«Status Update»

02-26-2308

I really don’t know how to feel about virtual social networks anymore. At first it was nice to create an avatar to help define your online persona, and thus affect how your real identity is perceived by other members. But the programs have degenerated to shoutboxes or personal forums, digital walls for people to leave messages on, and I think extreme egotism might be to blame. See, once you’re given unlimited digital influence you must inevitably fall into an egocentric mindset. It’s only a matter of time before an empowered individual begins to believe that their simple existence is significant.

These social applications allow you to keep your friends, or anyone else stuck in your network, involuntarily abreast of your routine and daily experiences. It’s not uncommon for a person to manage profiles on multiple networks, as each will serve a different function. For instance, one general network may be great for keeping in touch with old friends and classmates, while another very similar one may help you meet new friends. You could have an account for artwork and or another for video, an even different writing or a music profile to show off your playlist, too. There are even systems that let you see which sites other members view and enjoy most, or browse someone else’s collection of bookmarks. But most importantly, they exist for you to whore yourself about for personal gain.

No matter what it is you‘re doing, whether you’re using a site to fish for positive feedback on poorly doctored pics or showing off feeble attempts at creating a piece of art or something worth reading, you’re undeniably using the internet as a self-esteem booster. You’re trying to turn nothing into something that validates your being, trolling for others who will feed your ego, others somehow even more irrelevant than you. A page of txt or script, or a handful of jpegs that you shit out because you didn’t have anything better to do with your time, raping the eye sockets of everyone you could force them upon. Maybe you just leave notes and cute animations on other people’s walls, even ones you don’t know, and encourage them to respond, just to see a new comment alert the next time you log in.

Well now it gets even worse. They’ve just made these social super-applications, ones that extend their tendrils to phone and pda systems, and have the ability of controlling your profiles on other networks. From your handset, button, touchi or even texti you can receive notice from or transmit updates to the nets from anywhere you can get signal out. You can begin to complain about your day, or make entertainment and cooking suggestions, or unleash a senseless onslaught of spam, or whatever it is that you do when you get home to your computer — before you even get home to your computer. A collection of blinks from the ephemeral present, already passing. Not only will it update your mood on this profile, but on each and every profile to which you grant it access. It will sicken you when you realize what a useful tool this could be.

To be honest, I have no idea what to use it for. Really, the novelty of being able to announce to everyone that I got a cup of coffee before I even swipe fades out fast. No, instead I feel the whole idea of a two-sentence update defeats all progress. Anything worth doing or saying can’t fit into 160 characters. No matter how hard we try, we always need more space to say what we need. And frankly I feel like it’s impossible to present my given current state in a serious manner when everyone else around here is just cheering any trivial victory they can express in a witty third person. So since I have this communicative exchange (if it can even be considered an exchange) I feel obliged to inform you with more than two lines.

I’m ok. I’m not well or great. Not bad or fucking terrible, either. Ok is also known as not so great or fine, and can be used in place of going into a long story filled with a bit of either side before finally explaining why the combination brings me to the middle… but I assure you I’m just doing ok.

Damn it, that’s just retardedly brief. I should do it right and explain from the top.

The  year is 2309, today is the fifth of March and it’s 3 o’clock in the afternoon. It’s mostly sunny and 71 degrees outside, a high for this week but not uncommon this early in the year. Tonight Phobos will be a waxing crescent and Deimos, as full as it ever looks, will actually rise at about the same time as his bigger brother.  They are inconsistent and unreliable, but twice or so every week they’ll ride in together from the western horizon to strike fear and terror, respectively.

I am a young Earthling male of Ganymedean descent; fair skin, dark hair and hazel eyes. I’m not first-gen or anything though. More like fourth or fifth so I don’t have pointy ears like most Jovians and — since my family doesn’t have anything else exotic anywhere along the line — I lack antennae, whiskers and an accent. I’ll turn 22 in less than a month, and have only lived on Mars for two-and-a-half years now. I didn’t have any family out here, spare a cousin near Alba Patera who I haven’t seen since before I even moved out here. Everyone else was on Earth, everyone I knew and loved.

I came to be closer to a girl I was dating, but wonderful as that was, it only lasted about a year after I arrived. It used to mean more to me before I realized I had always wanted to come here on my own, and did so to fulfill some sort of sordid childhood fantasy of paradise, using her as an excuse to get closer to Mars. I grew up in the suburbs of Earth’s capital, so I’m even more accustomed to the Olympus County and Novus Angelicas lifestyle than most other Earthlings. I am more familiar with wealth, narcissism, and decadence in general, than most of us Earthlings who don’t have nice weather year round, palm trees and picturesque sunsets consistently.  I know I’m going to need to move up the coast or to Elysium to really use Mars to its full potential, but here isn’t a bad place to start trying to carry out my dream.

I’m still…uh..getting there though….to that some important thing I’m… trying to achieve, that you would call my ambition or goal. I don’t have a job and the semesters I do go to school I attend very few hours, leaving a lot of free time during which I don’t accomplish much, reading constantly and watching a lot of movies these days. I still don’t have my crawler legalized so I hang out with Allan and his girlfriend Nymh most of the time. I usually have to use his 4Door to chauffer him to and fro, so that I have a vehicle to drive at my leisure. Tight as our money is and busy as Dune and Allan’s schedules have been with their classes, our band hasn’t really had enough opportunity to practice, barely keeping up to our once-a-week routine.

Me and Allan have at least been keeping our voices sharp with his father and uncle’s band. We’ll catch them twice a week and sing as they play covers so they can just focus on their instruments. Old hits from when they were our age, you know, electric guitars and lots of synthesizers; classic rock. His dad records it all and then usually has a semi-mastered rendering on disc for us in the morning. We get to laugh at the mistakes everyone makes, as well as the customary improvisation and ad lib. But mostly we try to improve our voices, usually listening to it in sequential blocks until we’re done with an entire evening.

