this one was to prove itself the best yet. Just after impact (I'm guessing a meteor of considerable size) gravity failed; it simply ceased to exist.

Oh what a feeling. A little disorienting at first, then nothing but fun. I have long been afflicted with flying dreams and I took to the air naturally. My one and only wish at this point was someone to share the experience with. One moment I'm sucking down Heinekens with a blonde Swede bombshell named Daphne, the next I'm thirty thousand miles above the small planet I knew as home. I wept a little as I witnessed the earth disintegrate. What a beautiful place. What a sad loss. I really wish those homosapiens would have taken better care of their foundation.

As for me, I'm off to my next assignment, observation duty on a pretty little rock in F-83 some six thousand light years away. I love my job, but making friends I know I can't keep, that just plain SUCKS!

I'll be in touch,
Loudmind.

OH PLEASE, NOT THIS PLANET
Tue, 05 Dec 2000

No shit, Fools, I was dropped off almost five hundred fucking years ago. You do not have any idea how it feels to be alive that long. I have seen more shit than a horse race!

"What are you talking about dude?"

That was all I could get through before he vanished. I have long thought I was from another world, the strange one, the odd ball: no, this asshole was cream of the crop psycho. I wasn't going to miss him as he disappeared, then, as he dematerialized before my eyes, I thought to myself, please take me with you, take me home.

Too late, he's gone.

You people pay attention to the skies from now on. The only way humanity will survive this planet is to get off of it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Spirited Ride
Dec 6, 2000

Six twelve in the morning, twenty two degrees, a clear sky: I could not help my self. I sauntered to my garage and looked at her. Glistening in the cold sunlight, I put her seven hundred horsepower to good use.

Three forward, three rearward, three lateral G's in every curve, I messed my trousers. A surgeon could not remove my smile.

I woke this morning to a dream that made me cry. To tell you what kind of automobile would simply confuse you. The mere fact that I shared this experience should be enough. My point? Don't ever quit living.

Matter of fact, screw death, it's going to catch up with you on its own energy. Fear it not. We all have to go. I like to drive. Do what it is you love.

I am thinking of you,
Loudmind

Circles
Wed, 06 Dec 2000

"THERE IT IS AGAIN," I think to myself.

I worry deeply when it comes, this distant, but uncomfortably familiar deja vu' like phenomenon. A single moment in time, no longer than a deep breath, and always the same moment will occur without warning, any where, any time.

I never know what to think when it happens, all I can do is wait until it ends, and it always does, but it leaves me stumped for hours after.

It feels as though I am living in circles, perhaps two overlapping circles with identical scenarios at every cross road, perhaps many circles.

I have also thought that I might have lived the wrong way, or even died, and was led back to the point at which I started; the cross road.

Tougher to explain than I thought it would be.

Combat
Thursday, 07 Dec 2000

Wonder what sort of war will be conducted next? Ever hear the term 'cyber'?

Imagine a battle field that has no grass, or mud, or trees, nor soldiers even. Generals and commanders will sway the balance of war at the helm of a keyboard and a mouse or three. Mighty ships will sail themselves, through sea and sky, manipulated only by the soft touch of a button: and possibly obliterated by that of another. A board game will offer greater challenge to the human mind than will the future of the architecture of war machines. Fighting has never been necessary: it is definitely not now. Will we see the end of the rifle? Will we see the end of the Marine? Will we see the end of humanity? These are all un-answerable questions at this point.

I personally am growing fond of the convenient communication device before me, but cautious I shall remain. I recommend you all do the same. Don't give me that "you're paranoid" shit either, just pay attention to what's going on around you. One could be blind at this period in our existence and still know that we are all in a state of duress.

Think what you want, but don't get too comfortable, dig?

Loudmind

Prison, or Eternity?
Dec 8, 2000

" You'll never take me alive you sonsabitches," was the last thing I said to my pursuers before I threw my phone out the window of my supercar and stomped on the throttle. There was no way their puny interceptors could keep up, and here in the outback there is no surveillance from the air.

I figured the Mercedes had just enough fuel to get me back to my well hidden home just outside the North territory. There I could make my final stand, or just hide out a while.

