The Calls

A strange series of events has been procuring itself ot me as of late. Dividing, taking and creating there is no reason to any of these occurances, yet they are extremely significant. its as if every thing has the ability to crumble apart and fall back into place at the exact same moment.

Now I ask you, are these actions of intention, or do they happen to be mere coincidence? Because if I don't believe in them now, I must be a believer of chaos theory.

It began with the calls, or for a better description the lack thereof, and they are what set the first notch of the alarm off, and began my series of pitfalls into glorious confusion. There is a type of loneliness that can occur when you are in plain site of everyone; you exist strictly in your head, not a good place to be if communicating is your single social grace. I flet a cold distance between myself and the persons that were physically on another plane, as well as those on my own; but in truth I was recovering and those within my plane had begun to retain their familiarity once again, and their faces were softer and sobering. So, I struggled with the miles between me and certain others, the others I have spent my developmental stages with. Oh, if only to hear their faces, and see their voices again! Well it would be so, but it was not their intention for their actions to become such bearers of fruit.

The Calls first came from satan incarnate, resurrected through two possible bodies familiar to me. He would see me in five days, which did not hold out to be of truth. Talking to me in tongues, what was the use? Although, I couldn't understand what he had said to me, the message was clear; "I will there in five days," he said, "to shove hands filled with food down your throat." This figure of god, divulging in his prophetic advise was much too jarbled for me to make coherent judgment of, but isn't that always the way it is? His voice was sour, so pungent I could smell it through the receiver, and i didn't take kindly to it, although i could laugh at him with close lying comrades. I know your here for me now, and so is your twin brother, God.

God gave me call too, wouldn't you have it. It was a time for disaster, a time of disaster, and he had some plain old advice that I could use to get me out of a rut. Start your own business, he says, just figure out your target audience. You can't sell video-games to the elderly now can you? they'll never buy that stuff, you gotta find the right market for your product. Sell video-games to the kids, they love that stuff. Believer's in His grand scheme were stupefied, and they knew they could climb the rungs of the corporate ladder, kicking everyone else in the way off. A fail-safe plan, you can't go wrong, as long as you get the right marketing job. God just kept talking, and talking, and at this point I was a getting a little tired of god's rambling. Luckily, there's a time limit to these unconscious drunk-dials, a time limit that even dieties and grand being's are bound too. YOU HAVE TO STOP AT SOME POINT GOD, OR ELSE I'M CUTTING YOU OFF.

Cut, to saved message. From across the country, there came a light like a lighthouse, a single saving signal, from a familiar face. He was out there on his own, doing what I wish I had done thirteen years, scratch that, 13 months ago. We had never been attached at the hip, but now we could speak as if we had been attached by the spinal cord, because at that very moment he was the mortar to my brick. We built a wall together even if it only was through his ghost. I couldn't see him but what better way to imagine a world that puts us on the same field. The phone is wireless, therefor tethered to nothing, and as a result free to be flung through the air mid-sentence. His digital spirit was there with me still, and his voice as interpreted through binary was my guiding hand, the hand that could bring me back to the artifice of his body. He ranted the whole time I was there, but I was okay with that, I just listened.

He had much more to say, but what he said now actually came before, and served as a pretext to all that was about to come. What he didn't know that in addition to inadvertently aiding satan, he also had a hand in helping God. He had created their relevancy, and what he said made their messages that much more clear. His was a personal story, of travails on the road; he was a bum, and he loved it. he had been everywhere, while I was stuck nowhere. But I had him here, here in my hand, and for now that was all that I needed.

Two more calls came, each from an L, one from blood, and the other from intimate kin. Their messages got me nowhere new, but it made me wonder. Were they also attempting to tell me something, a pressing matter that if ignored would consume me whole? Because the receiver cracked and rattled from the recorded notes they left me, and urgency was all written all over the sounds. As to the importance of these messages, I think time will be the judge of that.

Satan wasn't real it turns out, but is simply just the boy I used to live with. His name is isn't important, but I'll live with him again someday. And as a matter of fact, God didn't turn out to be real either. God is just my cousin's economics professor, and my cousin is just another one of the pupils mesmerized by God's rants. I live with the fact that I won't find either of them helpful, just as I acknowledge now that people I know can be three different entities at once. I listen to the digital spirits of past simply to connect myself to the present.