#i consume for long periods of time and then forget everything until it awakens from its dormant slumber

[tails-is-cool]

ahahahah i don't know what i'm doing! i immediately forgot every character ever.

anyone can join :>

Challenge: make a poll with five of your all time favourite characters, and then tag five people to do the same. See which character is everyone's favourite. (five OF, not top-5-of-all-time)

tagged by: @raceispunk (thanks for the tag!)

no pressure tags: @mossy-stormcloud, @rustyelias, @ambiently-80s-gay, @vvanillavveins, @atrashmammall

[ebelwrites]

Bluesinnamonroll’s Raffle Prize

Guess what’s finally done?! Honestly, I’m ashamed at how long it’s taken me to complete this; it felt like life was just kicking me over and over again. Every time I wanted to complete it, it seemed like something got in my way. First it was a time when there was always some event on in my life that needed to be addressed, then it was a period where everything was breaking and I had to spend time getting things fixed or replaced, then I fell into a bad funk that I was in for about a week. This is literally, what, day 3 of being able to pull myself from the tar pit I felt like I was in for the last month?

But I’m here and it’s done and I feel like I just climbed Mount Everest, I feel so good! And I hope everyone likes this piece; especially you, Bluesinnamonroll! I really hope you like your prize, even though it’s taken an embarrassingly long time for you to get it. Also, just so people can see, this is an art piece of Bluesinnamonroll’s that was an inspiration for my writing: IMAGE.

Originally, I was asked, and trying, to write based on the image, but nothing I came up with ever got over the 1000 words that I promised; the problem only worse because I had wound up delivering a lot more than 1000 words for the other prizes and I really didn’t want to let down here. I ended up using it as a template and idea-kickstarter for what I did end up writing. So, I hope you can forgive me for that change, Bluesinnamonroll. If you still really want something directly with the art piece, then I’ll see about reviving an earlier failure for a short drabble sometime in the future.

Anyways, it’s 1AM right now, I’m tired, and I’ve kept you all waiting long enough; here it is!

Nightmare waited until he could hear all five of his datemates sleeping before he sprung into action. He swiftly, but silently, gathered all the materials he’d been hiding in his room over the past week; he hadn’t wanted anyone to see them and figure out what he was up to. It took him a few trips, and much more time than he liked, to quietly move everything down to the kitchen. Every time he heard a noise from one of his datemates’ rooms, panic made him freeze until he was certain they were all still asleep. He couldn’t have any of them waking up, not until everything was ready.

It was on his final trip down, carrying the last item, when he heard footsteps approaching him. Thinking quick, he shoved the item into his jacket to try and hide it. The purple and red glow of the other’s eyelights alerted Nightmare to his identity before the rest of his body could be seen. Dust emerged from the darkness, walking casually down the hallway towards him.

“Heya, Nighty,” he greeted, one hand in his jacket pocket and the other swinging beside him, “Bit late, ain’ it? Whatcha doin’ up?”

“I’ve got some work to do.” Good, it didn’t seem like Dust was suspicious. It wouldn’t be good for Nightmare’s plans if he got curious and went investigating. “I’ll be downstairs for quite some time, possibly until morning.”

“Need ah hand with whatevah it ‘tis?” The question almost made Nightmare panic before he regained control of himself. “If itsa big thing, ya could probably use one.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. Besides, this is something you can’t really help with. It’s not tough or demanding, it’s just time-consuming and it can only really be done by one person. No sense in both of us being bored. ” He was somewhat ashamed of his flimsy excuse but Dust didn’t seem suspicious, at least. He inwardly sighed in relief; maybe the other was too tired to push tonight.

“Okay, then. Ah’ll be up and aroun’ if ya change ya mind.” Nightmare gave him a nod before turning to the staircase.

“I’ll keep that in mind. See you in the morning, Dust. Try to get some sleep.” With that, Nightmare made his way downstairs and to the kitchen, keeping his prize hidden from sight until he was sure he wouldn’t be surprised by another datemate. When he was sure the coast was clear, he pulled the stack of plastic cups out from under his shirt and set them next to the rest of his supplies. He had a lot of work to do if he wanted his surprise to be ready in time.

In his haste to leave, however, Nightmare had completely missed the suspicious and curious look that Dust had given him.

Nightmare set a plate down in front of Error’s chair, napkin beside it and a cup nearby. It was the last place he had to set, the other five chairs having similar sets in front of them. With how busy he’d be with preparing the food, he knew he needed to set the table first otherwise it’d never get done. He stood back and looked at his work; everything was in place, all the seats had place sets and there were several empty plates in the middle for the soon-to-be-made food. He hadn’t bothered with any decorations, he and his datemates weren’t really the types to enjoy such things, but he had laid a tablecloth down. It was at least somewhat fancier than the bare table they usually had. This was meant to be special, after all.