My name is Jaque Melner and I'm a retired racer from the super spec Euro GT1 Supercar series. I have five world championships, and three years of team ownership under my belt. I was born in Sydney, so naturally, after retiring from racing across Europe, I returned to Australia to live out my days a happy old man. Or so I thought.

Three months ago I received a call from my only son, who by the way is the current GT1 world champion. He sounded hurried and would not say what was wrong, only that he was coming home for a while. Two days later I was in Germany identifying his body.

"Yep, that's him alright," was all I could muster. The coroner and local police insisted there was foul play at hand, and proceeded to ask me if I knew of any enemies he may have. To this I bellowed laughter and responded, "He's a fucking race car driver. He makes twenty enemies a race! To top that, he's the current world champ!"

"Really, Sir, there must have been someone who hated him."

"What exactly happened to him that makes you think there was foul play, other than looking like he was bludgeoned to death," I said. To this the policeman reported that my son had been killed in a car wreck.

"So, live by the sword, die by the sword. He drove, FAST, he died driving!"

"Well, Sir, we understand that. It's just ... well, the brake lines had been tampered with."

That's when it finally hit. I cried in my hotel room for three days. As I was packing to go home I got a call from the police. They called to report that they had apprehended a suspect and wanted me to come immediately to the station to see if I knew the fella. When I got there, I was shocked and dismayed to discover it was my son's life long friend and fellow racer, Jimmy Canner. What happened next I cannot explain. Before I realized what I was saying, I told the police that it could not possibly have been Jimmy, and asked that they release him into my custody until they had better evidence. They complied.

Back at the hotel, staring out the window drink in hand, I said, "Why, Jimmy, why?" He just sat there on the couch staring blankly through me. "Look, I know it was you, you've always been jealous of my son. He's always been a step ahead of you, hasn't he?" Eternal moments crept by. Then, in the softest, most pitiful voice I've ever heard, Jimmy said, "Because second place sucks." I pulled my gun from my briefcase and put a huge bullet right between Jimmy's beady little eyes.

That's how I ended up here, standing in line naked waiting for my clothes in this hellhole German prison. I've already been informed by some of the bigger inmates that I will be sodomized soon. "Oh, God, what a nightmare! Please get me out of this."

I thought for sure I would have enough fuel to make the 100km trip back to my home from the supply depot. What I did not anticipate was the cop I blew by at 160km per hour. When he gave chase I got on my cell phone and called my housekeeper and friend, and told her to take the extra cash and the Porsche and go north now, I will not see you again, goodbye. The police somehow intercepted the transmission, identified the phone as mine, and the warrant came up immediately.

By this time there were several police cars in pursuit. I began having visions of being someone's prison bitch, then the cell phone rings. "Surely it's not my housekeeper, she's no fool," I thought, so I answered the thing.

It was the police. They wanted me to give myself up. Prison bitch? No fucking way. I said a few nasty words to the cops, threw the phone out the window, changed the fuel mixture with the flip of a switch (this is a race car after all) and floored it. With a tremendous push to my seatback, The Benz went from about 180km to 360km per hour in right around ten seconds. (That's 110 mph to 225 mph for you Yanks.) I did not take into consideration my fuel consumption would change from 10km per liter to 3km per liter. I ran out of fuel 2 short kilometers from home.

I was killed fighting with an inmate today. It was beautiful. I refused to succumb to his torture and threw a punch instead. I knocked him right on his ass. At that very moment a guard's club hit me square in the eye sockets. The blow instantly claimed my life. Funny thing is, the club looked like it had tail lights as it hit me.

Now, in death, I discover I can fly. While ghostily zipping around Sydney one eternal day, floating just above the heads of the living, I recognized a familiar face. Could it possibly be her? It is, it's my housekeeper, sitting on a park bench sobbing over a newspaper. I maneuvered slowly above her to get close enough to her to touch her if I could. That's when I saw the headline: "RETIRED RACER, MURDERER DIES IN NASTY AUTOCRASH."

The report went on to say that I crested a hill at 360km per hour and had no time to even think about the brake pedal as I smashed into the rear of a stalled tanker truck.

Stupid
Thursday, 07 Dec 2000

Stupid is exactly what I must be. For sitting idle and wondering when fate will deliver, I must be stupid.

Genius is what I must be. For surviving (in reasonable health) for thirty years without ever experiencing the thrill of self sufficiency.

