It seems like I have a habit of quitting things right when I'm getting good at them. Not sure why. Perhaps self destructive. Perhaps set goals too high. Perhaps care more about figuring out the process. Most likely realize I'm not any happier when I'm good so i would then flit off in another direction. That's most likely. Lots of bouncing from one thing to another because of an underlying unhappiness that can't be solved by any hobby. At least I haven't bounced from one woman to the next.

Thinking of how i ran 20 miles at 11.5 min per mile pace a couple weekends in a row years back. I was capable of going faster. At the time i thought myself embarrassingly slow. I suppose it was slow. But started running again 3 weeks a go and how i wish i could run easy 11 min miles now. Now easy is 15. I think. But it's so hard to exactly pinpoint easy. I have run 82 miles in 3 weeks. Twice i pushed myself too hard. Felt scary weird afterward. Except for that i feel much better. My body was turning into something i wasn't enjoying being inside of. It's getting better but I need the patience that comes in part from being happy. Happy  people aren't constantly searching for that magical thing. I am happier now. Though still searching.

Learning 12 string guitar and going to scallop a cheap 6 string. Practicing everyday. While continuing piano. Have finished Chopin funersl march and basically gladiolus rag though couple pesky parts.

Happy Running by David and Megan Roche.
Run a ton easy. Throw in some strides. Get a dog? Don't be so hard on yourself you typical neurotic runner. Have fun.

Between Light and Shadow by Marc Aramini. An in depth analysis of Gene Wolfe's writing. Wolfe is now my favorite writer I guess. I love the short stories in particular. I want to write just like him. More or less. And that's ok. And that's a breakthrough. I'll be reading this a long time.

I gave up on the John Gwynne series. Too stupid. I'm done with that kind of vapid fantasy.

As to Zelazny's Amber I am pretty sure part of my like of it was that I had an audiobook version read by Zelazny. Just one of the books in the middle. The way he read it made it so damn cool. But I have now read the first 5 or 6 books and become disillusioned. Somehow it didn't keep its "promises".

Just read the Anubis Gate by Tim Powers and thought it extremely good. Don't know how I didn't know of him. Going to read more by him. Time travel and a very detailed early 19th century England with plenty more, Byron and Coleridge and Egyptian gods and gypsies. Really good.

Started Beloved. The characters are so damn good compared to fantasy fiction. But I've seen the movie a couple times and it seems to follow very closely...

I wrote while I wasn't being athletic because of my broken toe and basically stopped once it was better and I was back to tennis a few times a week. Why? Not laziness. Just so disillusioned with my stories. They aren't very good. Feel like I need to start over but I haven't somehow started.

Also I finally got a piano again after 15 years. Just about memorized moonlight sonata so far which I had previously only been able to sight read. But memorizing is so much more enjoyable. And some other things. First page of Bach's famous toccata and fugue. Fur Elise. I really missed it. Could just happily play and play with no time left for other things. The internet changes things. I can tune it myself now thanks to amazon and youtube. I can easily find good free sheet music and immediately hear a recording of anything. Would have made things very different back in 1988.

But starting to feel unhappy that I'm not writing. Wondering if I should try to salvage what I was working on. Or just totally go back to the drawing board while trying things a bit different. Thinking to make the lead more heroic, more "Gary Stu". Avoiding any mentions of ever having been a child. And writing more linear with a bit less outlining. Ending up with a ton of junk that needed extreme editing actually really lost my interest, finally.

Wrote about 20,000 words in a bit less than two months for two stories. Half will need deleted. And the going is a bit slow because I'm just not sure what I'm really doing. Feel like it's too dark. And also going through the motions somewhat. And probably too worried about middle ages authenticity.
Thinking about starting another story where I really try to make it even less dark. Though I feel like it has less and less to do with me as I make it less dark. I feel the life I have experienced has made it almost impossible to write.

Have been reading Book of the Long Sun by Wolfe. Ian Mortimer's 14th century england. Murakami Men without Women. And Morrison's Song of Solomon. The last being the stand out. So good it made me wonder what the heck I was really writing myself. Murakami was very depressing. Long Sun is good. I think gods and magic really need to go together.

It makes me something like sad that here I am 45 years old and I have never successfully completed even a short story when I have wanted to write for 30 years now. I think I'm more or less about in the right place finally to do so. I think. Still haven't finished anything so who knows. But I feel like I ought to put it down, what was going on, as I spent a lot of time over the years trying to understand why I just couldn't seem to do it.

I have no idea the importance of each of the following. Some combination of:

1. I wanted to write something amazing. I wanted to change the world. I kept rejecting anything short of amazing. I should have set my sights lower and perhaps as I went along I would turn it into something at least intelligent while still enjoyable.

2. I had these strong feelings attached to some images/feelings in my head. They were vague though and not remotely a story. I kept trying to turn them into a story and as I went completely losing the original motivation. I simply needed to focus much more on the nuts and bolts structure even though it meant I wasn't feeling the original inspiration and it had instead turned into a simple problem solving exercise. It's not about that intense artistic feeling. That inspiration. It's about persistence and day to day problem solving.

3. I have been quite unhappy most of my life. But much less so in recent years. Really once my situation improved it still took time for my mental/emotional state to catch up. Anyway, a story for the most part, usually amounts to bad guys doing ugly stuff to good guys. Inventing that sort of stuff in your free time when you already have real life bad guys doing stuff to you is really quite hard.

In a lot of ways it can be difficult to create bad guys anyway as evil is ultimately quite banal. It can be hard to want to focus on making it and all that.