He heard the sound of padding footsteps and quickly exited the dining room. Rubbing his eye sockets and taking his time, Killer was slowly ambling his way down the main stairs of the castle. He blinked several times before turning to look at Nightmare.

“It’s late, Nighty.” His voice was soft with tiredness and he paused for a yawn. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“Couldn’t sleep, thought I may as well keep myself busy.” Killer gave him a few more blinks before shambling his way down the stairs. Nightmare moved to meet him and to intercept before Killer caught sight of the dining room. The other skeleton slumped in his arms, leaning the entirety of his body weight against Nightmare, and Nightmare wrapped his tentacles around Killer to make sure the other didn’t wind up on the floor. Killer hummed slightly, cuddling into Nightmare’s chest.

“Want some water,” he said softly, “Can we get some, Nighty? Before I go to sleep again.” The little request sent Nightmare’s soul racing; he couldn’t just take Killer into the kitchen, he’d see the surprise before it was ready.

“How about we get you settled in one of the comfy chairs first, hmm?” Nightmare said, thinking fast. “Then you can rest while I get your water.” Killer nodded wordlessly against his chest and Nightmare almost breathed a sigh of relief; crisis averted. He spoke softly to Killer as he carried the skeleton over to their sitting room. Not about anything in particular, mostly small talk about what Nightmare had to work on the previous day, but Killer seemed to be calmer and happier hearing Nightmare’s voice.

He settled Killer down in one of the soft armchairs and wrapped a blanket around him; the other skeleton was trying hard to keep his eyes open, though they often closed against his will. Once he was sure that Killer was comfortable, Nightmare made his way to the kitchen and quickly filled a glass with water before returning. Killer looked to be on the verge of passing out, though Nightmare managed to coax him into lifting his head and drinking. Killer only managed to drink about half the glass before his head dropped down.

“Can you stay with me?” Killer yawned softly, tucked comfortably in his makeshift bed. “Just until I fall asleep?” Nightmare should say no; he had a lot of work to do before anyone woke up in the morning and he was already short on time. But stars knew he could never deny a sweet request from one of his datemates.

“Of course,” Nightmare said, smiling softly. The white-boned skeleton smiled back at him before his head drooped down and he began to sleep. Nightmare stayed with him for a while longer, counting the minutes but unwilling to leave until he knew for certain that Killer wasn’t going to re-awaken. It was seventeen minutes before Nightmare felt it was okay to move again. He paused, before planting a kiss on Killer’s forehead, and only then returning to the kitchen. At least he’d successfully kept the surprise a secret, now he just had to finish getting it ready.

Nightmare cursed softly as he forced the spoon to mix the ingredients in the bowl. It required a lot more strength than he first thought it would and it was draining his energy a bit. The batter didn’t look quite right either and he was growing frustrated. He had never been the best cook among the Bad Sans Group, or even in the top three, but he was sure that he’d followed the recipe correctly. What did Horror do differently than Nightmare was doing now? Nightmare abandoned the bowl and stalked over to the box to read the recipe again. He was so focused on trying to work out what he was doing wrong that he completely missed the sound of someone entering the kitchen.

“You need more milk.” The sound of an unexpected voice made Nightmare jump and whirl around. Horror stood beside the bowl, dipping a teaspoon into the mixture for a sample to taste. “You should also add some vanilla extract; masks the aftertaste.” Nightmare’s mind was frozen, unable to process how easily his plan had been spoiled and what he could possibly do to fix it. Horror noticed and walked over to him, looking concerned.

“Nightmare?” Horror lifted a hand up to feel his forehead. “Are you unwell?” Nightmare shook his head stiffly. Horror frowned and looked around; other boxes of mix were lined on the countertop and the open doorway to the kitchen allowed glimpses of the set table. There was literally nothing Nightmare could do to salvage this situation.

“This was supposed to be a surprise.” It was a statement, not a question, and all Nightmare could do was nod. He heard Horror click his teeth before the skeleton headed to the fridge. He returned with the milk and grabbed a bottle of vanilla extract from the pantry, then headed back to Nightmare.