I have taken some responsibility for my actions, but never for my life.

Am I a coward? Am I not capable? Do I make bad choices without any forethought of consequence? I believe them all to be true.

I have no explanation for my life the way I have lived it. I believe another personality would have done a much better job of leading a normal brain and a kind disposition further into this world. Certainly that hypothetical alter ego would have made a greater contribution to humankind, and probably would have kept more promises.

Unfortunately, that personality exists not within me. I will have to learn to be a better human being. I am searching for the courage to continue.

Before I change my life, before I redirect the energies of this personality, I would like to apologize to any and all that I have wronged in any way. Perhaps, had I thought ahead, I may not have said and done the awful things that I have. Make no mistake, a criminal I am not. Yet, it matters not that I am no felon, my conscience tells me I deserve to be punished. Part of me feels that I have suffered enough, another part of me feels there shall never come an end to the suffering.

Still, part of me feels as though I'm living the best I ever have. If I could make a wish, it would no longer be for money; I would wish to be complete. I wonder, would that be beneficial, or disastrous?

In the midst of this senseless muttering I accomplished nothing. I hope I have not come across as self piteous. That was not my goal. Instead, I merely wished to cleanse myself of emotional baggage, and so far writing is the only activity that has been successful in its attempt. Now, if I could just convince it to make me wealthy, I think I'd be all right.

If you have just read this, you've probably wasted your time, but know this: the reason you have just read this is at some time in my life you have shared something that meant a great deal to me, and I thank you.

Loudmind

Sympathy for the Devil
Sat, 09 Dec 2000

Not everyone knows their purpose in life. I loath mine. I am the saboteur of good living. I never wanted to be bad, I just wanted to be heard. There came a day when I could no longer follow the stiff rules that governed my existence. I lashed out at my jailer with every bit of pain and spite in my restless heart, and my punishment has become the substance of legend.

Try to imagine the terrified look on the faces of the damned as they perish and realize that their final destination is in my custody. Can't do it, can you. Perhaps you don't want to. I understand. Anyone that believes there is a heaven or hell will do or say almost anything to avoid the latter. I don't blame you, especially considering all of the erroneous stories that have been manufactured to maintain fear of wrong doing. It's a huge crock of shit, folks! There are no golden gates, there are no burning lakes. Matter of fact, there is no life after death for insincere mortals. That realm of existence is reserved for a completely different type of being. All you have is the time allotted to you by fate. Make it count.

My job is simple. I exist amongst the living as an idea. However, I can assume many forms. For example, Mr. Jones has just closed a super deal and is guaranteed millions of dollars in return. To celebrate, he is going to his girlfriend's house with champagne in his hand and sex on his mind.

His loyal wife waits and wonders at home. I am the rock in the middle of the road that caused the truck just around the corner to swerve into Mr. Jones' lane and put an end to his vain life.

I do not perform my duty with joy. If I knew a way to get a new job I would use it. No afterlife, you say? That is a very common response. Souls are recycled. They are sent back to the living world until they are ready to see beyond ordinary consciousness, then they are accepted into the realm being immortal. My advice is, do not trust, nor follow these fat pocketed bastards that take your money in exchange for salvation. Instead, live generously, and without inhibition. Take the time to read a child a story or answer a silly question. Stop to smell the roses. Listen to the filthy, deranged derelict on the park bench. After all, he may be God in disguise, or me for that matter. Have you figured out who I am?

Bingo. I am the devil. I'm really not so bad, I just have a terrible job, and unfortunately, there is no classified section for immortal souls. Have a nice day, and remember, if you think you might regret it, do it.

Headache
Sun, 10 Dec 2000

I woke up laughing hard. I had the longest, funniest dream ever, I think. I don't remember a lot of it, but I remember the bits just before I woke.

There were four people in an old, fucked up American car of some kind, a big car. I'm not sure if I was one of the people, but I was there to witness what took place. Also, the car was cruising through space. Go figure.

There was a conversation amongst the occupants of the vehicle, and suddenly the focus is on the dude in the rear left seat. He says, "Man, I have a badass headache from this pimple."

The guy sitting next to him looks over to see this other fella's head all twisted and distorted from the forehead up. It looked like he was growing three or four giant mutant bananas from his scalp. He just shook his head and said, "Oh, Man."