Any time except Thursday I think. That’s when we carry out the one job we both still have, acting as couriers for his dad. We deliver hard copy and discs of photo shoots they do for a children’s talent agency half an hour south, but still in OC. For some reason that day we always try to find something different to listen to, since when I think about looking for something new in the folder I always picture the red desert passing outside the window.

Hmm, I seem to have deviated drastically from any important information I could have imparted with this…or maybe I was just too basic. Nah, that was just pointless, I should just use one of the million tricks you use when you can’t think of something to say in your headline. Like, I could talk about the video game I’m playing, or the book I’m reading, or the show I’m watching, but I just don’t feel right name-dropping. So I can’t really list what albums I’m listening to, or what movies I’m downloading at the moment. I could write a deeply cryptic message based off a corny inside joke that no one who actually checks my status would understand, but that’s about the lamest thing to do on one of these things. Almost as lame as spiteful messages to a loved or hated one in your banner that instigate an immature flame war.

The only thing left is to describe exactly what I’m doing. Which is currently passing around a pipe in a shopping center parking lot on Allan’s campus, smoking in his car before he has to return to class. Our friend Mistri is playing on the radio, a popular local channel operated by this university’s station. Her band recently assembled after she had been playing solo under its moniker for years, and it’s so encouraging to see someone we know making it, even if it just points out what we still need to accomplish. This bowl will be through before the song ends and I’ll be getting Allan back in time for the last two thirds of his class.

I will probably spend that time waiting for him, this glowing touch-screen keeping me occupied in another parking lot somewhere between here and his home. Then we’ll meet up with Nymh and embark upon a requisite stony adventure. That will end when she has to return home to be a mother again, and since it’s not a jam night, Allan and I will retire to his home to smoke more and watch old 2D sci-fi’s on the plasma screen downstairs.

Instead of going on about all of this for a few pages, I think I may just come back and post my favorite cheesy line from one of the movies instead.

«…One Year Ago…»

«Eviction Party»

12-22-2308

     The news was inevitable. There was no way that Tohm had come up with the money, and Eon had moved out three days prior, knowing as well as I did what was about to happen. It was a rather expected notice, and well prepared for, but the news was still shocking.

     ‘Notice of Eviction for Tenants of Apartment Γ-1. Effective as of 12/18/2308. Sincerely, OC Properties Management.’

     I sighed and crumpled the paper up, making sure to pick off the last threads of celluloid tape that affixed it to our front door. I had been putting off the first cigarette of the day so I wouldn’t have to be the one announcing it to Tohm; not that we didn’t see it coming anyway. I didn’t even want to light the my factory-rolled tobacco stick, but I suddenly needed it.

     Tohm had lost his job, serving at that family restaurant in Newport Beach, about five weeks ago. His irresponsibility and propensity to sleep until the early evening eventually overcame any good standing he had with his bosses or the clientele. Being a corporate chain, they took the two warnings for similar slip-ups into strong account when they terminated him, and the effects were immediate.

     We had already turned in my portion of the rent, and used it to finagle ourselves a 15 day Promise-To-Pay extension on the rent, but with eight days in and not a dollar from Tohm for what he owed, it didn’t look like there were any options out. The day he lost his job, all my hopes of starting my life anew in Costa Mensa were quickly siphoned off. That was until it flooded in the day before our last scheduled eviction.

     A surge of hope named Eon flowed in that day. She had come to hang with us just as she had last week. And, expecting consequences as disastrous as her first visit, came prepared with a weeks worth of clothes and her beauty supplies. Lou had only intended on chilling out for a couple of days while she was suspended from her retail job in NA, but when our plight dawned on her in the early afternoon, it seemed her plans had changed.

     She was the only reason we were able to keep the new place. She sacrificed every dollar she had saved up working all summer long, money she had wanted to use to get herself a crawler out here, or maybe just spend on girly things that would make her happy. Instead it disappeared faster than a cockroach in the light.

     Keeping my home wasn’t, of course, the only pro to the situation. I had been infatuated, if not enamored, with Eon since we went to school together back on Earth. The fates had never allowed us to become close in the past, but I felt like her first moving to Mars, then falling upon my doorstep, and having enough money to keep us afloat another month were all the orchestrations of invisible hands I’d never paid much attention to.

     Granted, at times I wanted those invisible hands to wring her soft little neck, but that’s just a con of living platonically with someone you have such a strong attraction to. She was never farther than arms length at any time during her occupancy, we even shared the same bed. You’d think I’d have gotten sick of what was apparently unrequited love, but instead the feelings grew in my gut like a tumor. So much to the point that I didn’t even feel upset about losing my home as much as I was distraught about not living with her.

     I also don’t have any qualms with outing Tohm. He had, and continues to have, a major drug problem. I drink alcohol and smoke cannabis almost every day, but these are the days I can afford it. He was addicted to Venusian Coca; a habit that cost him 60 dollars a day even when he didn’t have the money for it. On top of that he also consumed everything else that wasn’t nailed down in the house with such fervor it made me wonder if the devil worked as hard for what he wanted.

     I blamed him for losing my home. I blamed myself for not realizing this would happen the day we moved in and he started chatting away on his touchi in Martian with his dealer when I told him I had a little cash to get booze. I blamed Allan for setting me up with his co-worker in the first place, knowing him and his problems far better than I did. Mostly though, I just blamed Tohm for being too hopeless to ever recover.

     I spent the last day in my brand new home carrying all of my possessions out of it. Luckily our neighbors had agreed to let us keep our stuff in their garage until we could find new places to live, so it was a short trip down the flight of stairs–but like everything, I had to do it on my own. It’s only fitting though, that the captain go down with his ship. I surveyed the damage one last time, the rooms barren and fresh as the day we moved in 2  months ago. I stepped back, tipping my hat to emptiness and locked up, closing the door on this chapter of my life.

     At least I was going home for the holiday, and it worked out that my flight back to Earth would occur the same day I had to vacate the residence. As I started my crawler for the first and last time in two weeks, I thought of my dear Eon and hoped to feel the warmth of her embrace soon. I lit a cigarette and watched my old place disappear in the rear view mirror.

