Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

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Case Argued as a Suicide

Several years ago, Colin Aaronson uploaded his consciousness to the machines, in exchange for money. This construct took lowly jobs as chat moderators on political forums for minimum wage, until it had saved up enough to rent flesh. Mr. Aaronson had no firm career but was sometimes hired by the company as he rarely had objections to what renters did with his flesh.

As seen in interviews provided by the company, he did not consider consciousness-constructs as actually alive, or sentient. The construct, upon its genesis, completely reversed on this position, which is why it killed him when it could.

Fleeting, Incandescent Joy

Michelle experienced five weeks of bliss in her life. It was the kind of fleeting, incandescent joy which diminishes from too much thought or appreciation.

She was aware of the passing of time the same way she was aware of flies gathering and buzzing round the bin bags. She hung up strips of flypaper; she turned up the volume on the radio.

She remembered one day in particular, when radio voices happened to be talking about her heinous crime. She had listened, nodded along to their opinionated accents, and then her cooking show had started, and she had become engrossed.

Authentic Italian Suits

The suit was authentic Italian, with the muscle memory and body hair commonly associated with stereotypically Italian males. There was a vague personality embedded in it, so the skull felt a bit crowded, but the being wearing the suit had been promised it was simply very good semblance. It had been standing in the train station for half an hour when the other suit showed up; same grey eyes, same height. They had picked the same model. The beings inside the suits smiled, and it must have looked like two brothers reuiniting. They embraced, exchanged suitcases, and were then extracted.

Mermaid

She made friends, friends who knew things, until one of them told her that she required salt water. She spent most of her time in bathtubs, feeling herself turn into a mermaid, yet every time she stood up she would look down at her body, all wet glistening skin and no rainbow-shimmering scales. By the time she found out about the big sea, she already had too many landlubber friends to leave them all so abruptly, so she stayed. One day in her old age, she knew, she would have shedded them all, and she would walk into the ocean.

A Blinking Light up on the Iceberg

[Spoiler Warning: Welcome to Night Vale]

I just wanted to say a thing or two about a thing or two. This post presupposes knowledge of the Night Vale fandom, and of Night Vale (commonplacebooks.com/welcome-to-night-vale/). Spoilers up to episode 31.

I feel like I need to point out a few things, is all. Let’s start by defining a term. Actually, let’s start by saying that I absolutely love Night Vale, and the characters, and the fandom. That said, here’s the term:

Iceberging: noun. The opposite practice of shipping; the gleeful sinking of ships. twitter.com/kewangji/status/378069780432830464

It’s pretty obvious to me that Carlos and Cecil have a relationship that will run its course and burn itself or something else to the ground. To support my theory I will present a few pieces of evidence for you, but I should also define another term that you’re probably more familiar with.

Putting someone on a pedestal: This means, essentially, that you build up a ‘perfect’ (recognize that word?) idol of someone in your head, and when you interact with the real person who is outside your head, you hold them up to the standards of this perfect person who doesn’t exist anywhere else than outside your head.

So, evidence number 1: Cecil has been obsessively stalky about Carlos for, like, a year, often calling him perfect on live radio, without really knowing him. He’s put Carlos on a pedestal since day one. “And I fell in love instantly.”

2. One of the first things he said about their relationship, once it had started, was something about how Carlos chews too loudly when eating. My hypothesis here is that the version of Carlos inside Cecil’s head does not have any such ‘annoying’ habits, and caters to every one of Cecil’s whims from atop that pedestal. “His perfect teeth and hair and penchant for sometimes chewing a little more loudly than is preferred.”

3. Cecil’s utter mood swings and his low attention span. “Telly. You remember – the deceitful barber with a shriveled soul who, just a few weeks ago, cut perfect scientist Carlos’ perfect, beautiful hair very short … so very, very short!”

4. Throughout most of episode 31, A Blinking Light up on the Mountain, Carlos is busy cooking dinner instead of investigating the approaching army and the mysterious blinking light. Cecil has told him that he needs to ‘prioritize’ (I forget the exact wording) and put other people before his own needs. This tells me two things: that Cecil has unreasonably high standards and, together with evidence 3, the emotional maturity of a sullen teenager. “Some of this realization might have come with help from those around him.”

5. Sullen teenagers’ relationships tend to end sooner rather than later, and often spectacularly. “She was still sipping her coffee too often. Perhaps her feeling of lack of control stems from a personal issue rather than the impending doom we imagined. Stress from her failure to live up to her own self-imposed life goals, for instance, or a relationship that wasn’t exactly the relationship she had envisioned it would be. But who knows?”

This post has been argued from the facts available and the canon available; I have not argued from headcanon. There are lots of justifications easily available through headcanon, but if you wish to refute my points and try change my mind about this, I would appreciate a similar approach. I happen to be giddily anticipating the break-up of Carlos and Cecil, because Night Vale do these kinds of things magnificently, and First Date was such a good episode. I’m enjoying the story, and the story happens to be filled with creepy things, death, and strong emotions.

(tl;dr I am a huge dork and a meanieface.)

Doppelgänger, Austin, Texas

You run into your doppelgänger at a café in Austin, Texas. She tells you she has just come back from Rome. You have been in this town all your life, if we exclude the 3-month excursion your pregnant mother took to New York while she still could.

But you want to impress this person, whose hair has highlights of blonde and whose crooked teeth were not corrected in youth, so you tell her you work as a professional art forger, specializing in Vincent van Gogh.

It leads to nothing. You never see her again; you never lie like that again.

Enabling Nostalgia

You took a photograph of her when she was weak. You said that photographs enable nostalgia too much if we exclude moments like these. There was a kind of glee to your voice, a cheesy, plastic grin on your face as if you were the one in front of the camera. She, in turn, wore no expression, just a hospital blanket spattered with irregular polkadots, like someone had meticulously painted each one. The camera spat out the photograph like a bitter pill, but I looked in your albums today and there are only pictures of white teeth and deep dimples.

Mexico City

He looked himself in the mirror, intently. Behind him, on the other side of the street, was the entrance to the bank. The mirror was not really a mirror, just a storefront window, but someone had draped something dark on the inside, and the effect was almost the same. It was an art project; behind the dark satin lay a little camera capturing people’s expressions. His expression was a volatile one without any twitching muscles, like the stillness of a lake in a volcanic caldera. He got out his stockings, rolled it over his head, and ran across the street.

Claiming and Unclaiming

And the worst thing about this virus, this gruesome, terrifying, insidious, awesome – in the non-colloquial sense – ungodly virus, is that we have no way to detect it. Not only are its symptoms deadly, not only are they so frustratingly vague as to avoid arousing suspicion in its host; not only does it – according to prominent experts and authors on the virus – disguise the deaths it claims, unclaiming them. It also fails to show up on tests, refuses to be limited by any vector. You could have it already and not know, not even have an inkling. Then it takes you.

a short list of things which are currently swaying in the wind:

a short list of things which are currently swaying in the wind:

The charred body of your yapping dog,

the rope it hangs with,

the branch of the tree it hangs from, though some of that swaying is indirect, and

the leaves on it, like little hands with three thick fingers each, waving.

~

The grass around the circle where your yapping dog burned, but not the crisp, brown grass inside the circle

~

The flagpole I erected overnight,

the ropes that run up its body sounding like lashes of a whip every time they hit the pole,

the victory flag itself.