“You won’t get this all done before morning.” Nightmare grimaced, already knowing the truth but still didn’t like to hear it. “I can’t forget seeing this. Do you want my help?” With that, Horror offered the two items in his hands as a kind of good-will gesture. Nightmare hummed for a moment, thinking, before reaching his own hands out.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” It had been quite lonely. He’d gotten used to always hearing his datemates out and about; to suddenly have nothing but Killer’s soft snores had been strange and remarkably disconcerting.

“Get your spoon. I’ll guide you,” Horror said, giving him a rare smile before walking over next to the bowl. Nightmare, items now in hand, wandered next to him and picked up his spoon again with more determination this time. Horror spoke softly next to him, giving him instructions as he resumed his mixing. A tranquil moment, just for the two of them. Even if he would fail to achieve what he desired, Nightmare was glad that he at least got to experience this moment.

It was a few hours later; unbelievably, they’d managed to create almost everything Nightmare had desired. Horror had vetoed a few, citing them as being too much work for the little they would get from them, but it was still a wide spread they’d managed to create. The cookies he’d been making when Horror first arrived were baked and cooled, already set upon a large serving plate and ready to go on the table. Muffins and more cookies were sitting upon cooling racks, hot from coming out of the oven. The bit that Nightmare hoped would be the centrepiece, a large chocolate cake, was baking away inside the oven. There was some time remaining until it was ready to come out, so Nightmare had made himself busy cleaning up while Horror prepared the icing.

With so much baking, there was an equally large amount of washing up to do. And there would probably be more, judging by Horror’s mumbling that these were not proper breakfast foods. But the other was getting less twitchy with each piece Nightmare cleaned, and therefore removed from Horror’s workspace; the other never did take well to not having as much room as he liked to work.

The icing seemed to be coming along fine; Nightmare had initially wanted it to be black but Horror had argued for a creamy white instead, stating it was more visible and more appealing. Nightmare had ended up conceding. It wasn’t going to be anything fancy anyways, just a layer over the top with a couple of pre-made decorations. But he hoped it looked good anyway.

Nightmare took a moment to step away from the sink, to look in on Killer and check that the other was okay. He could still hear Killer’s soft snores, but he wished to check anyways. Killer was still soundly asleep on the chair. He’d twisted his blanket lose at some point but he remained happily dreaming away. Nightmare tucked him back in and ran a hand gently over his skull with a smile before he returned to the kitchen. He stopped short in the doorway, however, staring frustrated at a new, silent arrival.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed quietly. Horror, who had apparently also been unaware of their new companion, turned to look at Nightmare before looking to the fifth member of their group. Cross stood almost like a guilty child, having previously been staring at the baking chocolate cake with hungry eyes before Nightmare spoke. Now he shuffled his feet, giving Nightmare an embarrassed smile.

“I smelled chocolate?” Nightmare rolled his eyes; stars, Cross’ love of chocolate was almost as bad as Error’s. Even worse, the other seemed to be completely awake now. There was no way Nightmare was going to be able to convince Cross to go back to sleep in this state. The way that Cross was sneaking looks at the cake again only reinforced the idea.

“You can’t have that, it’s still baking!” Cross gave him a big-eyed look and Nightmare let out a sigh in response. “The answer is still ‘no’. You can stop the sad eyes.” Cross’ expression turned into a pout, prompting a huffed laugh from Horror.

“An early cookie?” Horror spoke, gesturing to the cool plate. “For help cleaning?” This was bribery and probably not something Nightmare wanted to encourage in the long term, but Cross was already nodding his head enthusiastically and Nightmare knew when he was bested.

“Just one, though. I think Horror has plans for breakfast.”

“Pancakes.” The other skeleton nodded and Cross’ eyes lit up around the cookie he’d already stuffed into his mouth.

“With chocolate chips?” He turned a pleading glance to Horror, prompting another short laugh.

“Chips.” Horror agreed. “If you help.” That was all the encouragement that Cross needed and the monochrome skeleton soon started packing dirty dishes into the sink for cleaning. Nightmare shook his head but smiled at the sight, stepping around Horror’s path to the fridge with the finished icing in order to take his place next to Cross at the sink. The other was working quickly, as though cleaning faster would make the time to eating fly by quicker too. Still, even with Cross’ fast pace, there was likely still an hour or more of work left for them. Even more, as he saw Horror was going to make pancakes from scratch; at least they would have tasty treats for their hard work.