«Gone With the Wind»

12-14-2308

     I wake up to a cold bed. I shiver reaching for something warm, only the find the lump beside me is just a blanket. I sigh and roll, pulling it over my shoulder into a ball I can wrap my arms around and try to go back to sleep. I lay here for an hour tossing back and forth before I finally give up and put on some pants. Sitting at the end of my bed, I look around my hauntingly empty room for a moment. The floor is spotless, free of shoes and clothes and suitcases, the shelves void of beer cans and books. There isn’t even a discarded pile of blankets to the side of the bed, or giant bean bag chair at its foot. A shut closet door and solitary, poorly illuminating, lamp stand facing me as I wake, like the last loyal subjects of a feeble, passing king.

     Any other day, Eon would have been laying beside me. She would look, if you could imagine, as an angel sleeping after a bender; so peaceful and almost appearing thankful to rest at last. Her fingers were always wrung around a dirty old t-shirt covered in salt and mascara, a keepsake she affectionately called her blanky. More often than not, she would remain in bed for another hour or two after me, and dodged every attempt I made to stir her. Looking as serene as she did though, I never wanted to try very hard.

     I step into the bathroom to see a clean countertop, fresh as the day I first moved in. The door opening freely instead of being blocked by a heap of towels and clothes. I must admit I could use a little toner or moisturizer, but find nothing so I just splash water on my face instead. I notice the bathtub only contains a bar of soap, shampoo and conditioner; no fancy loofah or wash cloths, no disposable razors or exfoliating scrubs. Leaving the bathroom I find a streak of hair dye still painted on the door. I would mind more if I didn’t like the blue-black color of her hair.

     She had complained about the bathroom every day for two weeks since she moved in. When I had first arrived with Tohm, our budget was shoestring thin and the only things we owned were usually things I had pilfered from my last apartment. Sure, a dozen bars of soap was a nice thing to find as we unpacked, but impractical for doing dishes, cleaning the counters or scrubbing the toilet. We eventually ordered that giant box of cleaning supplies and essentials at her insistence, which was the only day I ever saw her clean–and that was only cause she wanted the place to be sparkling when she invited that guy over. After that, the only thing cluttering up the bathroom were the 30 or so oils and balms, strange tinctures and elixirs, the array of make up and applicators, and a handful of brushes and curling irons she never bothered to put away.

     The living room is bare. I can’t see any dishes or mugs laying about the room, no wine glasses or cups half full. No array of bottles or cans standing at attention. The instruments are properly stored, not left lying on the couch in a stack of papers and disks. There aren’t several books pulled out and lying after answering a question or being used to write on. No decks of cards lay scattered after slipping off the table, no blankets and pillows fallen to the ground and no red stains on the carpet.

     Every morning, before anyone else would wake, I found myself clearing away the aftermath of the night before. I’d take trash and dirty dishes to the kitchen by the handful, making sure to rinse out any glass and aluminum before it reached the recycling bin and then load the dishwasher carelessly. Somewhere in this process I’d make enough noise to rouse the rest of the house. Tohm would take his station in the armchair and Eon would default to laying down on the couch if I was still seated on the floor at the workstation. Otherwise, she would spend more time locked in a staring contest with this glowing screen than I did, reaching out to the nets like I knew only a homesick Earthling could. I can remember laying on her spot of the couch for hours, just hoping she’d turn to say she was bored, and ask me to amuse her instead.

     The kitchen I enter is spotless as well. No condiments or spices are left on the counter, or food wrappers and disassembled packages left spent. No pile of dishes in the sink with food still stuck to them, and if there is, I can’t see it brimming over the edge of the sink basin from where I stand. There isn’t a frying pan left on the range or a cup of tea unsipped in the microwave. The fridge is closed and the butter put away. Not to mention the trash is gone and the recycling sorted and disposed of already.

     We had so much food last week, before it all got shoveled down the open mouths of three needy garbage disposals. I had always thought I was a bottomless pit, and when I moved in with Tohm, I thought he had a black hole somewhere in his lower abdomen. Eon had a conduit to another, much emptier, dimension somewhere within her core, which led to her insatiable consumption of everything in sight. I guess all three of us were very similar in this regard; I never got enough of anything which probably lead to me wanting more of everything. This was well reflected in my Earthling roommates. I loved Lou for her thirst for life.

     I stand in the living room looking out the sliding glass door, staring at the droplets of rain dancing in a pool on the balcony. Winter comes quickly on Mars, I think to myself, reflecting on the sunny days and that scorching wind we had not even a week ago. It may have driven me insane to go through the same thing every day, to endure what was dished to me by cruel nature with a dumb smile, but I liked it better before the weather turned. It’s been cold and miserable and done nothing but rain since the day she left. I was happier with her, I didn’t feel alone or even like an alien with Eon around,  I felt like I actually had an equal in this unbalanced world. So what if she drove me as crazy as the weather, she made me feel warm and loved in all her oblivious radiance.

     “You’ll do fine with out me,” she said bodaciously, “but I’m gonna miss you.” She was curled up in my arms on the bean bag, her luggage packed and ready. My finger tips scratched at the scalp behind her ears as I stared at her closed eyes in sullen silence, knowing well it was more likely going to be the other way around. The closer her departure approached, the more I dared ask her to tell me all the things she couldn’t afford to say. I knew to hear anything more from those alluring lips, or to lean in and steal a kiss from them would just hurt me that much more when I woke up the next day. Instead I swallowed my desire and closed my eyes, hugging her close. “I was probably too hasty with this choice,” she uttered at last. I began to wonder if she meant her decision to go or to live here in the first place, but down stairs in the driveway her ride honked. She kissed me with lips as soft as a cloud, then evaporated just as quickly.

     It’s a real pity. Just as I was getting used to it, the weather changed and she blew away.