To which mutant head replies, "What? It's a fucking whitehead."

That's as far as I got. At that moment I woke up laughing my ass off. I guess you had to be there.

Later,
Loudmind

Imaginary Consciousness
Date: Mon, 25 Dec 2000

The last time I encountered the phenomenon was at the Detroit Metro airport. It is always there for me. At first I tried to explain it away as just another kind human being to the emotional rescue, yet, I could not. Even though there is, in fact, a human being present (this is not an imaginary friend, mind you) the face is always the same as the last, and so on. Whenever I find myself in the position of desperate emotional need this entity always appears. No matter where I'm at, no matter what I'm doing, there it is. I'm not comfortable referring to a nice, compassionate, concerned fellow human as an 'IT', but I feel I must.

This person is always someone I've never met, yet they all share a strange singular familiarity that I only recognize when the moment arrives. This person never leaves my company until I have found a suitable solution to whatever problem I have, then, as quickly as it came it is gone leaving me feeling relieved, but like no one was ever there.

I'll think for a moment that I suffered a brief unconsciousness and figured it out, but that is always ruled out due to various evidences of my surroundings, for example, too much of the beverage in front of me will have been consumed. Also, there is no time I do not see go bye. I'm fully aware of the present moment, and the moments past. It still seems easier to explain this to someone else than it does to myself, however, its presence is always welcome .. my friend, my imaginary consciousness.

Lost
Thursday, 28 Dec 2000

My name? Not important. You would laugh anyway. My purpose for writing this down is futile, at the least, but it will make me feel better. I don't think I was supposed to survive, however, what I saw this morning, or afternoon, or evening, I really don't know, has caused me to reconsider the very nature of existence as I knew it. Yes, I used the past tense. It was necessary, as I gather I'm already dead, I just haven't fallen over yet. My crew perished in the crash.

Ninety nine years into a three hundred twenty two year mission to a small but favorable planet near Orion, a tragedy occurred. Some uncharted, unaccounted for rock drifted across our path and ripped my ship to shreds, sending it plummeting to the surface of yet another stellar body. So far all I have managed to find from the wreckage is myself, a broken pencil and some ass wipe (which, by the way, is exceedingly difficult to write on), various body parts, slivered metal, three grams of powdered water (just add spit), and a Hershey's Kiss. No shit!

Why me? I'm the fucking captain, I'm supposed to die. The worst part is that there is no rescue mission. In fact, anyone that worried for our safety, anyone that assisted in the preparation for this mission, all of the families, they are all dead. That or old as hell.

There was a device on board that was to be activated the instant we reached our new home, but I don't think it's even on the same rock I'm standing on. Oh yeah, the gravity. I guess I should mention that I am only able to do so much, considering the gravity here is at least three times that of the Earth. My head and my guts hurt very bad.

I really don't know why I'm writing this. It's highly doubtful that another pair of human eyes will ever see this, but I have to share. After I gave up the brief search for other survivors I finally decided to look at the scenery around me. Perhaps out of terror I did not notice, how could I not notice that which defied imagination itself? There are mountains that hover three feet or so from the actual surface. There is a purplish fog that surrounds everything in view. There is the stink of sulfur. Now and again some of the levitating rocks will collide and make a sweet ringing sound that soon becomes audibly unbearable. I will certainly go mad before I die.

I must hurry now, my oxygen supply will run out in four minutes. At this moment I wish to be a magnificent poet so I can describe to no one how horribly beautiful this environment is. I'm not much for a captain right now. I'm not even sure I'm much for a human being. I think my feet just melted off. I............ ............................

The End
Mon, 22 Jan 2001

The year is 2139, somewhere in the Rockie Mountains. By this time the entire planet, every square foot of it, has been populated. There are massive flotillas at all seas that accommodate many human beings. Space stations miles wide occupy the skies. They are all one can see when looking up anymore.

Currently, global interest is deep space mining and exploration. The Earth is devoid of any natural resource other than salt water, and even that is polluted. Everything humans need is imported or manufactured.

In June, 2077, Humankind rejoiced in the worldwide discovery of a new ore. This material proved itself so strong and light that industry as it was came to an immediate halt. The transition into humanity's new existence was a bloody one indeed.