4. For so long I just flat out couldn't stand just sitting down with myself and writing. I felt like I was missing something. This was in part because I didn't have enough in the way of friends when younger. Didn't have enough just hanging out with my friends. Maybe exacerbated by who I am somewhat. That I vaguely had this feeling of this great fun I was missing. I couldn't stand to just sit by myself as my life passed me by. Finally I have had enough of those good times with friends and I see that as nice as they can be, ultimately time just spent alone can be really nice too. Or something like that I guess. Not exactly. I recall as a young child playing with match box cars all alone and making good cars and bad cars. It was the beginning of being a writer. They fought. I was alone. I enjoyed it. And I hadn't had all that fun hanging out at that time. So, I don't know. Something negative happened. I don't know. Somehow I needed fun with friends that was missing from my experience.

Something else may come to me later. So at least in the age of microsoft word, I can create bad guys and good guys now. It's not some horrible thing to just sit here and do that. It's like I've done all those other things enough now and my life situation is positive enough. Finally. At 45.

So now, the nuts and bolts. Bad guys and good guys who are more or less evenly matched. Enough so that the match is interesting to read. Nuts and bolts stuff. Pacing. Finding the right words. Hopefully something more. Hopefully something much more. At this point I have a ways to go I think. I have to write and as I write figure out the characters abilities, the magic system, the world. I can't just throw together a good outline first. Too many choices I can't decide about. So I start writing and I have to rewrite a lot. For example, I realize I've made my one character too powerful compared to the bad guys. I have to weaken him. And on some level it feels like a silly thing. Contrived. Also it's all been done before. And perhaps in this age impossible to get published probably anyway.

But I have a brain. And I can sit down and enjoy writing daily now. Finally.

I have been trying really hard to write for 3 or so weeks. I was taking the attitude of just making it a daily ritual where everyday I try to write sentences that are actually publishable.

So I wrote a scene that occurred in a graveyard. And then what? Then the character goes back to the city she came from and so then I have to create so many characters and so much. I have to stop and world build. And then I go back and more or less completely rewrite that first scene. And still there is so much world building I need to do that I can't decide about. And it seems like for fantasy fiction, I have to do it first otherwise I will just have to rewrite things.

World building is hard. I had a creative writing teacher (met him playing tennis) that it's better to just start with writing fiction.

So in trying to world build I run into a problem for me. That I couldn't stand to create villains. It's enough to have live with them in real life, let alone go create my own. That is an issue I've had before. But so much of writing is simply about that. You have to make up the good guys and bad guys. Usually. Just has to be done.

Anyway, I feel like I keep trying to write and then I stop. And right now, I am thinking I should stop with the story I was working on and instead try to write some very simple short stories instead, where I concentrate on making good guys and bad guys and hopefully get used to creating villains even though I already have dealt with more than enough in my real life. I worry this is the same sort of thing I've done before (stopping the story). But as long as I'm still continuing to write fantasy fiction stories, I guess it's not like what has happened before.

So then, switching to short stories. Simplistic stories with good guys and bad guys and magic.That's all. Maybe my confidence will grow.

Watching movie versions of Poe stories. Our real live spells are our stories. They change moods. The words are recited and moods change across centuries. We can forever bring new feelings into the world.

I have discovered that for me the first key to writing is to do it first thing every morning.
1. This is when my brain has plenty of energy. Though I may not necessarily be doing my absolute best thinking I'm not mentally exhausted as is often the case after ten hours at work.
2. It must be a basically daily habit. That's impossible when trying to do it in the evenings or before bed. Too much else going on.

I couldn't write in the morning when younger though as I desperately needed to be asleep as late as possible in the early morning. Finally that has changed. Now I can at least attempt to get somewhere.

A further issue though, for now, is that the whole 500 or however many words a day is just not happening. I don't count words. That, like everything else other than writing, can be a form of procrastination anyway. Additionally there are days when I can work hard for an hour and write negative total words. Because I've just got a long way to go. I don't see the point in writing tens of thousands of words that will have to be very severely edited. Like with composing. I have to make mistakes and correct them then. Know as soon as possible what I did wrong and correct it then. No writing an entire first draft and then going back over it.

And the characters become, the plot becomes with the writing of scenes, one hopefully publishable sentence at a time.

It's a way of writing that best avoids all forms of procrastination. No spending weeks or more making a magic system, building a world and characters. Have to jump in, it all has to happen kind of together and this is how that happens.

First book of Dust. By Pullman. Plot is a bit contrived. Malcolm and Alice are endlessly chased by guy who knows about Rusakov field. That he is a great scientist and yet so evil somehow didn't seem realistic. Alice was great though. Malcolm was good. This was a book about people interacting and it was pretty good. In an Iliad sort of way. Books should be about interacting. I'm mistaken in trying to write about the red plain. All the things that haunt my mind aren't really proper material for a story.

So there's a flood that goes on forever. Rusakov with his hyena chases them forever. Alice reminded me of S. The way the daemons in the previous book wouldn't be seen for a month as a punishment also reminded me of S. It's been years and she still keeps popping into my mind. ....too much. Whenever I wake up in the middle of the night it seems like somehow she pops into my mind. Oh well.

Then Jesus the Good Man, Christ the Scoundrel. Halfway through. Don't know if I will finish. Got the idea. Organization and Miracles are bad and so on. I agree.

Red as far as the eye could see.
Beautiful it was. But desolate.
Nothing growing. How could we eat?

Arcites and I walked onwards
On a path through the barren hills and cliffs
Avoiding deadends as best we could

Fretting about food
For we had walked for hours
And nothing green, nothing alive

Arcites said unto me let us work our way up higher
Through these hills
In cooler climes things may change to our advantage

Bleakly we continued. No sign of any life.
No sign of man, or creature. No tracks even.
Upwards we went.

From a high vantage we had a good view and finally found another human being
A young woman standing outside a cave far in the distance.
"Should we call to her?"
"She may frighten and run away. Let's sneak closer." said my companion.
"But that may truly scare her. For better or worse let us call to her now."

We did so. We called to her.
And she ran away.
We ran after. But soon she was lost to sight as our route to her had many obstacles.