«Caravans to Cuffed Hands»

09-19-2308

     It was supposed to be our last hurrah. It was supposed to be the last great adventure before the summer came crashing to an end. It was supposed to be a memorable experience for all.

«←→»

     When I regain consciousness I’m handcuffed to a chair in a foreign concrete corridor. I’m halfway through reciting my address to a grizzled uniform disinterestedly taking my words down on his requisite paperwork.

     “It was pretty sly of you trying to sneak by me wearing a different top,” the hardened old officer snarls sarcastically, “but you didn’t fool me for a second. You should thank your friends for bringing you back in so you could go to jail,” he finished with palpable scorn before looking back to his clipboard. At the mention of this I realize I wasn’t wearing half of my clothes anymore. Suddenly I’m wearing a collared shirt under a read Europan sweater. I begin to feel the gravity of the situation, my hands bound behind my back by a plastic band, seated in an unfamiliar place with the contents of my pockets strewn across a folding table. It’s only now that I start to wonder what happened to the past few hours, so I try to piece it together as I casually dispense personal information to the badge with a slur.

     We were going down to Sanctus Da Vinci for a two day festival-style concert so we could celebrate the end of summer. Next week my best Martian friend, Allan, would begin school at his new university. He somehow convinced our Saturnian friend and fellow bandmate, Dune, and myself to spend what little money we had left on tickets. At the time, we thought that was an awful price to pay.

     The night before we would set out, Matt and I made ourselves a part of a different adventure in the name of rock and roll. After visiting a bar, named after an Earth city renowned for its music scene, we tagged along with the friends whom we came to see, and the other two bands they just played with, to an after party. The caravan left Costa Mensa heading for the City of Olympus. A bustling suburb between NA and Fender that unwitingly awaited the trail of crawlers we joined.

     Led by our friends’ tour van, the party arrived at 2 AM and didn’t die until 4. It wasn’t your typical party; the loud music and alcohol is requisite. But this crowd seemed to be more concerned with having a good conversation than see how many beers they could chug. At some point, after the Uranian comedy duo was done playing on the wall-mounted  teli, Ganymedean techno began blasting and everyone began to dance. Whatever dismay I had suffered earlier in the eve had dissolved completely from my memory, maybe taken by the sweat now soaking my hair and clothes. Through some irony, the cops would put an end to the fun this evening, prompting our departure back to my home to catch what little rest we could before the real trip began.

     As to be expected, we woke up late. With no time to shower and properly prepare ourselves for the coming day, we rushed down 4 freeways to meet Dune where he was waiting at Allan’s house by himself. The Saturnian obviously had enough forethought the night before to know this was going to be a grueling journey, otherwise he would have answered our calls when we begged him come to the show.  Originally wanting to be parking in Sanctus Da Vinci at 2 PM, our show didn’t get on the road until 4. I kept reassuring them we’d be there in time for the first band, that it only took two hours to get there. I was wrong, but of course I was, I’d never been to Da Vinci before. Once I’d been to Oceanside with my only other Martian friend, Brick, the halfway point from OC to SDV, and was foolishly miscalculating our ETA by thinking it was much closer.

     An hour into the first set we were only checking into the hotel. It was at this exact moment that Allan realized he left his ID and his charge cards at the bar the night before. I slapped my forehead, Dune sighed and swiped his card, warning knee-breakings if he has to pay for damages to the room. After quickly dropping off our bags in a dinky hotel room, which looks like every dinky hotel room, we began running to find a bus.

     The first night of the show we didn’t even worry about chemical enhancement, we were just stoked to finally be there and listening to so much great music. The second day gave us some time to prepare before the music began to play. Since Allan didn’t have his ID he couldn’t gain access to the beer gardens to drink during the concert, we had to come up with a creative way to get fucked up. We never did come up with a better way, and didn’t want to risk entering the premises with substances illegal to carry, so we just drank in the car instead. A six pack and half a bottle of rum passed before we felt ready to let the event commence. The day’s motto was ‘We gotta get drunk, right?’, after all.

     The plan worked flawlessly at first, as most do. And as most plans involving alcohol do, it would slowly begin to unravel. Things really began to fall apart when Dune found a twenty dollar bill on the ground. This twenty would have to be spent, on booze and quickly, god damn it! The forgetful Martian waited outside impatiently as the two people who didn’t leave their ID’s at home got to enter the magical land of beer. It actually wasn’t that enchanted on the inside, discarded plastic cups in pools of strange colored liquids carpeted the way to the ticket stand. For 10 bucks you get seven 2oz samples and make you finish each before you can receive another, making it impossible to sneak any back out. This wasn’t arguable though, it just meant more beer for the two of us. More beer we’d have to finish quicker since we couldn’t it enjoy it slowly while watching the next band play, so we chugged and left the gardens a little more difficultly than we’d entered.

     At an indiscernible period of time before I left the beer garden a second time, I blacked out. Not to be confused with passing out, no I was still active as ever, the lights were definitely on but no one was home. My body continued to stumble aimlessly long enough to leave me with plenty of bruises when I woke up, but that the only part of the story I could decipher when ownership was returned to me. Everything else had to be supplied by the first hand accounts of my friends.

     I was told that on the way out to the car, the last time we needed to refuel, I was into my badass habits of jumping off or almost breaking everything between me and my destination–a typical sight when I’m not behind my own wheel. At least my body knew it was too drunk, it didn’t even take a sip of that last round of rum as it went around the back seat. The runaway train even knew well enough to insist it stay in the car, it couldn’t manage to chew what I had already bit off. But the powers of coercion work well when I’m not quite up to bat, and it would be dragged back in through the gates.

     Or at least they tried to. Some moments later Dune and Allan would realize they were a person short, walk out and find my body laying on my back somewhere down the street from the entrance. If I had been there I would have told them I had been given a warning and wasn’t allowed back in at all. If I had been there I wouldn’t have let them make me throw up and change my clothes. If I hadn’t checked out early I would’ve helped my body beg them to let both of us (me and my body, that is) stay behind.

