Words by oz_btc_bloke Art by GreenFisk.

Part 1: i woke up with words refusing to leave me be until i captured them, so i did.

These are words, and this is Book. To understand Book, however, you must first understand Author. And that just so happens to be me. These days I'm Man, but I just used to be Boy. That's what happens as time slides by. Man, Author, Me, is writing Book as a pie e that will e! ite, invigorate, engorge, ama"e and at the very least distra t the ommon folk of today. It is tiresome to see the latest fads ome and go so it is Author's hope that this will be Book for the ages. I will write without border, boundary, or brakes for as long as is inhumanly possible. #ow this all reads is of little onse$uen e to Man, as the mere fa t that it is being read at all brings all the sola e that Man ould ever need. %e all want to be listened to, right& 'o that is probably what this is all about. There are so many interesting stories floating out there in the ether, and as su h I will simply grab one and ink it down for the world to see more learly. And it will be known as Book. (aguely planned s rat hings be ome something more than ould ever e!ist in the simply physi al world. These s rat hings manipulate the mind, with help from the eyes, and be ome somehow more signifi ant than anything else in the moment. It's all about de iphering, then letting the message form over your synapses, in a way that has never been done before. )very e!perien e new. )very flow like a wave. *hara ter was also feeling a wave wash over him, but this was the literal kind. It was a bea h holiday. The bubbles formed and burst over his arbon reated body. 'u h is the folly of the world. An advan ed form of lands ape, apable of free movement and somehow +thought+, in the midst of nature's waves. And somehow, this pie e of well designed organi ma hinery knew there was something else for him in this world. It started as a bubbling feeling, down deep in his stoma h, but it grew and hanged until it was an undeniable feeling that drove him with every atom of his being. 'imilar atoms that made up the waves washing over him. #e realised he was simply a olle tion of atoms assembled in su h as way to allow greater ontrol and fle!ibility. #e also realised his mind was simply a series of ele tri al impulses forging their way through soft sludge. This did not fa"e him. As wise as he had allowed himself to be ome, he never let it affe t his state of mind. That was his real estate, and as su h, he would take are of it and maintain it as a responsible middle aged ouple would maintain their home. #e did this, be ause his mind was his home. #e lived there for most of his time, e!iting only when ne essity insisted. Another wave washed over his body. #e was sitting in the shallows of the shore. The bea h was like an old home, being visited from his past. The soft pull in alternating dire tions of the surf reminded him of life, and he let out a slight breath of bemusement. )ven in the

rela!ing pla e intended for taking a break, there were for es in motion attempting to ontrol. But as with the real world, they were easy enough to shrug off. #e was floating around, thinking about Book. And that one day, he would reate this string of words, rafted in su h a way as to evoke the perfe t rea tion from a large portion of those who put it in front of their eyes. But he knew, most flesh beings don't have similarly good ontrol and understanding of their own minds. This was the only problem. And to over ome it, he de ided to tea h as he told his stories. The problem with institutionalised learning was that nobody wanted to be there, and nobody understood why they had to be there. ,ot even *hara ter. But as he floated and ontemplated the world, he realised how mu h s hool had really taught him. #e ould grasp basi physi s, hemistry, s ien e, mathemati s and literature in a way nobody in the past had the privilege of doing. #e was e!istential. #e was self aware. #e was artisti and talented. #e was flawed as we all are- but knew well enough how to dispel these flaws, or at least to make them less noti eable. To distra t the world. .e eption. And this was the problem with the world, he felt. #umans were simply too de eptive. And this trait, or skill, was sought after. It was rewarded. And so humanity ontinued its evolutionary path. *hara ter understood that this was simply the way of the world, and one day he would be left behind. ,o problem. #e was happy enough to stay where he was. Another wave. Breaking his thought pattern on e more. It was a la"y day. ,othing to do but rela!. The fruits of his labour. The e!a t same as the fruits of no labour. Anyone ould stroll down and enjoy this bea h. The illusion of the pri"e somehow lost its lustre. 'omehow tainted. #e knew this fa t all along, but forming it solidly in his mind made it all the more potent. 'till, he was enjoying his time. It was always a different form of rela!ing for *hara ter. #is mind worked in overdrive no matter the situation. %as this the same for everyone& .o we all repress our thoughts so strongly and so regularly& #e had always told himself he was not spe ial. But maybe he was. /erhaps only in a small way. ,ot something that would remain as ivilisation ame and went. It seemed unlikely to him that any mere vessel of flesh and bone ould have su h a long lasting effe t on the universe. And that is what it is all about. 0eaving your own imprint, somewhere on this great big, big, big universe of ours. %riting a story on paper& 1es. That is an imprint. It is manipulating two obje ts in a way to trans end simple et hings. It reates emotion too. The et hings are tangible. The emotions aren't. That doesn't make them any less important though. It is still an effe t on the universe. The only problem for *hara ter was wondering what ould be the biggest, best way to leave a mark. And if he even wanted to. This is what he had been pondering most of his time at the bea h. Most of his time in his life, for that matter. There was too little time in his life for su h earthly things as writing though. #e stopped thusly.