We eventually reached to where she had been and then ran down a corridor between two cliffs the way she had gone. Sensing a trap I kept an eye above. "Look out! I shouted and Arcites narrowly avoided a rock the size of two fists from above.

On ahead we went, the path rising and then taking us to the top of the cliff. And there she sat.

""We mean you no harm!" I shouted.
She sat there and scowled.
"Then fuck off!"
Arcites spoke, "We are sorry dear lady. Please forgive us. It is so wonderful to see a pretty face after so long with my dour comrade here. Please let us speak with you. You have absolutely nothing to fear. Your apprehension is certainly understandable with the looks of my friend but truly we mean no harm. Certainly if my companion were to try anything I would defend you, though I think him better than that." 

I interrupted his speech, "Lady where are we and where can we find some food?"

"Fuck off creep." she replied.

"Please be quiet Nicolas. You are bothering this beautiful lady."

I decided to let Nicolas do the talking. He was obviously smitten by her. To me she appeared to have a perpetual scowl and had already tried to kill us once. Perhaps she had had past bad experiences. I couldn't say. In speaking with Nicolas she divulged that she knew nothing of this world either and had been here only a little longer than us. She said she knew of no food. Her name was Sara. We were getting hungry. More important than food was water. With her we now continued our search.

Almost immediately we then came across mushrooms growing in perpetual shade between the cliffs and crags.

"Could be poisonous. What do you think fair lady?" said Arcites.

Sara shrugged.

Rereading The Dragon Masters by Jack Vance.
It's very unlikely I will ever write anything as good as this novella. And I would like to understand why. The villain is extremely 2D. Very stupid. One is inclined to think just not realistic at all. But, actually people in the real world are amazingly stupid. So much of the story is just this idiot's actions. And random war stuff. The dragons fighting each other and against the Basics. Vance's use of language. His style makes it work.
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Joaz Banbeck is the same hero as in all his sci fi. He comes across distant. And stoic. We actually have little idea about him. He has children. It's not clear who the mother/s is. His love interest is stupid and doesn't seem much like a mom, if she even is one. Possibly they practice bigamy. No idea. There is virtually no interaction that is more than summarized between Joaz and anyone but Ervis Carcolo (the villain) and the sacerdotes and Basic envoy. The meeting between Joaz's grandfather and the Basic many decades previous might as well have been Joaz. Same damn character.

And an award winning story.

I think the thing, the most important thing, of this and I suppose just about all other enjoyable stories, is that it's a whitewashed version of the reality of the human condition. So this way that reality is warped that makes it enjoyable to read about. It has seemed like it makes it irrelevant escapism. And though I enjoy reading, somehow I can't quite be serious about writing it. And as I instead make it realistic and relevant, I recognize that it becomes something that in this day and age at least, no one is really going to have any interest in reading.

So, I need to learn to not feel silly with irrelevant escapism. And I have often told myself that it is still of use to us in this here world. I do think that evil people don't read fiction stories. As one reads they recognize when they're acting like some ridiculous 2D villain. And escapism in and of itself is also essential anyway.

"This one looks almost ready!" The small red men gathered around the man hanging from the tree. His head was attached to a branch like an acorn would be. The branch sagged so that he was almost sitting. He was almost twice the size of the ten red men gathered all around. The one who spoke before started lightly slapping the sleeping man's face.

"Wake up. Hey, wake up!" he said. Gradually the hanging man opened his eyes and after a minute or two was finally able to focus.

"Do you remember where you came from?" The small red man asked.

"I.... I was in a hospital. What happened?"

"You died and went to heaven! Congratulations!" The red men laughed gleefully.

"I did? Is my wife here?"

"We probably ate her long ago." Said the leader of the red men as he stabbed his spear into the man's stomach. The man struggled frantically but he was still attached by the head. They held his arms and legs while they pried out his eyeballs.

"How do you like heaven?" Asked one of them with glee as the man screamed. They ate him alive, biting chunks off of him until he finally stopped struggling.

There was no one else ready to wake up today so they judged a few who might tomorrow and left them alone and then began cutting pieces off the less well formed ones. Then each by himself settled down to eat the raw flesh. There was nothing here to burn. They ate every little bit while they stared at each other.

A slightly larger one stared at the de facto leader as he chewed on a nose, a less savory morsel.

"What?" he said in challenge.

"Why you always tell them this heaven?"

"Cause it's fucking heaven, retard."

"I's wonder if not a joke, for real."

"Well, it's not hell. I didn't die and go to hell. I was as good as anyone else. Didn't do nothing anyone else didn't do. I had a right to be happy at least. That's all I did. For me this is heaven. Maybe not for him." he motioned at the morsel in his hand.

"It's a fucking joke." said another red man. "This isn't heaven. There is no killing in heaven."

"Speak for yourself pansy. Nothing wrong with eating meat. Can't eat meat without killing." said another man. "This world may not be heaven. But we can only do the best we can with what we got. Just like in the previous world, the strong survive. Kill or be killed."

On the first day I awoke and found myself in a cave on a cliffside. I had no idea how I had come to be there. It was very dark and I stumbled and felt my way to the light. My body felt funny. But it was too dark to see. In the light of the entrance I examined myself and without a mirror at least I seemed to be the same. But I felt different somehow.

I was on the side of a steep cliff. Down below stretched a barren plain. It had no grass, no trees, no plant life at all that I could see. Just a reddish dirt and in the distance my view was obscured by a reddish mist. The wind blew rather hard across the cave entrance. There were no clouds in the sky and also no sun that I could see, yet there was light. I stared upwards trying to understand. It seemed different somehow. Was I in a vast cave?

No sun. No moon. No clouds. Just a uniform reddish light across the entire sky. If that was the sky.
The constant harsh wind suggested weather, suggested I was outside.