     The next time Allan would lose sight of me, he wouldn’t find me until my hands were already bound in rings of some sort of silver-plated steel. I wouldn’t actually meet the officer until later in the evening, but in the meantime he was busy trying to get my body out of the concert and away from my friends in the most efficient manner possible.

     “Just tell us where you’re taking him,” the Martian pleaded in desperation, failing to reach any human emotion in the cop.

     “Don’t worry about him, go watch your band,” he would reply with a scorn I’d later learn is just his natural tone.

     Which brings me back to my present restrained self. I’m in complete control of my body now, though limited to the range of motion of a bobble-head doll at the moment. I’m sure if I tried to form a sentence the words would be there before the body could catch up, but instead I’m giving the officer my telephone number and former addresses so he can check my background, requiring more accuracy than I can muster.

     Last time that I come to Sanctus Da Vinci.

«Aftershocks»

08-01-2308

     I arrived home late in the afternoon yesterday, right about the time the commotion about the ‘Natural Disaster’ had completely died down. At this point the Martians either forgot or just stopped caring, either way returning to the more important matter of themselves. I was home, and crestfallen that it hadn’t collapsed.

     Nothing did though, there was no real damage done anywhere in Olympus or NA counties. A couple of bottles fell in a liquor store here, water main broke over there, no casualties or injuries to even speak of, but somehow it was still treated like an emergency for three hours. Fire and Medic vehicles ran about town looking for ways to look busy, and Police amused themselves by watching red and blue twinkle off the water trickling from the cracks. The one homeless person our town possessed had already found a new piece of cardboard and declared it was a quake that put him on the streets, 20 years after the fact now.

     Nothing was even messed up in my house it seemed. I could see a couple of the paintings hanging downstairs had rocked askew and a couple of the books fell over on the shelf, other than that nothing was amiss. No wait, now I saw there was only one candle stick on top of the entertainment unit. I found the marble piece that matched it behind the unit, crumbled into 4 pieces, which didn’t really bother me anyway, I got them for free cause they couldn’t hold a candle they way they were made. I found a third candlestick, this a carved wooden one, on the far side of the unit when I walked back from the trashcan in the kitchen, this one upset me. It was a strange piece of warped driftwood from Tethys, carved into a spiral and large enough for a tea candle to burn, but now it was reduced to several uneven pieces I’d have difficulty gluing back together.

     Upstairs I discovered for the first time ever, the picture frame on the outside of my door wasn’t hanging awry, and thought maybe the quake knocked it back in place. I couldn’t open the door though, no something was jamming it from behind, After struggling and trying to reach through the half foot crack at what i could only assume was large and heavy, I closed my door to try and go through my roommate’s room, but whatever it was must have been caught and now fell with a terrible ripping noise. The door now swung freely over the mirror that was now flat on the floor. It had taken a Japheth lamp with it, tearing the the rice paper and thin wicker shoots to shreds, exposing the ugly silver stand beneath. The mirror was fine, I moved on to my TV.

     I realized as, I saw it laying flat on its face that I couldn’t remember the last time I had used it to watch anything. Maybe a video game or two, but the player couldn’t read discs anymore, clogged by red dust a month after its warranty expired. I couldn’t watch any programs I’d recorded or any movies I had on disc. I wasn’t about to spend more money to make myself less productive either, so almost hopped the TV was busted, I’d be rid of it all together and could only blame Mars. It still worked perfectly though, durable bastard, I turned it off and looked for more quake victims.

     I found little more than empty bottles I had collected, once holding alcohol from all over the place, that luckily had landed on a pile of dirty laundry. I celebrated this victory over neatness and order. I had my workstation and instrument with me the night before so they had been safe in my car, the only other thing that I had worried about in my room was a green crystal wine glass from Kork, a gift of from my ex-girlfriend’s mother after I’d fallen in love with the stuff on our trip to Amalthea last summer. The emotional properties of the glass had been altered, but its aesthetic value remained, I was thrilled to see it intact.

     No the only thing I discovered had been horrible mutilated, but which was probably messed up before the quake, was my bank account. I was in the negative…in the very very negative, and would only find myself in a deeper hole when the tank of gas and dinner I ran on the card catch up to me. This morning when I discovered this it shook some sense into me. I need a new job, even if I’m in school and being provided for by my parents, the truth is the best support they can give me is feeble at best. I just hope I can stay in classes this time, finally figure this double life thing out.

«Marsquake»

07-31-2308

I woke up today at about the same time as everyone living in the Western hemisphere of Mars.

At approximately 11:42 AM a tremor developed on the Olympus side of a fault running all the way from Novus Angelicas to Noctus Labyrinthus. Its epicenter lay just east of the city in the suburb of Titon and seismographs finally estimated the magnitude of the disturbance to be 5.4–a fair size.

At the time I was passed out on the floor of my friend Allan’s house in Costa Mensa. Still wearing my clothes from the night before and reeking of alcohol, I was resting quite well, all things considered. suddenly I was jostled from my dreams of rockets and music to a building commotion about the house. The next thing I could tell the very foundation of the house began to wobble. It wasn’t a rattle, a shake or a rumble, it was as if the rigidity of the structure had given way to the form of a gelatin mold. The semi-solid floor rippled beneath me as I rolled over and lay on my back, I had no conditioning to find cover or panic in this moment, I’ve never experienced anything like this before in my life.

And as quickly as it came, it was gone, leaving echoes of its roar as it trailed off, little reverberations slowly winding down like a spinning coin. Allan looked up from his bed, no more disheveled than normal, and asked if I was alright, to which I just nodded with a grin. I let out a sigh as I rolled back over and enjoyed the moment after the rush, loving every beat of my excited heart and short breath I took as they slowed to their normal paces.