The miracle ore allowed cheap and expedient travel into further reaches of space than ever before possible. The Aerocar industry (already amazing) soon saw the end of its tyrannical leadership. The abundance of this new metal opened the door to many independent businesses.

The ore's chemical composition is so intricate that science still has no name for it. True genius, and the idiot savant, have both described it as the best and worst thing to ever happen to humanity. I believe the latter.

My name's Alex Rygar, miner of the super metal. I've been pulling the sweet ore from the ground for twenty three years. I've seen it all: explosions, cave-ins, blowouts, you name it. I've watched many co-workers die, others injured to the point of no repair. Gross shit! Hard to make friends in this industry. My best friend in the world is a seventeen year old canary called 'Winston.' That's right, seventeen years. The reason for his presence, you wonder? Back in the late 19th Century gold and coal miners would employ canaries to test for gas. To be more direct, miners would cage the birds and put 'em at the front line. If gas was present the birds would keel over dead and the miners would run.

The fella that dug the hole I crawled around in was a stickler for safety. He also had a penchant for nostalgia. He somehow hooked up with another fella that ran a genetics lab in Texas and had him make a canary. That probably explains why the damn thing has lived so long, well, and the fact that the world's supply of natural gas ran out over a hundred years ago. Anyhow, bossman decided it would be a nice touch, so he threw the bird into the pit of despair with the rest of us.

All these years gone by I have been pilfering peanuts from the galley to feed the poor thing. It prospered quite nicely. It sang and flapped around and acted like a bird. I even let it out of the cage after a few years. It would still be there every time I showed up for my shift.

Down here we are all in a cage. The core of this mine lies beneath a dead volcano, four hundred sixty miles below the surface. We have three elevators, two for the mineral, one for personnel. Each mineral lift will carry a chunk roughly the size of a cubic football field. The human lift will carry one hundred souls at a time. Should an emergency occur, we would not be able to use the other elevators. Why? Because 100 men weigh over 20,000 pounds. The chunk of ore that I described, as huge as it is, weighs just less than one ton. There are nine hundred people down here. A one way trip to the surface takes an hour and some change. It's no surprise where the priority lies. You do the math. We're dead.

With this information in mind one can understand why this material is so precious. Sky cars are powered by fans forty times heavier than the vehicle itself. The heaviest part of the damn thing is the operator. Regardless of the metal (or whatever this shit is) being light in weight, it is still ten times stronger than titanium and has a hardness factor almost twice diamond. Imagine a bucket full of sharp crumbles of this stuff tossed into a 500 mile per hour wind. Well, that's exactly how we used to mine it. The rate of mortality around here was astronomical.

Which takes me back to the bird. He and I have been here the longest. My co-workers call him Winston. They call me Sir. I call Winston friend.

These days we use a new and improved method. Following the discovery of the substance, no one knew what to do with it. The tools of the time were useless in its removal and shaping. Diamond shards worked for a little while, yet, eventually every diamond on the planet, and those from Mars, were turned into mountains of heavy, dangerous diamond dust. In 2102 a professor at the Universal Science Institute accidentally exposed the ore to a concentrated beam of x-ray energy; it was as though the material hit by the beam simply disappeared. The material's mass was measured to see if it had changed, and in fact it had. No dust, minimal waste, and the new method was integrated immediately. Other than wearing lead suits, there is no real danger anymore, at least not yet.

As I stated before, chunks the size of football fields were extracted several times a day from several hundred mines around the world. I knew it would only be a matter of time before nature's supply of the stuff would run out. What then?

Yesterday, December 25th, at around noon, the Earth felt a shudder. We in the mine thought it was the preface to a grand cave in, but the global emergency broadcast network beacons began sounding. This is a safety system installed round the world back in 2050 that has not made a peep since, holy shit! All the machines were automatically shut down. The radio transmissions that followed: "Stay in your homes and shelters. It is not yet known what's happened. We do know that the quake meters in New Siberia are reporting magnitudes of fifteen plus. The gl.................."

Silence.

What I saw next I still don't believe. I got to see it happen before I felt it happen.