Part 2: there was more? who knew....

It was with heavy hands and a heavier heart that *hara ter pi ked up the pen. Mu h time had passed sin e the day at the bea h, but not mu h had hanged. ,othing of onse$uen e, at least. *hara ter felt he had be ome e!a tly that . A hara ter. A fa2ade. A parody. 'omewhere along the way he had lost his humanity. There was a spanning dis onne t between his mind and his soul. #e wasn't a person anymore. All his thoughts had undone him. Taken himself apart. This was his plan, after all- to tear himself apart and build himself anew. But things didn't $uite work out as e!pe ted. /erhaps he was still in a state of transit. *hara ter was in limbo. #e remembered his earlier words, +as long as is inhumanly possibly+, and saw this as a reason to ontinue Book. %ithout his humanity, the phrase just seemed so very fitting. *hara ter felt more like a beast than a man. In throwing away onventional thinking, he had also thrown away a large portion of himself. The portion that ould relate to other human beings, assimilate into so iety, feel empathy, reate an honest bond. *ivilisation be ame a system- fa eless and soulless. At least in his eyes. It was the result of a deliberate, planned retreated from the reality he had previous lived in. It had worked. It ould work forever. %ords flowed slower than they had the day on the bea h. Those words were e stati , ele tri , pulsing and jumping onto paper almost of their own free will. These new words were al ulated and forethought. *hara ter re ognised this as another side effe t of his for ed hange in state of mind. #e missed those senten es bursting out of him. #e'd been a has3been all his life. This was true. #e failed to noti e that he urrently was being too. And always had been. %ith his ethos bordering on nihilism, *hara ter needed to take a step ba k and survey what had be ome of his life, and where this had begun to go wrong. The songs that on e meant everything to him now lay silent, patiently waiting for their turn to gra e his on e3loving ears again. In the past they had fuelled him. But they had also overwhelmed him and louded his vision. *hara ter felt betrayed. #ow ould he stay mad for long& #e loved those songs. And although their meanings had faded, they had shaped who he was today. The people who on e surrounded him had no abandoned him. #e had driven them away. It was part of his $uest for solitude, his desire for freedom. #e was okay with this. But *hara ter had no story to tell. #e had no struggle. ,o d4nouement. It left an empty gap right in the middle of his life.

'omehow pages ontinued to fill. This ould be attested to the fa t that *hara ter wasn't so interested in writing about his life, as there was nothing spe ta ular about it. Anyone ould turn on a T( and find something more interesting than him. ,o- Book was destined to be something greater Book was destined to be. 5rom the dawn of time events have been taking pla e, onstantly and in a hain, that when followed through all the way to this very instant result in Book being written. #e was a slave. A slave to hemistry, parti le physi s, $uantum physi s. #e had made up his mind to ontinue inking words on paper. This de ision had been made for him a long time ago. #e followed the game plan. It was easier that way. 5ollowing whatever he felt was meant to happen. 6r not, be ause it happened anyway. And when things did happen it was easy and omforting to realise he and everything were still just a part of the world's biggest and longest lasting hain rea tion. The latest part of whi h was Book. *ontent with this fa t, the pen slid out of *hara ter's hand. 5or now.

Part 3: time stretches on further than i had ever imagined it would, as does my ability to write words.

#e was never taught well how he ame to be. #e understood valen ies, bonds, s ien e and mathemati s, but it was never presented with an over3ar hing end3 state. The finish was something he had rendered of his own a ord- he was suitably proud he had. 1ears ago, he felt lose to the solution. It was a long way to go from there, those days, but it was the right dire tion to head. Intelle tual freedom was one of his most treasured possessions. 7ladness over ame him with the urrent abundan e. Mania had set in long ago, and this was now a well forged aspe t of his psy he. It was wrong, but it felt so right. Tumbling down the stairs of madness he hit his head on near every step. It helped the ause. It was a $uite a beast to wrestle. It left him drained and sullen. %ithdrawn and disasso iated. %ords were now pri"ed in their appearan e. The literary mind was fading. An inje tion of notes, beats, and harmonies would solve this. It always had. The ha"e helped. The musi helped. #e began to wonder if the indeterminable infinity of the universe had any real effe t on him. In a true sense. ,ot in the nihilisti world view he held so well. In that world, nothing mattered worth anything. The best world view there ould possibly be. But life was proving empty in this frame of mind. True as it may have been, his selfish joy re eptors were going. 0eaving him, due to absen e of stimulation. Time flowed faster than ever. It flowed over him. 0ike water over sand, it was soaked up and gone before long. Musi was his purpose. #e felt it and he realised that. #e was the world's greatest sympathiser. 888 An indeterminate amount of time passed. %ords dan ed and played as they on e had, springing to life with youthful e!uberan e and uriousity. #is absen e was in onse$uential, as it had always been. /ermanent absen e gained appeal. #e wel omed its warm embra e. There was no time for long goodbyes. There was no time for any goodbyes.

Part 4: resurgence.