They’d managed to complete all the washing and had started packing away the things that were already dry. Horror was completing the last of the pancakes, having stated that he would clean the frying pan he was using once he was done and not to wait for him. That, at least, gave time for Nightmare and Cross to start placing plates of treats on the table and putting away things that were no longer needed. Nightmare wiped down the counter while Cross scurried around with dry cooking implements, trying to put them away without getting in the way of anyone. Nightmare took a moment to breathe and take in what they’d managed to accomplish. Even when he started, he had figured that he wouldn’t have been able to complete everything by himself in the little time he had. But, with some help, he’d not only managed to get everything ready but Horror was also making something extra. It had been a good night.

“Please don’t tell me that you’ve been here all night.” Nightmare looked over, no longer panicked at the sight of a new arrival; he had nothing left to hide anymore. Error gazed back with an unamused expression, eyes darting from one face to another. “Well?” He questioned again.

“Been here half.” Horror shook his head slowly.

“I only got here a bit ago.” Cross piped up. They all turned to look at Nightmare, who felt his face flushing.

“Yes.” Error gave a disgusted sigh before shaking his head, stepping into the kitchen proper.

“Okay, next question: what were you doing that made Dust curious enough to wake me up so I could ask?”

“Aww, Error,” The spoken-of devil appeared in the doorway, holding a still half-asleep Killer bridal style in his arms. “Ya weren’ supposed t’ say that. Tha othas didn’ tell.” Nightmare gave a look around the room and found faces with varying degrees of guilt staring back at him.

“Breakfast is done.” Horror slid the last pancake onto the plate next to him and turned off the heat. He picked up the last plate of finished food. “We should eat. Then Nightmare can talk.”

“Food?” A drowsy Killer mumbled, gaining some alertness from the smell of breakfast.

“Food!” Cross enthusiastically agreed, almost bouncing in place and grinning much like the child that he never got to be. Nightmare sighed fondly and shook his head; he supposed he’d been cryptic for long enough.

“Fine. Let’s eat.”

“Okay, so let’s narrow the field of possibilities.” Error started as he drizzled his pancakes with chocolate sauce. They all sat at the round dining table, each with their own stack of pancakes with toppings in front of them.

“It’s not a birthday,” Killer said, shovelling a forkful of berry pancakes with chocolate syrup into his mouth.

“And it’s not a holiday,” Cross added; Nightmare couldn’t understand how Cross could eat his chocolate chip pancakes with nothing else on them. Didn’t that make them so dry?

“It’s not an anniversary,” Horror began, plain pancakes with the traditional butter and maple syrup before him. Nightmare coughed before he could finish and five sets of eyes turned to him.

“It ‘tis?” Dust set down his fork and Nightmare could almost see the gears turning in his head, trying to understand and dissect the new problem before him until it revealed an answer. His berry pancakes with chocolate sauce were abandoned as he worked through this new brain teaser. “It’s not ah day any of us met, or ah day any of us got togetha…” He trailed off, clearly trying to think.

“When did this event happen? How many years ago?” Error looked over at him as he asked, making a face at Nightmare’s pancakes as he caught sight of them. Nightmare rolled his eyes; honestly, their pancakes were all too sweet. Lemon juice and sugar were perfect for him.

“Three years ago.” Dust sat forward suddenly, making Cross yelp in surprise.

“Three years?” Nightmare nodded in response and Dust sat back chuckling.

“Why, Nighty, ah never took ya for the sentimental type.” The other members of the team looked at Dust in confusion, clearly not understanding why this was important or how it revealed any answers. Dust hummed, leaning back in his chair with his hands resting behind his head.

“Ain’t today the day those starry-eyed guys first started calling us ‘the Bad Sans Team’?” The others blinked for a moment before turning to look at Nightmare for confirmation. He nodded, and the rest soon broke out into soft chuckles.

“Really, Night? All this for such a small thing.” Error gestured to the large spread of sweets and treats that covered the table. “I’d almost forgotten that they were even the ones to come up with that name, never mind the day that they did.” Nightmare shuffled, rubbing the back of his skull as his cheekbones turned blue.

“It’s not the words, it’s what they mean.” He’d only mumbled it but the others heard all of it, looking at him silently for him to elaborate. Nightmare took a deep breath; he wasn’t good with verbalising his feelings but he needed to for this.

“It’s the day we first agreed that we were a team, that we would be there for each other.” He was looking down at his plate, face bright blue, fear making him unable to look at his datemates’ faces. “No matter what they threw at us, we would be a family; our family.” There was a long pause after he’d finished speaking, fear crawled within him before he finally looked up; and he saw five smiling, blushing faces staring back at him.

“Nightmare’s right,” Horror said, taking the container of juice and filling his cup with it before handing it to Killer. “A toast?” He offered, holding up the cup.

“For our anniversary?” Killer questioned, though he filled his own cup and passed the container along.