I sat for hours at the cliffside cave entrance thinking of what to do. And trying to remember how I had came to be here. I vaguely remembered being in an ambulance and then a hospital. The conclusion was obvious. Which was fine except for not being there for my two year old son. I did not want history to repeat itself with him. Thinking about it caused me anguish. Like me, he seemed different and would need someone with wisdom. I wanted to get back to him. But if I had died, I wouldn't get back.

It didn't appear to be much of a world. Very empty. Slightly ominous. But if I had died, it was a lot better than ceasing to exist. I pondered my options: explore the cave or climb down the cliff. I would have to eat. It seemed unlikely I would find food stumbling around in the dark cave. So I half climbed and half slid down the cliff to the barren plain. From my new this vantage I could see that this cliff stretched onwards to the left and right in an almost straight line. Climbing up higher than my cave looked to be impossible. I now wished I had examined the back of the cave to see if it ended.

I began walking to my left, keeping the cliff walls well in site and periodically looking back to the cave opening. It could prove to be the best shelter available and I was anxious I wouldn't be able to find it again.

It felt as if the plain to my left ought to be an ocean. Like the cliffs to my right were the result of millions of years of waves. To my right the ground did very gradually slope downward but there was no water in sight. The air was cool but not uncomfortable. I walked for a couple of hours before I finally saw something. It looked to be a person off in the distance. They seemed to be naked like me. I couldn't tell their gender from their stride. I walked briskly to catch up. And even began jogging. I appeared to be a skinny naked lady with red mid length wavy hair.

She was not more than 30 yards away very slowly carelessly wandering along when she finally saw me. She was startled and then looked in all directions as if to examine her options. Then she stared at me while walking backwards.

"Hello!" I shouted. "I certainly mean you no harm!"

She continued to walk backwards while staring at me.

"My name is Joble. Where are we?" I said.

She hesitated and then replied, "I'm Linda. I don't know."

I motioned at my naked body and hers and grinned sheepishly. "Haven't seen any clothes around I guess?"

"No.".

How long have you been here? What do you remember before coming here? Where shall we go?

Let's go our separate ways. - -- bewilderment. Why??? Is that a good idea? I mean you no harm.She is like crazy and wants nothing to do with him and starts screaming gibberish. This isn't the afterlife she wanted! He better stop pretending! She knows who he is. And he needs to get the hell away from her!

And then a roar far away. ..... A huge creature appears flying in the far distance. They stand frozen, very afraid. The roar it makes is terrible. "Stand still." They aren't sure if they should sprint for the cliffs. Get low to the ground or just stand still. It wasn't flying directly towards them at first but now veers towards them. Joble scans the cliffs and thinks he sees some shelter, maybe. I think we should sprint for the cliffs. Birds usually have extremely good eyesight. It's huge and I have a bad feeling about this.

....they run.

They survive. It's a horrible thing. But that's too soon.

I have traveled all over and found nothing but these little vile creatures. I keep trying to watch the little bipedal reddish black creatures as there is clearly some structure to their actions. They must have some way to communicate. They are about half as tall as me with thin limbs though some are much taller and thicker than others. I watched a group of them ambush a huge boarlike creature, killing it with spears. They clearly can work together. But they mostly seem to just eat each other. I don't know how their numbers sustain. They always run from me, unless there's a lot of them. Then they have tried attacking me. I have grown less afraid of them as one popped up behind me and threw a spear at me and it just bounced off. I have had to kill some as a warning. Throwing them doesn't work great as they bounce right up and come back for more. As I've grown less cautious I have traveled farther and farther. I have found what I'm calling emotion zones. Certain areas that produce different mental feelings. Took a few days to figure it out and I worried for my sanity. But as long as I stay in the cliff cave my mood is fine, more or less. But I have found a place where it's quite hard to not fall asleep. Another where I was filled with rage. Another of melancholy. In a way it's exciting. I have felt this place quite empty. These areas suggest a level of complexity and order.

Yesterday I took two 'Mattios' as I will call them, because they remind me of a hateful short person I had a slight aquaintance to, to the sleep zone. Just held one each by their neck while they waved their arms and hissed and spitted at me. They fell asleep before me and I laid them down and left. The next I came back and found them gone without a trace. Perhaps I will have to try again and see if they do eventually wake up. I suppose I can do such experiments with each zone. Not sure what this will accomplish but it's something to do. And I will keep exploring.

I was a human from earth. I must have died. I was very suddenly sick and then I awake here. All the same body parts of a human but I think freakishly strong and I guess what a human would consider a monster. I have left behind a 3 year old on earth who really needed me. That is driving me crazy. I guess I might never see him again. I don't know. And I had so little time with him. He was my time machine. I couldn't change my past but I could give him the life I should have had. And no, I die when he was only three. What will his life be like now? I try to tell myself it will probably be OK. It looks like he's going to be better looking than me and he's quite intelligent. And any average person or even none at all would be better than the parents I had. He will probably be fine. I tried to fill the first 3 years of his life with happiness. That matters I'm sure, though he may not remember me. I hope to see him again someday.

But except for that extremely important thing I don't mind my situation now, though it could be called hellish. I'm alone. I live in a cliff cave. The only other sentient creatures appear to be entirely evil. I am though incredibly strong compared to them. In fact if 100 ambushed me I might still survive. They are small. They don't have any special weapons. But they have plenty of hate. They like to impale their own kind. Also cannibals. I'm a terrible monster to them I'm sure. No doubt they want me dead. My great worry is that they will destroy my source of food. It may not have occurred to them or possibly they don't even know how. They are quite stupid. They don't even have fire. It is a massive kind of tree. Incredibly beautiful and even has both edible fruit and nuts. I mostly store the nuts and eat the fruit for now. It seems to sustain my huge body and strength.

This world is strangely reddish mostly. A reddish dirt. A reddish fog. I am bone white with skin almost as tough as stone. It yields slightly to the touch and then no more. There is no soft spot anywhere. This world could be seen as a hell. I have no idea what purpose I could possibly serve here and why in the world I am uniquely here, the only of my kind.

