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Galaxiki Community BlogSubscribe via RSS ConfessionAugust 04, 2009by dakotastrange The planet has tilted some 20 degrees, you see. The full extent of the affects to what this extraordinary event will incur has not been realized. While the gaseous moon, Ideo, has began to visibly wobble, the gravitational pull of the other six moons have increased the height of tides and led to massive flooding. The northern-most hemisphere seems destined to remain in darkness, and here, Mammastar tracks across the southern horizon casting a dismal eerie light throughout the day. Yes, in the future the great scientific minds will offer up a rational explanation for this impossible event, but I know it was the work of them. Okay, let me take you back to some time ago. I had just come into my inheritance of a small estate just outside a small community. My family home had been built some 200 years ago by one of my illustrious ancestors. The ensuing generations had also prospered, but the last several had not, so I had inherited a stately abode filled with antiques but with little else in assets and a tiny stipend of cash. Wishing to familiarize myself with the surrounding community I took a drive, stopping at the many small shops, and introducing myself to other locals. Late in the afternoon as I made my way home, a sign by the road caught my attention. "ESTATE SALE-INVENTOR'S LAB; Scientific Instruments, Telescopes, Furnishings...All must go!!!" It seemed a good way to cap off the day, so I turned into the narrow drive. The popular items had been sold earlier, the sales manager explained, but looking and picking through what remained could prove interesting. I was a bit disappointed that the telescopes had gone, but I browsed about while really not knowing to what purpose of use most of the items had. I was puzzled at first by a strange cabinet, until I recognized that it was some sort of computer assemblage crafted from very rare wood. The sales manager explained the late inventor had built the system himself and foregoing the usual hi-tech mass produced metalized casing, had skillfully encased the electronics in this marvelous wood frame. Unfortunately, there was little interest among the buyers as without warranties and complete knowledge of the complex components it would prove to be something of a "white elephant." "Take it if you want it," the manager had said. "Everything must go...or go to the dump, and it is getting very late in the day." Oh, my friend, how I regret my rescue of this odd item. For it was to be in my first perusal of its programs that the monitor's screen burst into a dazzling display of digital squares. Squares pulsating, changing colors, moving about in some outrageous synchronized dance, and at the very center was an abyss of swirling black (there is no other way to explain it)...SMOKE. I know you will have a very difficult time in believing me. I wish it were a dream. I wish it were not true, but it was realty. As if through familiarity or habit, I placed my long finger into the vortex of black smoke, and I was as unconcerned or troubled that my finger passed through the plane of the screen as eating breakfast. At this time the printer began to print page after page of what I would later find to be nothing more than continuous letters, symbols and characters. Mesmerized, hypnotized, my finger and body entrapped...whatever it was, at this point they flooded my thoughts with scenes of coming events. Events that would soon come to pass, dear reader. Oh, these predictions in this first session seemed of a local scale...a severe thunderstorm, the good luck of a nearby neighbor winning the National Lottery, the meeting of my future wife. No, I did suspect, nor would I soon realize, that these predictions would all lead to tragedy and misery. I rationalized that I had entered the spirit world. Indeed, it was clear, I had become clairvoyant and I was dealing with ghost, the dead. I gave great thought to this newly found power and, of course, made pledges to myself to use this power wisely and justly. It was a few days later, when my good neighbor received word of his new fortune, and in great hast he made his way to the Lottery's headquarters. But, as he was ascending the steps to the Lottery's offices he took a hard fall which fractured his skull and, thereby, he died instantly. O, mon ami!! How stupid could I be in not seeing the dangers? And within days, an unexpected storm developed over the community. Bolt after bolt of lightning struck house after house and soon mile after mile of home after home were ablaze. Like an addict in need of a fix, I returned to my sessions with them, the other world. Ream after ream of paper passed through the printing machine. Prediction after prediction came to me. And, yes, their predictions always came true. Why, why, why...I asked myself. Why did I make no effort to contact the media to alert others to the coming events? Was I ashamed of my power? Was I afraid they would not believe me, and I would be harassed? There was something preventing me from revealing these things, but what? Could it be them? Shamefully, sheepishly, I walked down the narrow streets lying raw in the dismal aftermath of the fires. My heart hurt from the