Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

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15/Jun/2013

A Host with No Guests

Jannu knew the exact spot the visitors would choose. It was in the water. Were the visitors aquatic? He found an island nearby and oared his way out to it, setting up a massive welcoming buffet of all the different kinds of foods he could find. He stayed on the island for three days, gradually thinning the once-impressive buffet. Sometimes he stared at his feet.

On the other side of the world, just a kilometre away from the place Jannu stared at when he stared at his feet, the visitors wondered why nobody came to greet them, then they left.

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14/Jun/2013

The Night the Moon Broke Free

The night the Moon finally broke free from Earth’s orbit, we held a party and watched it through small but enhanced opera glasses. It was hard to think of that little coin in the sky as once having been a huge protective disk for the older generations among us, but then it was hard to think of the past at all. The Moon’s course had been plotted, aided by small thrusters, and its surface was pocked with prime-number formations. The event itself was very low-key, simply the passing of some mathematical threshold, but the night, oh the night was momentous.

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13/Jun/2013

Racket, Parade, Desert

There was a racket and a parade marched past my house. They played instruments I’d never seen before. The detailed masks they wore made them all look like Egyptian gods. The Typhonic beast was most common, but I saw a lot of jackals’ heads. I fumbled with the lousy lock to my balcony door and ended up breaking it to stumble out there. They were all wearing mardi-gras-beads so I found some on my floor and threw them down to see what would happen.

The one who caught them flashed me a bleached-bone-smile full of teeth. Then the desert came.

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12/Jun/2013

Something That Never Happened

The two of us could not have been more alike; I always followed her footsteps. I thought I felt the same pain as she did. She cast the words from her soul, branded them on the skins of her strangers; I breathed fire and did the same. I was never more than a year behind. She travelled without shoes or socks, I calloused my feet and let the wind show where I should go. She stood on a hill and talked to thunderstorms, I could only shout at open skies with no response. Now she’s happy, and I’m not dead.

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11/Jun/2013

The Waterfalls Have Switched Directions

The waterfalls have switched directions. The flow of water has been slowing down the last few weeks, and for an hour or so yesterday the river was completely still, like in a photograph. Droplets hanging in the air. Bubbles just about to burst. Old diffuse reflections trapped on the shimmering surface. The only thing that broke the stillness was a school of confused fish. And then the spell broke; the water started flowing backwards, up the rocks toward the mountain whence it came. The well-water has already turned salty.

I cannot fathom why the mountain is gathering all that water.

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10/Jun/2013

Survival Guide

Find the library. There is always a library, even if there is no library. There is a place of books where book people gather. Else you must build it and that is why you are there. Always find your way there, get to know its nooks and crannies; get to know its big open spaces and the rats in its walls. Learn where among the shelves you will be alone, and where you will not. Memorize the name of everyone who works there, smile at them. As long as you can find the library, the rest will fall into place.

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9/Jun/2013

This Curse

This curse. Have you noticed how everything we breathe life into falls to bits? The inert objects have a kind of stability. The verdant, vibrant machines have a tendency to tear themselves apart. I have held my breath for so long, and I don’t know how much longer I will be able to, but what is another five years?

They are so small. Have you noticed how they trust you just because you make things grow? I am waiting for the end times for them, to tell you the truth. Maybe when I finally exhale, I will breathe out myself.

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8/Jun/2013

Of Course

I open my eyes to find my bedroom covered in newspaper clippings. Two balls of yarn have been slaughtered during the course of the night, their entrails decorate the walls now. Where did you get all these newspapers? You’re naked, still naked (and so gorgeous). I make a joke, you don’t react. I put a hand to your head and ask: did you get any sleep? Is this about what I said last night? First you shake your head, then you nod it. I don’t think I’ve seen your eyes this big before. “You really love me,” you say, helplessly.

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7/Jun/2013

Decelerate Enough

There was a rhythm to it, if you decelerated yourself enough. One heartbeat every hour and the rain fell melodiously on the roof of my car. That was how I knew this was not natural rain, but something more sinister, or more divine. Maybe it shifted between day and night, but the rain never stopped. There was no point in distinction. An oak a hundred feet away had an aura made of rain and streetlight. I stepped out onto the asphalt, it took a thousand years. I walked toward the oak, toward the drumming, strumming, humming phosphorescence in the distance.

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6/Jun/2013

Footnotes

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0He spoke in footnotes1, and was prone to lies2.

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