I eat fruit. I watch the dark demonic imps down on the red plain. I sing songs to myself trying to remember how they went. And I try to remember the happiness of the past few years.

Now I know there is a life after death for surely I have died. There are "gods". There is magic. And I am stronger than all those around me.

But I am alone. Surrounded only by creatures as different from me as they could possibly be.

I doubt my sanity. Maybe I am a lone crazed hermit. How could it be that I alone am so different?

I found myself laying on the ground looking up at the roof of a cave. Not far to my left there was light from the sunlite world. I was close enough to the entrance that it wasn't really dark. It was slightly cool.

I realized that the sensation of my body was somehow very different. I was almost afraid to understand how but eventually as I became more awake I flexed my hands. There are things we don't notice about how our body feels until it's no longer there to feel. The stretch of my tendons and skin was absent. That stretch I think is a large part of how you tell how your hands are positioned. It was gone yet I could still tell how my hands were and when I was moving them.

In position did anything feel like it was stretching. I could hold any position without any effort. And again, you don't realize the difference here between the usual very very slight effort that one normally feels and no effort at all until you experience it.




Absolutely nothing but a skeleton. No muscle. No sinew. This filled me with terror. Was the afterlife that of a rotting corpse? Yet I could move. I could lift my hands despite no biceps. I could sit up despite no stomach muscles. I dared not feel for eyes. But I could see. I realized I had no tongue. No lips. And this especially distressed me. I could not speak.

But I felt something. Something beyond that of a skeleton. And though I had no lungs I felt some kind of ebb and flow like that of breath. I tried to concentrate on it. It reminded me of the ocean. Something vast and eternal.

I tried to control it and found I couldn't.

o tongue. No lips.And I could feel myself in some sense. I felt something beyond my skeleton.

But having no tongue. No lips. with a bone white ultra tough skin. So tough and hard I thought at first I might be an exoskeleton like an insect or crab. But when I flex my muscles they move beneath my skin. Seemingly very large and strong. My muscles seem are different but they ultimately protrude more than they did in my previous life.


So I capture one. I hide behind some rocks and it runs by coming or going from some errand that I cannot discern. When it's ten feet away I jump up. It sees me and runs. But it hits its top speed in a second. I just keep going faster and faster and snatch it up. It's more a problem of stopping my bulk and changing directions. Takes a second or two. It tries to bite during this time and I see it can't even bite through my tough skin. I think I could crush it with one hand. I take it back to my cave in the cliff and put it in a hole from which it appears it cannot escape. There it scowls at me with a look intelligent malevolence.

"Can you speak?" I rumble in my extremely deep voice. No response. Continues to stare with a look of hatred.

"I'm sorry that I have captured you. I will let you go once we have spoken some. I must know, why are your kind so mean to one another? Why do you torture and eat each other?" I continues to just state with hatred. I think I may start to get annoyed about that.

I throw fruit and edible flowers in the pit. It ignores them. For three days it eats nothing and just states hate. I wonder if it's a carnivore. I will not kill for it.

Here in my cliff care my mood swings greatly from day to day. I watch these little bipedal black creatures do horrible things to one another on the plain and I see how precarious my position is. The trees I eat fruit from barely can support me. I only get liquid from the fruit and it seems to never rain. They must get water from underground I assume. I hope.

I am completely alone.

But my existence has continued after death. And I must admit being the only one like me strangely has made my happy. In life I recall that when young it made me happy that I was different. But that quickly got old. I wonder if this is the same. The only difference being I'm seemingly a lot more different. In life I worried about being fired. Now I worry about a mob of these black creatures attacking me. Not terribly different.

I decide to capture a second black creature and see close up how it interacts with it's fellow. I decide to call them imps. The capture goes just like the first. The new imps look at each other with suspicion for a moment but then both just return to looking at me.

They eat and kill each other. It's a short brutal existence for humanoids. I have not seen them eat anything but each other. Which should mean they should die out... Yet their number does not decrease. There is abundant fruit here. Dragonfruit mainly. I'm not sure how long a diet of just fruit is good for me but I actually feel quite good on it. I observe from a safe distance. They have chased me a few times. But I very easily outdistanced them. I just worry about ambush or being caught at night.

So I sleep high on the edge of what I call the streamfall. They never come near it. It's loud but not exactly to the ears. I found that when I was running from them. They repeatedly stopped chasing as I neared it. So I found a crevice high up the side of it. There I could kick anyone who tried to follow; though no one comes anywhere near that close. They won't come anywhere near it. It's deafening but in a nice way somehow. It soothes me. I hear the screams of everything in it.

I'm taller. Bigger then them. Could probably win easily in a one on one fight. They aren't much for cooperation.

I eat my fruit. There's nothing else though to do here. I'm so lonely.

So it's been for a long time now and I guess I shall go exploring. There are areas where instead of a reddish tinge to the air, it's more of a thick red fog. I can explore in those directions. But I could be ambushed. I could come upon something I can't outrun.

I suppose I have an exoskeleton. This means I'm like an insect. And that is horrible to me. It's nice to touch your skin and have it yield. Mine doesn't. I'm solid. My face is solid as stone.

I always hated spiders. But I'm bipedal. Not like a spider at all. It's all those legs in a circle around a center that bothered me greatly. Never minded centipedes. Liked crickets and grasshoppers. And my face is like a human face. Everything in the usual place. A nose. A mouth and so on. I can speak. I chew and swallow. I speak and can sing. But no facial expressions. And I feel as if my emotions are not what they should be.

I hum a lot though. I can't frown. But I can hum in a minor key.

In my past life I once loved stoicism. Then I came to not think much of it. This exoskeleton is a sort of stoicism. I feel strong. I'm a bit unemotional. I suspect I'll be just fine out in the red fog. Still I try to be cautious. From a distance I see humanoid creatures being eaten alive every day. This isn't Kansas.