saddening sights, and in my deepest despair there she appeared...ah, ah, ah, love. her face so skillfully etched with intricate patterns of scar tissue, her ebony eyes like glassy orbs glistening with reflected light. She was certainly not the type to interested in an oaf such as me, I had thought, but with no hesitation she enlisted me in conversation and I was soon to take no notice of the devastation around us. What a fool, what a fool! Yes, mon cher, we were married the very next day. There was no honeymoon for her pursuit of the new and modern became evident right away. She said she couldn't live with all of this old stuff in my house. She was to a rent a storage place and have things moved there, out of sight and out of her way. But, I knew, deep down I knew there was no storeroom, but I looked the other way, and so as not to raise her ire, pretended there to be such a place. Item after item, memory after memory, heirloom after heirloom was sent away, all the while her wardrobe grew and grew. The house soon was almost bare except for necessities. Don't worry she had said, for she had plans to refurnish our home with the very latest things...modern things, useful things...not dusty old junk. My love for her could not be doused, even, when in moments of anger she spat out venomous, hurtful slurs, such as the fact she had only married me for money. She truly believe she deserved only the best of things. So being in this state of mind and circumstances, I warmly greeted an elderly fellow who arrived at my door. He introduced himself to be Kharppa, brother of the inventor from whose estate I had attained the odd computer. It was very important, he explained, that he know of any strange or unusual occurrences which may have transpired with my use of the apparatus. At first, I revealed little, but soon his persistent questions led me to tell all. He listened attentively to my stories, and with painful grimaces shook his head as I told of the spirit's predictions. He then told me he had been reading through his brother's papers, and that it was not the spirit world that I had contacted but ALIENS. Well, perhaps they were alien spirits he mused, but whether from another dimension or from within the known universe they were dedicated to bringing havoc and disaster to the planet and its lifeforms...perhaps, even destroying all. Kharppa's brother had become suspicious of their actions, yet, under some sort of spell or power he could not tell anyone...however, he could write it all down. Yes, these were not predictions but were well perceived schemes unleashed through some unknown power. It was dangerous. Okay, comrade, I have asked you to believe in the supernatural, but now I must ask you to forget that and now believe in these unseen aliens. I do not lie for that I have no reason. Kharppa pleaded with me to allow him to witness a session. With him standing nearby I called up the dancing digital squares and placed my finger into the swirling black smoke. As usual, the printer began its frantic pace of printing, but shortly after they had entered my mind, my visitor pulled the power plug from its socket and the machine went blank. I stared down at the nub which was once my finger. Only two joints of its five joints remained. There was no blood, no scar, but only a clean surface as if I have been born so afflicted. While apologizing profusely that his act had resulted in the loss of most of my finger, the good soul excitedly pointed out that it was his brother's doing that enabled the aliens to gain entrance into our world. The machine and papers must be destroyed at once. Well, you know, I wanted my finger back and another session seemed the only way, but Kharppa's persuasive and urgent words soon made me realize that now we had likely angered them. I recalled just before the power was turned off that they had just begun to tell me the planet would tilt. So we loaded his vehicle with the instrument and boxes upon boxes of printed papers. Yes, yes, yes, he would immediately have every paper and ever scrap of the machine incinerated. A great relief seemed to arise in me as I watched his vehicle exit the drive. She really needed no excuse, but the convenient mishap to my finger was the one to which she latched herself. She could not tolerate such a disfigurement...it was creepy...it was horrible...it was sickening. She left me and immediately filed for divorce. As I roamed the sparsely furnished rooms, I knew she had ruined me both spiritually and financially, but, in confidence with you, I admit if she returned that very day I would joyously welcome her home. I suspect it is something that they instilled within me. So, you now see, the planet has tilted on its axes, and I sit in my cell awaiting my execution. Gullible, naive me. I trusted the kindly stranger to destroy the machine and now I have been convicted of his murder, although, no body has ever been found. But I know. I know he has gone to join them. I know. After all, the first three joints of my finger were found in his workshop. My prints were so easily traced. I told them every detail as to how the events had transpired, just as I told you. I did not kill anyone. Why don't they believe me? You believe me, don't you?
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