When last we encountered our hero, he was dead, in the sparsely populated afterlife of frown ejecta. The Grand Frown of The Universe has realized that he could not digest our protagonist because he was unable to give up his personality to become banal. Or so he thought! In actualityville, the mayor recently decreed that much of this is actually only perception, caused by the distant human descendant’s matrix of understanding, his paradigm, created by his socialization, and his various lamps which imbue young human descendants with the necessary social constructs to be totally useless to themselves and society, as Barhalluu the Wise intended. Due to these measures, one such socially integral force imbued by blaser (bland laser) was the force of self-doubt, or Doublington’s Force, named after Chauncey Doublington, the world’s first human descendant without self-doubt. His irritatingly self confident poncery caused his extensively planned murder, and in memory of this horrid blitheness, the very thing he most lacked was burdened with his name (as at the time, people’s names were vast megalithic monumental structures, akin to the first Earth Layer’s Pyramids of Giza, only seeping nomenclaturational greases and oils.)
Due to his self doubt, he decided to ask an objective third party if he were dead, or merely trapped within a paradigm that was like death (perhaps Hegelianism). What follows is extracted from the protagoniser’s gleam screamer ™.
The other man was in the form of a Methodist, and as his opticulated my torso and limbs with his oculonts, I gleaned from my mood groaner that his was moaning out a strong sense of recognition.
“You!” The waves of his outburst gallopped across my delicate membranes.
“You know me?” I rejoindered. What a fool, he didn’t know iw as going to do that, i bet. 10 Greevalt Lamb-coins says he’s not prescient!
“Of course, or rather, i will know you–” he paused for effect “–IN THE FUTURE!” The latter part of his sentiment was expressed with ominous arm motions and a grim look on his face. The ocean of his face (a metaphor) became like a grim ocean face. You see how I’m able to make you see images?
“Old man, how can you recognize me if you will only know me in the future?”
He just laughed at me, and gave me twenty canadian dollars. He then combed my hair, while still laughing. He pulled out a range of ties that surprisingly rated over Four Hearts on the suitability scale, and chose a 4.8er and gingerly tied it around my neck.
“This is the first time i’ll meet you, but not the last. The last time i meet you will be the first of the last times i meet you. And because it’s a first of something, i’ve technically met you one first time already, long long years from now. Since firsts carry forward, in the direction they are facing, a first last faces the reverse, you see? So that first is carrying forward relative to its own frame of reference. That forward is our backward. Thus, I know you already because of our final meeting, years from now.”
The chasmic void which we inhabited began to blow with warm gusts of stale air.
“Yes it is. Purely by logical construct i am able know anything, for you see, I’m a Rativore, an eater of Reason.”
“Ahh,” i said knowingly. he had no idea i didnt’ know what he was talking about, but i squared my shoudlers to his, and mimiced his bodily attitude, while maintaining eye contact. i was winning this conversation.
“That and i live in three directions in time at once. Forward for you, backward for you, and forward for ex-girlfriends.”
“A third direction in time?” I asked, while touching his body in a dominant way, witha broad open handed motion.
“Have you ever wondered with ex-girlfriends never seem to move on?”
In many ways i had, but i wasn’t going to show my hand.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Booya.
“Well, that’s because ex-girlfriends live in a perpendicular timeframe. They don’t move forward in the timeframe that you do. For me, obviously, ex girlfriends move on rather quickly. We Rativores are the third luckiest race in the known universe. Not me though, as I am stuck in here.”
“Ah, the afterlife. Kind of an anuser, eh?”
“Bummer. Not Anuser. But uh.. what do you mean afterlife?”
“Well. I died. In the frown?”
“Ahahahahaha,” he said each Ha as a separate syllable in a dry monotone, whie inflating gas sacks on his neck. When he was done storing his laughter, the gas bags compressed, shooting his jocularity fog into my face. I must admit, the effect was very amusing. “We’re not dead. You idiot. You’re only dreaming. You are asleep, right now, inside the frown, after successfully giving up some of your personality by twittering on your iphone. None of this is even real. Except me. I moved into your dreams last week, while you were awake, because it seemed like you had basically given up on having any dreams. Since you clearly are using them again, i could move into your aspirations. That’s a far more tractless void than this cavern. But uh. I have all my shells arranged here.” He indicated several rows of beautiful seashells which he had arranged from smallest to largest. “It would be a shame to have to move them.”
“It would. It would. Still…”
“nothing. You know. It’s just… ”
“Ugh, okay, i’ll move if you want. But look around, there’s lots of space. If you realy dont’ ahve that many dreams, i mean. I could even put up some of my own. My goals are pretty great.”
“Gimme an example.”
“I want to own a boat. Nothing too fancy, a 12 footer. And maybe retire with my 2nd wife to smalltown Ontario, and integrate into the community by volunteering to help it’s local historical society.”
“Say, that’s not bad. You ahve a deal.”
“Good, becuase you’re about to wake up.”
“Oh, wait, what’s your name, and tell me about my future!”
“I’m Phile Maven, and actually you asked me not to tell you anything. You made that very clear at our final meeting, just years from now. You can’t even imagine, time is nuts!”
“What? Why! tell me!”
But it was too late, he already had his earphones in and was listening to his sleek, 3Gs black iphone, available at apple stores across the country.
to be continued…
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