My first Marsquake, or rather the first one I’ve been conscious to experience. I’ve been told by a few people there have been ones small enough for me to sleep through, but I never believed them; quakes are monumental. Earth’s core was far too stable, and tectonic movements too minute to cause such tumultuous incidents, the biggest thing I ever had to worry about there was a tropical storm, maybe a hurricane, just hazardous weather. Not like here at all, here where even the planet is against its people in it’s sick alliance with the atmosphere and the sun to return to the surface to a quiet, serene, crispier landscape again. I think I get why every Martian lives with a certain fear blinking in the back of their minds, knowing easily that today or tomorrow could bring The Big One.

I really don’t expect to be living on Mars by the time it comes to that, though, so I’m not gonna start worrying

«Still Stuck on Mars»

06-23-2308

     Sitting stifled, watching the ships get to depart. Surface Skimmers, shuttles and starliners take their turns arriving and embarking. And I’m stuck here on Mars still.

     I woke up late, hungover and burnt out from another last hurrah. It took more than a second to realize my alarm was sounding, and that’s what the shrill noise filling the room was from. Frantically, I threw the evening’s clothes back on and began that last minute dash to make sure everything I needed was in my carry-on. At first I snuck around the bodies lining the floor downstairs, careful not to disturb them before I left. I don’t know what I was thinking, this tip-toeing went on for a good 15 minutes before I remembered they were giving me my ride. So with an hour left before my ship would board I woke everyone up and tried to share with them as much of my panic as possible.

     It only took 20 minutes to travel about half the way to Novus Angelicas. Allan’s lifetime of experience living on Mars gave us the edge to slice through the ground traffic in his sister’s open topped buggy. I’d left my sunglasses in and carry-on stuffed it in the tiny boot, so I had the pleasure of my hair cutting at my eyes the whole ride. I was slightly distracted by my decreasing deadline.

     Just inside the NA county limits lies a small space port at Porro Beach. I feel attached to it, since it was the first plot of Martian soil I ever set foot on, and it’s the closest port that extends service to my favorite spaceline, Rocket Red. After that terrorist attack in New Tros and DT at the end of 2301, a negative stigma was affixed to space travel, and the aeronautics industry took a huge hit. In it’s collapse many companies completely went under, opening a niche for start up corporations to get a hold. All the new liners are flashy and bright, years more advanced and aesthetic than the aging fleet of clunky starcraft feebly holding our planets together.

     An Oedipus-class ignites it’s engines and erupts into the atmosphere as I grudgingly sip my coffee. I’m sitting in a smoking area outside of baggage claim right now, cursing myself for wearing black on a day like this. An unexpected meteor shower passing Luna is the focus of my frustration right now. I was supposed to stop over on my old moon for an hour before catching a connecting shuttle down from Earth orbit. The weather has all departing craft grounded on her surface for the next few days. I didn’t even know that meteor showers could impede space flight.

     So instead of hanging out on the moon for a few days, a dangerous idea for anyone with an affinity to flashing lights and a tendency to lose all their money on one hand, I was placed on standby for the last flight leaving Mars tonight. A non-stop Perseus straight to Goddard, the spaceport just outside of the capital. This of course means that I won’t actually leave until about the same time I was supposed to arrive there.

    I glance at my texti and give a sigh. With another seven hours to go, I watch another space ship blast off and light myself another cig.

     Sitting stifled, watching the ships get to depart. Surface Skimmers, shuttles and starliners take their turns arriving and embarking. And I’m stuck here on Mars still.

     I woke up late, hungover and burnt out from another last hurrah. It took more than a second to realize my alarm was sounding, and that’s what the shrill noise filling the room was from. Frantically, I threw the evening’s clothes back on and began that last minute dash to make sure everything I needed was in my carry-on. At first I snuck around the bodies lining the floor downstairs, careful not to disturb them before I left. I don’t know what I was thinking, this tip-toeing went on for a good 15 minutes before I remembered they were giving me my ride. So with an hour left before my ship would board I woke everyone up and tried to share with them as much of my panic as possible.

     It only took 20 minutes to travel about half the way to Novus Angelicas. Allan’s lifetime of experience living on Mars gave us the edge to slice through the ground traffic in his sister’s open topped buggy. I’d left my sunglasses in and carry-on stuffed it in the tiny boot, so I had the pleasure of my hair cutting at my eyes the whole ride. I was slightly distracted by my decreasing deadline.

     Just inside the NA county limits lies a small space port at Porro Beach. I feel attached to it, since it was the first plot of Martian soil I ever set foot on, and it’s the closest port that extends service to my favorite spaceline, Rocket Red. After that terrorist attack in New Tros and DT at the end of 2301, a negative stigma was affixed to space travel, and the aeronautics industry took a huge hit. In it’s collapse many companies completely went under, opening a niche for start up corporations to get a hold. All the new liners are flashy and bright, years more advanced and aesthetic than the aging fleet of clunky starcraft feebly holding our planets together.

     An Oedipus-class ignites it’s engines and erupts into the atmosphere as I grudgingly sip my coffee. I’m sitting in a smoking area outside of baggage claim right now, cursing myself for wearing black on a day like this. An unexpected meteor shower passing Luna is the focus of my frustration right now. I was supposed to stop over on my old moon for an hour before catching a connecting shuttle down from Earth orbit. The weather has all departing craft grounded on her surface for the next few days. I didn’t even know that meteor showers could impede space flight.

     So instead of hanging out on the moon for a few days, a dangerous idea for anyone with an affinity to flashing lights and a tendency to lose all their money on one hand, I was placed on standby for the last flight leaving Mars tonight. A non-stop Perseus straight to Goddard, the spaceport just outside of the capital. This of course means that I won’t actually leave until about the same time I was supposed to arrive there.

    I glance at my texti and give a sigh. With another seven hours to go, I watch another space ship blast off and light myself another cig.

 

«Letting Go»

03-11-2308

     I had to let go.

