“And what about Choky? What does he seeks to find, my own little jackal?
Did anything found him first? At least, the sneaky runaway took with him the survival belt with pockets. I am sure he has with him all the solutions for any problem that he may run into. But there is still no way for me alone to try and look out for him.
The reckless jump into the void is making things very dangerous out there while on the positive side of things, all those hours I spent waiting are especially creative.
I must have read fifty books and I have covered a lot of empty ground, from the ancient ground floored Greek ancestors with their goddesses, myths and their dictionaries to the astronomical observations and past human history of Earth before sections. I think something related to my case was written once, in the erstwhile country of Greece where I originate from, by a man named Papadiamantis. He said that idleness gave birth to poverty, poverty lead to hunger, hunger produced appetite and appetite bore caprice and by that, robbery. Robbery bore politics. Behold the authentic origins of this monster.
The time I spent waiting for Choky, was at the same time revealing. Inside a chest buried in the yard, under the tanks with the active, but clotted, refreshment microorganisms I discovered wealth that existed beyond my imagination. A scrappy book into two parts, by Reese Cerussites, Hallucinations of Youth and Age, has driven my mind mad. It speaks about the history of the place I was born.
Between the first part, in twelve passages, and the second, a letter is inserted that my mother had written me before disappearing forever leaving nothing else back, but a silent farewell. Now this. Buried and forgotten for years, almost like her too.
The single thing she left back for me, appears with no warning, but anyways, in this semi-old age of mine, I must have forgiven her by now.
I read up to the middle but I will leave the rest for later because for a few Firsts of an hour now I got stuck with a series of old photographs, that fell like leaves from the book of the tree of life. The photos should be at least one hundred years old and as written in the back, relate to Vi Van and the author of the twofold book, Reese Cerussites. These are certainly human people and I can almost recognize them from my early childhood. They wear light clothes and on their side sits a four-legged creature with a tail that reminds me quite a lot of an under educated version of Choky, my runaway Kynanthro, my aquassistant.
It is likely that these are my ancestors, since I remember them as a child, but this may be my endless fantasies as well. All these years before my mother disappeared, she kept me at a distance from the events of that tumultuous era before the dissections. Now I have to wonder why so much material has fallen into my hands and why a hundred year old photo has such details on it. The notes written on top and behind agitate me even more.
Well, the indifferent, and therefore always relevant, Vi and the focused on his trip to a south island, sullen and rather misplaced Reese, tried to answer her philosophical questions. They rather deepened, like so many times I do too, in thoughts of persecution and freedom, war and robbery, fasting and religion.
“There, where you going, will you be taking the dog with you?”
“Eh, I will not carry his load again…” “Well then, let’s make him a belt with pockets and carry his own!”
And what was that?! I must ask. It seems that according to what was written here, in this same living metal container room of homeostasis Athahe where I am standing now, I find myself sharing ideas that had already been conceived by these earth people, some hundred years ago. My advanced mental skills allow me to realise that what happened one past summer afternoon was that they were tidying up useful objects for a partial uninterrupted interruption from everyday life, called holidays. Associative memories intersect in inspiration channels and flood me. How can I think and act the way my ancestral friends did without knowing anything about it? How does something that invisible, old and distant, can actively affect my current thoughts that much? All of this is like the unveiling of a hooded doll covering up a doll that covers up another hoodoll and so on.
Well, over my elliptical orbital life, meetings with temporary impasses are the battlefield in which I have to prevail. At the beginning of each new cycle I confront crossroads of faith. I find out that I have to be in an agreement with something obvious enough but vastly unproven. One such as the opinion that the Greek language may be allocated in approximately twenty primary roots, which are derived either from human phonemes or screams or sounds of tools and instruments or sounds of nature details.
However, now, I feel something is required from me, and the one thing with which I choose to struggle, is the idea of Choky’s return. I must believe he will return and return he will, even stronger than before. I need him more than ever to do so.
In the last year of his education as my assistant, through the continuous observation of his reactive behavior in various situations that occasionally occurred, I discovered in me, a bustling mood for teaching him old and forgotten data. What I mean is that I felt dead ideas coming back to life with a cross bred command and a reproductive mission to bare children.
…Maybe I can manage to create something beautiful and meaningful if I get trained enough and become more structured in Choky’s absence.
The photographs, as a springboard, remind me that there are tricks to be activated. I am influenced by our common ancestors and I envision him as he charts his own course. In my turn, as a tool to inspire confidence in the idea of his return I will use the art of my new project.
I pull my metal sleeves up and decide that the basic ideas of my new work can only unfold in time and senses in the same way Choky spread free in the void. Without him knowing or wanting, of the innumerable impressions that will flood his eyes, he will make correspondent choices to the needs and curiosities of his soul. I can already begin to imagine his wanderings and they are exciting. I will develop them into words, fix them into places and events, and let Choky dress them with decorative hierographs whenever he returns. I will call this imaginary social and scientific reality story, Cho of the Commons.
I claim, an average read rate of around two hundred and twenty words per former minute, i.e. about three hundred words per Third, for reading the book. Priceless precision.
The reader of my upcoming project will find the characters organized into two groups.
The first will be formed by the bipedal kynanthros, Choky, Roky, Eris, Cer, Ber and Rous, while the second, in most moments will be about my trainee Choky and me, Manqui. This will be the only code in which I will support the structure of the book, because recently I found out that when many rulers gather, masks are worn and don’t fall off, until none is left. Then none wears one.
The disguised true events will slowly build up and be sprayed back into past and future freedom jets of randomness. I would like the reader to work voluntarily and willingly in order to become capable of distant face off.
If there is something that can enhance the clarity of the memories I recall, I’m sure I will find it sometime in the hierographic engravings left by Choky, at this same moment, on some piece of Earth. Engravings that I would happily find them complete the ideas I now premeditate and start to record, longing for his return. When this happens, I do have a surprise left for him in the end and an in advance apology on the odd neohellenicsh dialect I use, yet so much matches our space environment.”
Manqui let the reading of his mother’s letter drop in the middle and started telling his own story with great zeal. The words came out of him as if he was a dying virgin star catapulting uninitiated matter and vector energy everywhere. He felt that he was being self taught in meanings that he had never been aware of. His whole course in almost one hundred years of life was not enough to answer the constantly new risen questions about the source of all the information lying around. Contextually he remembers some courses of invisible information he had never been aware of, but had already taught Choky on the very nature of teaching. There may lay a good starting point for the solution of the mysteries plaguing him.