I hum a tune from another world. Trying to hold on to what once was. Not that it was so great. I mainly think about the negatives. How badly I had been treated. In particular by T. Who I suppose I had loved. Though I never thought of it like that back then.

It had been a cold world without love. But from it I still remembered the idea. I remembered the music. I remembered I had loved.

And so now I tried to remember the music. And I tried to imagine a future where I found her and things were how they so easily could have been.

I don't really know what this body is capable of. I seem quite fast. Quite agile. And strong. At least when punching rocks it doesn't even hurt. But I don't know what's out there. I could just be a snack for something.

There is a swamp with a water plant. It was on Earth. Or something similar. Papyrus? Not certain the name. I remember the ancient Eyptians made paper with it. And there are berries to make a sort of ink with. And I write this account of my existence. Though I expect it will never be read.Or at least I will certainly never benefit from it.

As to no benefit I think there is a great beauty in doing something to benefit others where I will not benefit. I want to believe there will be others. I want to believe I'm a part of something. I want my existence to matter in some way. Even if I die before others benefit. I want to believe in a life after death.

And then it just feels too random and I stop writing. The inconsistency is not an issue. Just the aimlessness.

Reread Islington's book The Shadow of what was lost. Throughout I remembered what was going to happen just shortly before it happened. A decent book. Again Malshash losing it is what sticks out the most. Already can't remember the main character's name. Torr and..... he's just a forgettable guy. Sort of like Harry Potter with less adversity even. Just forgettable. Caeden is better in that he has lost his memory and memory is interesting to me.

Book 2 comes out in a few months.

Now reading Planet Narnia where Michael Ward talks about how Lewis thought you had to be enjoying it on a subconscious level. That there had to be stuff going on that you didn't realize was going on. Stuff that Lewis didn't tell anyone was going on. Unconscious, Enjoyment, Contemplation.
Astrology/Astronomy back in the middle ages. 7 stars that moved around while all the others stayed in the same place. In a time without light pollution when every saw the Milky Way. How I wish there were laws against light pollution. 12 hours a day there it was. So brilliant. Everyone thought it mattered. Had an effect. The Beautiful Heavens. Now mostly just ignored. Barely visible anyway. And science has taken all the magic out of it.

And that anyway it wasn't the random hodgepodge that critics claimed it was. It was very much not random. And that interests me very much at the moment. I always discard. Never come close to finishing anything.

Played Jay C very close. With a 11.3 ounce racquet and trying to hit a Nadal forehand he beat me 6-2, 6-0. Despite me serving pretty well. Slower pace but first serve percentage like 60% at least. With the Precision Equipe I did beat the owner 6-1, 6-3. I think Jay C has been improving though. I then played Hannah H, the girl who should have gone pro. Really think she could have been top ten. But injury. Anyway previously with the oversized dunlop we split sets, this time with much lighter racquet she crushed me 6-1, 6-0, 5-0. Worried she won't play me again... :( Switched back to oversized Dunlop and played Jay C 6-7, 4-2. Also switched to double continental grip. Repeatedly I've had success with double continental. So going to stick with it though it feels awkward on forehand. But it works. Lots of slices. Some drop shots.

And then used that weird "loose ball bearing" racquet. Can't remember name at moment. 1# problem with it is that I could only find one. Well others cost $259. Used it with John McEnroe serve style and it was the best I've ever served. Kicking it out to the right, slicing it to the left. Nice power. Decent number of aces. The slice out wide on deuce court especially effective. And for once getting it up the middle decently. But it's lighter than the Dunlop and not quite as good on groundstrokes. So.. shall see. May add some weight to it. Or take some away on Dunlop and see if that helps my serve. It's just too heavy to handle well on the serve, though great for two handed shots.

First I went back to the end of the hall to check on all the people. The door still stood open, still quite broken as I had left it. Everyone inside was still asleep. Every single one. All sleeping quite hard. I wandered the house a bit. First trying all the doors as I went back up the hall. All locked. At the end of the hall were circular stairs only going downward. All was beautifully engraved and varnished wood. Downstairs I found a large room with an empty fireplace and many chairs and couches. Many books that I longed to read for some understanding of where I was. But I heard what sounded like food cooking through a door at the other side of the room. I found her in a large kitchen all alone having breakfast. Like all other rooms the windows were very high up showing only the sky with sunshine lighting up the room. She was eating fruit and fried potatoes. More simmered on the stove.

With no preamble she said, "It's only temporary you know. I haven't figured out what else to do but obviously this isn't a permanent situation."

"How much of each day do they spend sleeping?"

"About half the day."

"And then what?"

"They play games. Card games. Drink wine. Play music. Dance. They are happy."

"They never remember? They never care that they don't?" I asked.

"No. Never."

"So is it the fruit or the whatever that brought them here is or this just some really bad inconsistent writing?"

"Now you've ruined everything!"

"Wanna fuck?" I asked.

"It's like Lewis' Devil on Venus. What weapons do you have? Let's put out bait and a trap for this beast."

"What could be bait?"

"I could."

The house was massive and we the two of us went through the rooms together looking for supplies. I found a shovel quite easily. The hard part would be some kind of tarp, or blankets. I would make a pit with just a very narrow walkway and platform in the middle where I would wait. The beast would fall in when it came for me. I would cover it with a thin layer of topsoil with grass.

There was no wheel barrow but there were baskets. There was this house which I ought to give an interesting description but somehow don't feel like thinking in that direction. That's a paucity of creativity I supposes. And the real reason why I've failed. Baskets, shovels, ropes. It would take a good bit of work and would only fool a dumb animal.

"Lady what is your name and why haven't I ever asked before now?"

"My name is Sybel. And although you aren't like the others. You are still somewhat affected I think. Does it just now seem strange to you that you never asked before?"