I'm sitting in a safety harness inside an indestructible escape module made of none other than the super metal, the only reason I'm still alive. The others...........as I looked across the vastness of the mine cavity to assess the damage from the quake, I witnessed in the distance what looked like a wave approaching quite rapidly. As it came closer I realized what I was seeing; huge pieces of equipment and people and everything being tossed into the air as the wave blew by. However, they were not landing as I had expected them to. I was mesmerized by this glorious mindfuck. Coming closer still, I snapped awake and hauled ass for the office (a.k.a. safety module).

Once inside I strapped in and looked at the exterior view screen. It was horribly beautiful, shit floating around as though it were submerged in water. Then the wave hit me. I was instantly propelled into the air and then captured by the lack of gravity. I threw up on myself. It wasn't over yet. A strange cloud of some kind came rolling out of the massive cracks and tunnels we and the quake had created. It seemed to vaporize everything but the ore we mined. Alloys, machines, terrified co-workers, everything. I waited with held breath and a still heart as the mist reached the capsule. It instantly destroyed the camera and my view to the outside.

I don't know how long I'm going to be in here. I have emergency provisions, emergency lighting, and the voice recorder I'm using now. I don't know how long any of this stuff will last, it has never been tested.

I do know I'm still weightless. I'm guessing that the planet tore itself apart and was more than likely completely evaporated by that strange gas or whatever it was, leaving nothing but massive blocks of light metal floating through space.

At first I had hope, but the facts set in quick. I thought I might get detected by a satellite or space station, but lack of gravity would have set them adrift as well. Then I thought, the moon, I might make the moon's orbit. Nope, no planet, no moon, she's adrift herself. There's no way I'll make Mars. Right now I wish I were one of the fortunate not trained or authorized to jump in a goddamn escape module. Where am I headed? How many others remembered their escape modules? Am I alone? I miss my friend Winston. I think I'm going to open the hatch and let him in.

Hypothetical Situation
Wed, 31 Jan 2001

Something to ponder.

Not a thousand, not five thousand, but an unfathomable ten thousand years from the present, the universe itself may be a different place, with different civilizations. Humankind may take on a new look. We ourselves look quite a bit different than we did twenty thousand years ago.

For any and all that still believe in all that Adam and Eve crap, stop reading this message right now!

Twenty thousand or so years from now we should be fairly well advanced, in forms of communication allowing for small, almost useless mouths. Transit will more than likely be easy allowing for a slight, non muscular form. We will more than likely be dealing with intense radiation from our sun, hence thick, grey skin. Because of the brilliance of the light and the lack of oral communication, our eyes will become large, black, bug like optical marvels. Does any of this sound familiar yet? Do any of you believe in, or have any of you seen a U.F.O.?

Regardless of the needs of humankind in the future, some industries will remain intact.

I imagine the need for oral ingestion of substance will be replaced with simple liquids or maybe injections, or maybe even complex gamma ray exposure. The need to read or be educated will be replaced by a communal network of constant telepathic information constantly broadcast.

Exercise, HA! That's a joke in our day and time.

The industries that will survive, Transportation and Tourism. By this time the big thrill vacation will not be the rings of Saturn, or a shot through Jupiter, or the sun. No, the best trips will be through time. Go back and witness a dinosaur, or a meteor strike, or Attila the Hun, or Napoleon, or a civil war.........or, a nuclear blast in August, 1947 in Roswell, New Mexico. The pilot just got a little too close.

Perhaps another industry that will remain intact will be life insurance.

Loudmind Ink

Black
Sun, 04 Feb 2001

I'm probably the only person in the world that loves Monday mornings, sunrise over the ocean, no one around but me, coconuts in the trees. I just wish I had a copy of the Monday morning L.A. Times.

My name is Erwin Shultz, I used to be a social worker. Yes, I know, the worst job in existence. I'm not sure how I landed that job. I graduated from U.C.L.A. with a masters in communication; I don't know what drove me to civil service. Shit, I could have mooched off my wealthy parents. Perhaps I felt some strange pity and the only way to deal with it was to get close to it.

For sixteen long years I trudged through every day as though I were dead. The first six months were great. I felt like I was doing the world great justice. I would look into those sad, pitiful eyes and melt. Then, as I handed those food stamps and federal aid checks over to the poor, dirty bastards, their eyes lit up with temporary joy. It wasn't so bad then, but as time rolled on I began to see patterns. On the streets I would see some of my cases wheelin' and dealin', wads of big bills in their hands, beautiful lowriders under their asses. I felt sickened.