The musings had boun ed around for some years now. That's all they did. They never a hieved anything, they were muddied but lear. *lear in stru ture, but muddied in ideal and impli ation. 0ife itself was be oming ha"ier than ever, but that didn't bother *hara ter. #e lost omprehension of who he was. #e be ame simply 9Man:. %hat did bother Man was his inability to live by the truths that he realised those years before. #e knew the pointlessness, the predeterminism. %hat is Man to do when he is no longer that whi h, he has been told he is, his whole life. 'elf ons ious, free, meaningful. Able to make his own hoi es. *hoi es that truly belong to him. All signs pointed to an inevitable self3instigated ending. A demise. A final belligerent protest. #e wouldn't let that happen. And that would only be be ause it was never pre3programmed to happen. Man started to understand those that harp on about +.estiny+, +5ate+, and all the other odswallop he would usually not even pay lip3servi e to. #e started to realise that they were simply overly simplified terms for that whi h most an't ompletely grasp. )spe ially by those who oined them and live by them. #e wished that he ould onvey the in redible, yet stark realisation that haunted his e!isten e. 1ou are alone. 1ou will die alone. )verything is alone. But being alone, these days, felt like everything. Man felt disgusted by himself, by the small lu!uries he afforded himself. By the strong feelings and ideals that stemmed from them from time to time. All of this was stupid. The roman es that he a epted, they shook his onvi tions. And the eventual motionlessness and empty3minded lifestyle when he su umbed to all the odd trappings of the world he lived in. Things had be ome slightly more relavatory in his mind, however. The onstant musings, that boun ed around in his head, muddied yet lear as they were, had unlo ked an idea. A s ale3morphing grand theory to the universe. 6ne that melded his previous ideas, nay, realisations, and propped them into a somewhat more hopeful pa kage. #opeful to Man, at least. /erhaps not his fellow man. The freedom that a ompanied his theories on life unlo ked a higher level of thinking, one without are about self ;in any way other than the moment to moment survival type<, something that nobody ould ever take away. If indeed, anyone was even trying. And with that, he penned it. 6n an infinite s ale of si"e, the probability of life for every +thing+ is either a =, or >. .epending on your definition of life.

As a living being gets larger or smaller, the time s ale must be adjusted. A ba terium will live for a small time. An elephant for a long time. And a gala!y....... An atom. It is programmed to behave in a ertain way depending on the bonds between the different parti les. And they a t as they must also. An amoeba. It will a t as it was always destined to, as the pre3e!tisting onditions of its e!isten e and environment. 7iven the same starting onditions, its life will always be the same. Thanks, in part, to those helpful atoms that make up the amoeba. A human. It's just more ompli ated. *ells, made up of atoms. Thought, made up of ele tri ity. And emotions. Made of hemi als. All of whi h abide by a ertain list of unbreakable rules. This is where it gets interesting. A omputer. A ase and omponents, made of sili on and metals. Thoughts, made up of ele tri ity. ,o hemi als. ,ot just yet. All that still abide by the list of unbreakable rules. A planet. 6ne step more ompli ated again. Made up of ro k matter. *overed in water. /lants. #umans. *omputers. Atmosphere. .... A gala!y. It's the se ond most ompli ated ;and therefore ama"ing< living being in e!isten e. It has near every single kind of living being inside it. The same way that a human being is full of living ba teria. They mould the way a human lives and are re$uired to survive. The same for a gala!y. It ontains humans that ontain ba teria, planets that ontain humans, stars that ontain nu lear fission. *osmi dust that ontains original matter. 'o what makes humans ons ious, and a gala!y not& If anything, it is near infinitely more ompli ated be ause it ontains all the ombined + ons iousness+ of humans and whatever else e!ists out there, and adopts them into a symbioti relationship like ba teria. And speed up the timeline e!ponentially enough, and it will even start to look to behave in a living manner. 'o, Man penned, a gala!y is the se ond highest order of being. That means that the highest must be, and only be, the universe. 'peed up the universe to a speed where it e!ists for only ?> human )arth years, and it would be so mindblowingly beautiful, so overpowering, that a humans life would seem as insignifi ant and short as that of a photon of light. Man welled up as he penned the last line. And that was why man never pla ed mu h sto k into his own self. #e was simply glad he ould see a littler farther over the hori"on than his fellow man. #e shed a tear.

a virtual onversation
mother, i know i haven't been too + lose+ over the last few yearsbut I have a short story i've writteni would hope that you and dad read it arefullybe ause it means a lot to mehttp@AAwww.do droid.netAaBCbAbook.do .htmlit might e!plain my behaviour.. Is this really your writing& yespart = was jan D>=>, part E was late last year .o you mean that is when you wrote them& a yes 5our years ago for part = yes %e'reAare you that unhappy& &im not unhappythat is simply how i feel be ause, that is the reality of it all i know you never had the time and spa e to e!plore that angle of the world but the young, time ri h entitled hildren of the world, su h as myself.........we e!plore wholeheartedly and it destroys so many of us its like an undo umented %oodsto k of ourse im fine, mum, im so tough as i always was. but i just worry about the greater.