     Their little beating hearts were clutched firmly to my chest, but I knew I had to let them go eventually. The sooner the better too, no use in prolonging the inevitable. I spoke to them like a mother to her infant, as they were the closest to a child I’d ever had. They were our children, and I gave them the best advice I could; cautioned them to stay out of the hot sun and away from the creatures of the night, and if they ever got in trouble just to run, run as fast as their furry legs could carry them. I told Ginger to take care of his sister and I set them down on the path alone.

     They were our babies and I let them go by myself. She was supposed to come here to see them off, she was supposed to meet me on this trail at sunset. She had better things to do it seemed. It wasn’t even my idea to release them into the wild, she suggested it, and still she couldn’t follow through. I never wanted them in the first place, but like so many stupid things I’d conceded to in the past, I’d done it to make her happy. And I had eventually grown to love them.

     On our breaks at work we’d gone to the pet store to hold the puppies and caress the cats, and she’d always wanted a cuddly creature of her own. I’d never found the ability to justify getting an expensive, smelly, little critter, knowing I’d have to pick up the slack and clean up after it when she was done squeezing them. I finally reasoned to get her a rabbit, they were only є30 as opposed to the kittens we saw marked at є1000. I know we could have gone to a shelter to get a cat for much cheaper, but it wouldn’t be the same to her–animals are only cute when they’re babies. She found out that I was getting her a rabbit, tricked it out of me a week before I was going to make the purchase, so I had to up the ante. I’ve always been a performer, always loved to see that shock on people’s faces, and knew as appreciative of a bunny she was, she’d have known it was coming; so I bought her two. With the help of her sister I acquired them, along with a cage and some food, and snuck them into my apartment. I wish I had done more research though, known what I was getting myself into. But there wasn’t time, Christmas was upon us after all.

     I had parked my crawler at the end of her parents’ street and began to walk with them in my old back pack, a quarter of a mile along the aptly named Skyline Drive. The sun had just gone down and already the cities and suburbs in sight that stretched as far as Novus Angelicas were ablaze in their nightly passion. I crossed the street to a gravel path, the gate was luckily still open though this trail closed at nightfall. It was a nature preserve for coastal sage scrub, gnat catchers and snakes. In spite of the latter, I’d reasoned it a relatively safe location for the oversized rodents; there haven’t been any fast moving Martian reptiles or coyotes here in decades. Just a couple of paces up the path, by a sign denoting the sanctity of the location, I set my back pack down and unzipped it, taking a rabbit in each hand and holding them to my chest.

     It made sense why I had to do this: I brought them to her in the first place, I had cared for them for the past several weeks on my own, I should be the one to see them off. Over a month ago when she couldn’t take them in the confined quarters of her apartment anymore, the smell was too intense and they were getting neglected in her new party lifestyle. I couldn’t blame her though, they were odoriferous creatures and unaffectionate, not even very pet-like. They were a prey species after all, they didn’t come when you called, only ran for cover when you reached for them, and they never liked to be held; not too unlike her.

     I didn’t mind taking care of them though, they would let me hold them, for a little while at least, and it felt good to have a soft, warm heart beat next to mine, even if they would eventually claw and bite their way free as if to say “That’s enough love for today,” then return to their incessant munching. I didn’t even mind the smell, as long as I cleaned up their waste everyday, but its what the smell brought that eventually drove them out.

     They had attracted other creatures into the house, unwelcome guests that chewed a hole in the screen of the window and began gnawing another one into the molding around the back door of the unit. When my roommate, Pashan, and I began to spot signs of intrusion on the floor and counter tops, we knew it was time for change. I informed them that same night that this was their notice of eviction as I embraced each of the squirming rabbits in turn.

     They were uncharacteristically comfortable with me now though, both of them in my arms at once, as if they didn’t want me to let them go. I didn’t want to either, but we have to do what’s necessary. I set them down together on the edge of the trail and watched them inspect their new, low lit surroundings. They’d never been out like this before, only a little cage in a grassy back yard had prepared them for this experience, and even then we always gave them a bowl of food and water to sustain them. They stayed very close to each other, one always running to stand beside the other if they strayed too far; I took it as a good sign that they’d stick together. They didn’t seem to want to leave though, all they desired was to be locked up in their stinky cage and fed again. But I couldn’t take them back now. It would be too cruel to them, pretending that they were welcome in my home, though they most certainly were as far as I was concerned. And I couldn’t fool myself into thinking I’d ever scrounge up the money to surrender them to a shelter, where they may even become more neglected than they were at their last home.

     All I had to do was turn around and leave them, trust that instinct would overcome their poor domestic teachings and they’d be able to survive on their own, even for a little while. As I reached for my bag, Freddy made one last attempt to get back in it, struggling to get over the side and into the comfort of a confined space. I pushed her away, picked her up and set her in the other direction, into the a break in the scrub, and did the same with Ginger who had tried to follow. I set him down and immediately stood up, zipping my bag and turning away, the longer I lingered the more it would hurt us both in the end.

     I turned my heart cold and lit a Martian Spirit as I began to walk away, wishing I could just smolder away into nothing like the glowing orange end in front of me. I looked back over my shoulder and could only make out the black lump of my Freddy’s coat in the bushes, her shining eyes catching a last glint of light from the city far below, and then she was gone from sight. On the long walk back to the car I kept looking over my shoulder at every rustle the wind blew through the leaves, every snap or every scrape of gravel from the road beneath my feet, wondering if they had followed me down the trail. I was glad they didn’t, comforted to think they’d never make their way down to the road, better to be further away from any dangers. I hoped they would enjoy their new home. When I finally got to my car I lit another cigarette and began the slowly burning, lonely journey back down the hill and home.

     The first thing I did when I got there was take their wooden, urine soaked cage with all their dishes and bottles, and carried them to a large dumpster beside my row of units. Punctuating the evening I forced it up over the lip into the unknown. I returned inside, swept the remnants of feces and bedding out the door and washed my hands.

     Letting go is easier when there’s nothing left to remind you of what you had.

     I had to let go.