"I'm not sure." I mused. "It just now occurred to me it's the sort of thing one asks when first meeting someone. But perhaps I've never thought names really matter."

"Can the others help?" I asked. "Do they come outside?"

"I'm sure they can dig and transport the dirt." Sybel said.

"....and what is my name I wonder?"

I go down the hall to see them. They are all just laying around. I walk right up to a young lady and forcefully make eye contact until she finally gradually focuses on me.

"Hello! What is your name?"

She smiles sweetly, "I don't know."

"My god how terrible to not remember your name!" I exclaim.

She laughs, "No. It's fine."

"If you forget everything, it's pointless to do anything. Existence is pointless! How could that be fine?"

She laughs again, "Oh aren't you an impressive philosopher. Come sit with me and philosophize about philosophy."

I take a deep breath. "I'm going to call you Sunny. How's that? Can you remember your new name?"

"Oh perhaps. Why Sunny?" she asks.

"You have blond hair and you're so happy. Do you even remember that your hair is blond?"

She snorts and grabs a bit of her hair and looks at it and giggles.

"Do you remember how to poop and pee or does someone have to come and clean you?"

"You're questions are a lot of work." she replied.

"Stop bothering her!" yelled the Lady who had snuck up behind me. "What are you trying to accomplish talking to them like that?"

"Because forgetting isn't the answer," I say.

"How would you know? You are no different than her. Or have you remembered something?" she asked. "None of them ever have."

I tried to remember back to the first thing since I had come here.

I remembered climbing up the hill with Natasha. It was very steep going. Easy to slip and fall. Loose dirt. Grabbing for weeds that might pull loose. I helped Natasha who didn't seem happy about needing my help. The sun shone down on us and we were really sweating. So we went for quite a while. But I couldn't really remember how long. An hour? All morning? Was it morning? But we slowly worked our way upwards until we made it to the top where we quickly found plenty of shade and the trees with so much large hanging fruit. We were very thirsty and it seems obvious that we should eat the fruit. But it was different than any fruit I had seen before and I wondered if it was edible.

But what was before Natasha? What was before the hill? Why did we decide to climb up it? I should ask Natasha what she remembers... 

I thought more and it seemed as if my memory was vague until we reached the fruit trees. Climbing the hill with her almost had a dreamlike quality. In order for us all to not realize we didn't remember, we would have to have false memories put in the holes and then also be made to feel as if looking to close didn't matter. This suggested something omnipotent, something that could control our very thoughts. Yet, why make it so that I could realize that something was wrong? 

I flexed and felt my muscles. They weren't insubstantial though it seemed mainly that my hands and wrists were really strong. I was much taller and stronger than the people huddled and shivering together in that room. And I had no bodyfat to speak of. I tried flexed my wrists trying to see if there were certain movements that they were stronger at but I couldn't tell.

I didn't trust the lady and finally took the blanket, pillow and sword and laid down still fully dressed with my feet against the door. I wondered if I had loved someone and forgotten them. Surely I must have had parents. How awful to forget whoever had loved me, if anyone. I may have been an unloved homeless orphan for all I knew. Had my life been very hard or full of friends and happiness? Wouldn't the one versus the other leave some kind of mark on me despite not actually remembering it? I seemed to be something of a stoic which would suggest I had had a hard life. Since here I hadn't smiled. I hadn't displayed any humor. But maybe that was understandable given this strange situation. Being stoic here was perfect. But I hadn't seemed to understand entirely how strange the situation was.

I awoke with the sun shining through the high window. I had slept very well which was surprising. But I suppose I had had a very mentally and physically hard day. No one had disturbed me. I quickly got up. Should I take the sword with me? I decided to leave it behind and first ask so as to not frighten the lady. She had left me alone in the night. She had even left a sword in the room with me.

"We're just full. That's all." She replies. "Tummies are full." She whispers.

They lay this way for an hour or so as it gets colder. Then they start shivering from the cold. And finally start crawling towards each other. Gathering in piles, bunched together to stay warm. So they lay, falling in and out of sleep. Like they were drugged. I walked around them, observing them. Every single one was the same. Shivering. Staring off into the distance. Not talking. Not making eye contact. I could hear howling outside. My stomach growled. Worse I was very thirsty.

"Hey. Is there water anywhere?" I nudged one of them with my foot. No response.

I raised my voice, "Hey junkie. Is there water anywhere?"

"The fruit is full of water my friend." He said with a dreamy smile, still staring off into the distance.

"Just the fruit then is all you eat?"

An almost imperceptible nod of assent.

"Who brings it?"

"The lady."

"Bit older, straight black hair. Parted in the middle?"

"Yes. Lady Sarah. She brings it. She found each of us in the forest and brings us to safety."

"Doesn't ever turn anyone away huh?"

"Never...." he falls asleep.

I'm not like these people. I knew it. This lady knew it. That's why she turned me away. I walk around the group again looking for Natasha. But she isn't here.

Night it is but the moon shines so bright. I'm cold. I too want to shiver. It would be nice to snuggle up. But I'm not one of these people. I lightly kick her again.

"Hey! Just the lady brings it? No one helps her?"

"No." she whispers half asleep.

Other than the high open windows, there is only one exit from the room. Large double doors which are closed. They are locked but move a bit when i pull move an inch outwards. I yank on them repeatedly with all my might. They do not react to the considerable noise and the doors break loose of the flimsy lock in less than a minute opening into a long hallway which i walk down passing many closed doors on each side, dim light from sconces,

At the end of the hall the lady stood waiting with a drawn crossbow.

"You're not one of my people."

"One of your drug addicts?" I ask.

She scowls. "I only protect them and keep them happy. Better than the death which awaits outside. What are you doing in here? How did you get in?" she asked.

"Just trying to not die. Why didn't you try to save me?" I ask.