I did not notice, in the first couple of years, that every now and then one of my cases would disappear. About three and a half years into my employment, on the way to work one morning, I had time to kill. I stopped at a shitty little diner in Anaheim, got breakfast, and for the first time EVER, I bought a newspaper. For some reason I had the stock market in mind. I read the entire Wall Street section feverishly; the experience was profoundly moving. I had found my calling. What was more exciting, however, was a small article I read on the way to the Wall Street section: something about, "THE MAN IN BLACK STILL AT LARGE!"

I read on thinking it might be about Johnny Cash. Instead, it was about some individual dressed entirely in black, completely unidentifiable, and extremely competent and athletic busting in on the scene of drug deals and other wrongdoings, slaughtering the bad people, stomping their dope into the dirt and hauling ass into the night. Authorities assume it is someone from the military or law enforcement because this individual has reportedly taken several bullets and still lived to come back. Body armor I suppose. Then there's the car. It's believed to be a hopped up, heavily modified Mercedes Benz coupe of some kind. They say it's racy looking, extremely fast, and very, VERY black. Looks like a shadow or a dark spot on the road, according to the few that have witnessed it. Now here's the balls of it all: the money that this s.o.b. takes from the bad guys, he separates into a bunch of envelopes and some how manages to get them into the mail boxes of all the citizens in that neighborhood.

YAAAAAHHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!

From then on I bought a paper every day. I invested heavily and got good at the game. Still, I held down my duty at the civil service department. I soon came to realize that this man in black character only operated on the weekends. The only time I'd read about him was on Monday mornings. It amazes me that the cops could never catch this dude, and you know they wanted to. He was running their scandalous streetside payoff game out of business. To the citizens of Los Angeles, he was a folk hero.

One day I awoke and could take it no longer; I packed up my desk and called my broker. "HOLY SHIT," was my response when I found out what I was worth. With my new fortune (and a healthy grant from my loving parents) I moved here to my beautiful island home in the Caribbean. I don't miss my old life, I'm glad I left it, but I do miss the Monday morning news. Most of all, I miss my Mercedes.

Even though I'm retired, I hear the man in black still prowls the streets of L.A., invincible. And contrary to the news, I never took a single bullet.

Loudmind Ink

The Ultimate Oxymoron

Tue, 06 Feb 2001 Could there possibly such a thing? I have long believed that there is no knowledge that is not power. Too much information..........A tragedy has occurred when those words are uttered.

Is there a point to any of this? Does there need to be?

Outside the window I sit nearest there is a cardinal perched on a tree limb less than three arms length from me. It's beautiful. I'd swear it's looking at me. I wonder what it thinks of me. Does it wonder what I think of it?

Why do people run from what they think or want desperately to say? Why do we hide from what we feel? Why do we not do what we want? I have heard every explanation except the one that makes sense; fear. Everyone has some. I agree, there is a fine line between fear and sensibility, that line we all cross from time to time.

Jump from an airplane. Ride a roller coaster. Eat a hotdog at a sporting event you don't give a shit about. See triple digit speeds through a windshield. Read a book you think you'll despise. Fart on a lit match (yeah people, it works). Pet a filthy dog. Blast your fishtank with Beethoven. Talk to a houseplant. Communicate with an infant like you would an adult. Go see a different country. Give a stranger an apple.

Have a shot of expensive tequila. Discuss masturbation with another human being. Get to know yourself.

Too much information? BULLSHIT!

People, don't forget to make yourself and someone else smile every now and again.

Don't be afraid to love with no personal gain.

Loudmind Ink

Pleasure and Pain
Sat, 17 Feb 2001

Rayon velvesheen eyes, satin skin, wet silk.

Angry, powerful, docile I move toward her.

Evil settles just beneath her veneer waiting to erupt.

Dead I will not witness success; I don't think I care.

A moment was all it took, I looked into glowing beautiful orbs of color and depth and fell instantly in love: or was it lust.

I am a prisoner still, a sucker.

Will I ever kill her?

Am I killing myself slowly?

Pleasure and pain is an interesting cocktail that is best served hot and cold.

Loudmind