     Their little beating hearts were clutched firmly to my chest, but I knew I had to let them go eventually. The sooner the better too, no use in prolonging the inevitable. I spoke to them like a mother to her infant, as they were the closest to a child I’d ever had. They were our children, and I gave them the best advice I could; cautioned them to stay out of the hot sun and away from the creatures of the night, and if they ever got in trouble just to run, run as fast as their furry legs could carry them. I told Ginger to take care of his sister and I set them down on the path alone.

     They were our babies and I let them go by myself. She was supposed to come here to see them off, she was supposed to meet me on this trail at sunset. She had better things to do it seemed. It wasn’t even my idea to release them into the wild, she suggested it, and still she couldn’t follow through. I never wanted them in the first place, but like so many stupid things I’d conceded to in the past, I’d done it to make her happy. And I had eventually grown to love them.

     On our breaks at work we’d gone to the pet store to hold the puppies and caress the cats, and she’d always wanted a cuddly creature of her own. I’d never found the ability to justify getting an expensive, smelly, little critter, knowing I’d have to pick up the slack and clean up after it when she was done squeezing them. I finally reasoned to get her a rabbit, they were only є30 as opposed to the kittens we saw marked at є1000. I know we could have gone to a shelter to get a cat for much cheaper, but it wouldn’t be the same to her–animals are only cute when they’re babies. She found out that I was getting her a rabbit, tricked it out of me a week before I was going to make the purchase, so I had to up the ante. I’ve always been a performer, always loved to see that shock on people’s faces, and knew as appreciative of a bunny she was, she’d have known it was coming; so I bought her two. With the help of her sister I acquired them, along with a cage and some food, and snuck them into my apartment. I wish I had done more research though, known what I was getting myself into. But there wasn’t time, Christmas was upon us after all.

     I had parked my crawler at the end of her parents’ street and began to walk with them in my old back pack, a quarter of a mile along the aptly named Skyline Drive. The sun had just gone down and already the cities and suburbs in sight that stretched as far as Novus Angelicas were ablaze in their nightly passion. I crossed the street to a gravel path, the gate was luckily still open though this trail closed at nightfall. It was a nature preserve for coastal sage scrub, gnat catchers and snakes. In spite of the latter, I’d reasoned it a relatively safe location for the oversized rodents; there haven’t been any fast moving Martian reptiles or coyotes here in decades. Just a couple of paces up the path, by a sign denoting the sanctity of the location, I set my back pack down and unzipped it, taking a rabbit in each hand and holding them to my chest.

     It made sense why I had to do this: I brought them to her in the first place, I had cared for them for the past several weeks on my own, I should be the one to see them off. Over a month ago when she couldn’t take them in the confined quarters of her apartment anymore, the smell was too intense and they were getting neglected in her new party lifestyle. I couldn’t blame her though, they were odoriferous creatures and unaffectionate, not even very pet-like. They were a prey species after all, they didn’t come when you called, only ran for cover when you reached for them, and they never liked to be held; not too unlike her.

     I didn’t mind taking care of them though, they would let me hold them, for a little while at least, and it felt good to have a soft, warm heart beat next to mine, even if they would eventually claw and bite their way free as if to say “That’s enough love for today,” then return to their incessant munching. I didn’t even mind the smell, as long as I cleaned up their waste everyday, but its what the smell brought that eventually drove them out.

     They had attracted other creatures into the house, unwelcome guests that chewed a hole in the screen of the window and began gnawing another one into the molding around the back door of the unit. When my roommate, Pashan, and I began to spot signs of intrusion on the floor and counter tops, we knew it was time for change. I informed them that same night that this was their notice of eviction as I embraced each of the squirming rabbits in turn.

     They were uncharacteristically comfortable with me now though, both of them in my arms at once, as if they didn’t want me to let them go. I didn’t want to either, but we have to do what’s necessary. I set them down together on the edge of the trail and watched them inspect their new, low lit surroundings. They’d never been out like this before, only a little cage in a grassy back yard had prepared them for this experience, and even then we always gave them a bowl of food and water to sustain them. They stayed very close to each other, one always running to stand beside the other if they strayed too far; I took it as a good sign that they’d stick together. They didn’t seem to want to leave though, all they desired was to be locked up in their stinky cage and fed again. But I couldn’t take them back now. It would be too cruel to them, pretending that they were welcome in my home, though they most certainly were as far as I was concerned. And I couldn’t fool myself into thinking I’d ever scrounge up the money to surrender them to a shelter, where they may even become more neglected than they were at their last home.

     All I had to do was turn around and leave them, trust that instinct would overcome their poor domestic teachings and they’d be able to survive on their own, even for a little while. As I reached for my bag, Freddy made one last attempt to get back in it, struggling to get over the side and into the comfort of a confined space. I pushed her away, picked her up and set her in the other direction, into the a break in the scrub, and did the same with Ginger who had tried to follow. I set him down and immediately stood up, zipping my bag and turning away, the longer I lingered the more it would hurt us both in the end.

     I turned my heart cold and lit a Martian Spirit as I began to walk away, wishing I could just smolder away into nothing like the glowing orange end in front of me. I looked back over my shoulder and could only make out the black lump of my Freddy’s coat in the bushes, her shining eyes catching a last glint of light from the city far below, and then she was gone from sight. On the long walk back to the car I kept looking over my shoulder at every rustle the wind blew through the leaves, every snap or every scrape of gravel from the road beneath my feet, wondering if they had followed me down the trail. I was glad they didn’t, comforted to think they’d never make their way down to the road, better to be further away from any dangers. I hoped they would enjoy their new home. When I finally got to my car I lit another cigarette and began the slowly burning, lonely journey back down the hill and home.

     The first thing I did when I got there was take their wooden, urine soaked cage with all their dishes and bottles, and carried them to a large dumpster beside my row of units. Punctuating the evening I forced it up over the lip into the unknown. I returned inside, swept the remnants of feces and bedding out the door and washed my hands.

     Letting go is easier when there’s nothing left to remind you of what you had.