"I've learned that some people can't be saved. If you could you'd be in there sleeping with the rest right now. But instead you're breaking down doors and who knows what else in the night. Such people don't live for long."

I dart forward while ducking to the side. The crossbow bolt skims my cheek. I yank the weapon away from her.

"Where is Natasha?"

"Sleeping peacefully."

"What game is this you're playing with the drugged fruit?"

"I'm saving their lives!"

"From what?"

"There is a creature in these woods that kills all who travel through here. The only chance at survival is to stay here. So many have died because they wouldn't stay. Finally I took this drastic measure ten years ago. But I've learned that it doesn't work with some. Those I don't welcome in."

"Those you let go on to die."

"As opposed to what? Let them come in and have them potentially overreact like I think you're going to do?"

"Lady have no fear. I wish you no harm and think it a noble deed you do for these simple folk. You are correct though in that I certainly have no wish to hide here from this creature. There is simply no possibility of that happening. I would greatly appreciate though if you could tell me more of it."

"It roams at night searching for prey. Nothing lives here outside of this house. For it finds everything. Finds all living creatures and kills them. Nothing lives for as far as I've seen. But men like you always think they can defeat it."

"If nothing lives, wouldn't it starve?" I ask.

"Hmmph! How would I know? During the day it's safe outside. But there is nothing alive. Some have attempted to stay outside near the house at night and they almost brought ruin upon us all. It killed them and tried to enter the house."

"But what is it?"

"It's a horror. Somewhat like a man but larger and grotesque. It kills with it's bare hands. The few corpses I've seen were not hardly eaten. Except while they still lived."

"I don't understand how people come here. But once here they cannot travel far enough away to escape it. Somehow these people just appear here. And I try to save those I can. These poor people. They never know where they come from. I give them something other than a horrific death. I don't suppose you remember how you came to be here?"

"I...."

"You don't know, do you? And isn't it funny that you never thought about the fact that you don't know before I mentioned it just now?" she asked.

I didn't know. So I reached within myself to find it and to my shock it wasn't there. I felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under me. I reached for the memories and they weren't there. Somehow I was here but my memories were not.

I mused... "I feel as if... my memories just don't matter. I'm me. As I've always been, day after day. Situations change and change and change till the situations just don't matter anymore. Like I've lived for so long the particulars just don't matter.... Now at least that I try to remember, it seems this way...."

"So you think you've lived for some incredibly long time then? Centuries at least? How could you know this?" she asked.

"How could I know it without actually remembering it.... I don't know. Perhaps I've been enchanted and that is the thought put there to make me continue along my way despite not remembering...." I said.

She smiled and said, "It could be that you're enchanted. But it's a sort of dead end to say that magic did it. Whenever something doesn't make sense we can say that. It may actually be true. Or it could be a lazy way to explain anything we don't understand."

"Is this just how the others also feel?" I asked.

"They generally don't describe it quite the same. They just say they don't care to remember. But perhaps it's the same idea at its heart." she answered.

"Before or after you enchant them with the fruit?" I asked.

"I carefully interview each before I give them the fruit." she answered while looking at me warily.

"Is that where Natasha is? Being interviewed?"

"She is sleeping."

"And afterward they don't care much about anything. Not much of a life." I said.

"If I don't, they never believe me! They always try to leave eventually. They come here with some enchantment on them. No idea who they are. Not even realizing that something is wrong. I can't just let them go off to their deaths just because I can't successfully reason with them. Maybe eventually an answer will be found for them. Till then I try to keep them alive." she said.

"I feel as if I have nothing to fear from this creature. I don't know why but I don't think it can defeat me."

"You look strong, but nowhere near strong enough. Can you fight really well?" she asked.

I looked at my hands. And took a couple experimental shadow punches. I seemed.. OK at it. But hardly amazing. I lightly punched a wall. It hurt somewhat. Nothing special there.

"Stay a few days until you figure out what is so special about you that you can defeat it. Make yourself comfortable in the last door in the hall on your left. I must sleep now. Goodnight."

I walked down the hall wondering why I got a room while the others shivered huddled together on the ground. I wasn't sure her story added up. The room had the same very high window. Some moonlight shone through and after a few moments my eyes adjusted. There was a bed with a large chest at its foot. Some indistinct pictures on the walls and a small bare table with a single chair. I was wary of getting in the bed and relaxing. I couldn't see in the room as well as I would have liked. And I didn't trust this lady. So I slipped under the covers fully dressed and laid there for a while. Then got back up and investigated the chest. It had more covers and most surprisingly a very small sword. I waved it around some. It didn't stir any memories. It was small, not pretty, but it seemed good for swinging very fast back and forth. As much as the lady feared me it seemed unlikely that she would arm me. In such an otherwise bare room it seemed unlikely she wouldn't know it was here.

I slept back under the covers with my clothes on and the small sword. There were two things to think about: my current situation and my curious lack of memory. It was so curious because I felt relatively unconcerned about it. Surely I should care a very lot about not remembering who I was or anything at all about my life. Yet I felt vaguely happy about it. It seemed as if I wanted it to stay that way. I should be trying to remember but somehow couldn't quite make myself try. Additionally I did need to understand my current situation better. Surely drugging these people and leaving them huddled together on the floor day after day wasn't the best solution.

I got back up and put the chair up against the door knob. If nothing it would give me some warning. Back in bed once again. I could not decide if the lady was lying. I wanted to go back over the conversation but wasn't sure if I was remembering it correctly. Exactly what was her expression when she asked how well I could fight? Was she really thinking about me fighting the creature or simply sizing me up as a threat to her. As much as I was enjoying not remembering my past, going over my conversation with her only annoyed me. Perhaps remembering my life, my identify could help me. I tried to remember my first moments with Natasha wandering through the forest....

"Why not try it?"

"Oh (God) no yuck! That's for animals. We're not animals!"

Sartor wandered alone through the forest, eating from the fruit trees when hungry.