Distants (

Consciousness left the planet like a cloud of pollen, spiraling off into existence, seeking a brand new symbiont. It happened as a critical mass, once exactly more than half decided to do so, and so the minority had no choice but to follow, as a part of a different singularity. And so, from planet to planet, and with no memory of the last or dream of the next, we have ascended through and civilized each and every star system knowable to eventual man.

Each world is unique, flawed and characteristic in its own way. This one is in that sense no different. But moving on is not so much about growing old or bored or running out of a particular resource, but rather figuring out how, as a group, to function as a completely positive entity, fueled by positivity, flying towards the light and flames, no matter how hot and bright it might get.

The determining factor is the ultimate form of the vessel we build to leave here. That will in turn determine the size and shape of the next world we choose to inhabit strictly out of a sense of familiarity. This creative aspect is inherent in all levels of participatory space. The vehicle remains intact within each surviving mind as a map or blueprint, and surrounding each heart as protection from unknown elements.

Things That Didn't Happen

I believe in a world without:

Cars, the mobile isolating deathtraps destroying our 'scape

Guns and other violent weapons

Money, wealth or the concept of being rich

Illness and being unusually unwell

Guilt and the pressures that come wth it

Desperation, hopelessness, inevitability

Needless Suffering

Animosity towards our fellow man

Fear, especially that of the unknown

Hell, as opposed to Heaven, in this world or beyond it

Strife, only as a means of perpetuating the self

Wasted Potential

Noise, as opposed to music

Soil, mess or mold

Ignorance and ignorance

Selfishness, especially mine

Negativity, as opposed to. . 

Pain, because it's natures warning

Disease and being usually unwell

Discomfort, stress, intangibly 

Loss, where did it go.

War, fighting, bloodshed

Nightmares, creepy spooky nullifying

Misunderstanding?

Power as a means

Hate as meanness, and bullies

Belief belief belief belief

Shelter

Robert was a good kid, a little misguided maybe, so just a product of a bad system. Joshua did nothing to really help him, just as he could really do nothing to help himself. Their relationship was mutually destructive, tearing each other down to leave a seemingly better version of the self in his place.

Joshua was sitting down, away from the cold, under the lights of the bus terminal's covered bike rack. He had a red mark on his face, to the left of his nose, that seemed basically fresh, unattended. He smelled of cheap beer and had short grey hair dampened by the rain, and a wild look that got worse as he tried to persist in eye contact.

He would say things like you know what I mean? when I in fact did not. That's why I was listening, to see if maybe I could. But he didn't want to be understood. As he put it, most people didn't speak his language. 

He did say that he was kicked out on Valentine's Day, after arriving with flowers and beer. I did get a sense that I was not getting the whole story. I asked how long, Joshua, have you been in Bellingham? and he said off and on since 91.

He owns a boat in Kelso, has a train ticket for 8:30 today.

Robert was sixteen; he told us so when Joshua asked him point plank. Joshua asked me as well, to which I also gave my untarnished number. I believe we still don't know Joshua's age, but if I had to guess I'd say 43.

I had come to the bike shelter to smoke my third to last cigarette till the next pack, with what I thought a 50/50 chance this guy would ask me for one. He did, but apparently not because he wanted it. I handed him my second to last smoke, upon his open palm, parallel to his fingers, filter towards me. He did not light it.

Sixteen year old Robert approaches and asks me, the one with the obvious cigarette, if I have another, and I reply that I do not. I did, but not for him. Probably for nobody but myself. My last cigarette. My lucky cigarette. Obviously different, always a milestone, the other one that the whole pack was made for, with eighteen bonus little obligations along the way.

Joshua gave this guy the cigarette I had just given him.

Then, without asking, Robert gave Joshua five dollars. All of a sudden, nobody wanted that five dollars. Not me, not Robert, and not even Joshua.

He did have recourse after failing with his ladyfriend earlier, Joshua explained. He would go to the AA meeting over there as he pointed and talk to this girl that said she wanted to talk to him. He would coax her into letting him stay at hers, I guess presuming she has one of her own. 

Then, Joshua forced Robert to listen to "Legend of John Henry's Hammer" by Johnny Cash from the butt end of his cracked black smartphone. The subtle clanging I heard in the short distance reminded me of chain link fence. He suggested I too hear this song, as well as a Grateful Dead song brought to his mind by some unwitting cliche I uttered, some four word phrase. I'm probably not going to go out of my way for either of them, though.