“And for our family.” Error added, filling both Dust’s cup and his own before handing it to Cross. Cross filled the last two cups and each member took hold of their own. Hands meeting in the middle, over a spread of effort and love, and Nightmare could feel happy tears starting to prick in the corners of his eye sockets as he gazed at the faces around him; those he would always love and trusted to always love him in return.

“Happy anniversary, everyone.”

“Happy anniversary!”

[ecotone99]

[SF] Time Freezes for everyone but one man - "God Bless You, Philippe Audiarde"

Father Bernard,

I write to you under the cover of night, near candlelight, as the snores of our fellow Fathers fill the adjacent room. I know not what is in my power of disclosure, nor what will, through the guiding hand of God, reach your ears. I pray the good man Big John will see to it you receive this letter, as I have received yours.

I want to assure you that what you have heard is not imaginary. The disturbance you have felt around you, and the whispers in the halls of our great Church, are real. There are letters, hundreds of them, from all over the world. As we speak, they are being studied at all four corners of the Church, shielded from the prying eyes of the public, penned by what we are calling “The Man From Nowhere.”

I, along with Father Birmingham, Father Theroux, and Father Wilson, are working under the tutelage of the Archbishop Bartolucci, and have been tasked with the reading and summation of the writing that follows the ‘Great Rambling.’

But beyond this period, and in the year since the discovery of the letters, I have been fortunate enough to read the collection in its entirety. I even have, in my possession, a great number of transcriptions, which, in a moment, I will share with you.

The letters were written by a man named Philippe Audiarde. In them, he described an event, precipitated by “a deep and terrible sneeze” (Letter 1, 2 years after freeze, denoted by ‘AF’) — a sneeze so great, Father, that what would succeed it is unimaginable, unthinkable, and unbelievable. The world, he said, went silent. Philippe Audiarde, if the letters are to be believed, found himself in “a world without time” (Letter 1, 2 AF), where all around him had frozen. And, for the next 44, 519 years, Philippe Audiarde would compose 776 letters, or, at the very least, a total of 776 letters have survived his journey through non-time.

I can understand, Father Bernard, if it is your natural inclination to declare this a bold-faced hoax. This reaction has been most fortunate for the Church. As the letters were discovered, and rumours circulated, the Church has promptly steered public opinion to just that—rumours. That being said, it is the official opinion of our group of Fathers, and by our holy extension, the Church, and the historians who have viewed the letters, and the men of science who have verified the age, that these letters are exactly as old, and as real, as they claim to be.

However, there is a problem. The turmoil these letters are causing, in both our small group, and the Church at large, has been troubling. I myself know not what to make of it. If the letters are to be trusted, and again, I believe they are, what are we to believe about our world? What is the public to believe? How could the Church still remain the moral and metaphysical authority when it offers so little guidance in the face of this apparent phenomenon? It can’t, and it doesn’t, which is why I fear that should these letters be made public, the Church may crumble. And at the same time, I see wisdom and sincerity in the words. I see a man emerging from eternity to guide us home. So, I’m at an impasse, and I know not how to proceed.

Which is why I am writing this letter to you, Father Bernard. I have always trusted your judgement, advice and council, and I need it now more than ever. I shall summarize the letters for you here, some in full, some in my own words, and should you deem them worthy for the world to see, so be it—I will release Philippe Audiarde to the world.

These are the full facts, as I know them.

Philippe Audiarde (of which, no formal record exists) was a French bricklayer who was born on a small farm outside of Paris in 1855. The terrible, time-stopping sneeze occurred over a coffee with his brother, Tomás (of which, again, no record exists). They owned a bricklaying company called the “Audiarde Brothers” (of which, I am sure you can surmise, no record exists) together in Paris, and were discussing payment from an outstanding client. He was, and would forever remain, thirty eight years old.

Throughout his ostensibly infinite lifespan, he would be constantly “struck by the weirdness of it all” (Letter 612, 32,415 AF), the inconsistent nature of his world. Some of his bodily processes still progressed as if they were moving forward in time, like the growth of his hair or toenails, but he felt no hunger, or thirst, and didn’t require anything to run his bodily engine. It was, he was, outside of the laws of physics—a machine in perpetual motion, while everything around him was still. As such, he no longer ate, drank, or used the toilet, except in the rare—until he would stop altogether—times he would indulge in food or beverage. When he looked up to the sky, the moon and the stars and the sun hung motionless.

“What heavenly strings hold them up, while I prance around earth, is a mystery as mighty as the universe’s great and enduring questions” (Letter 47, 410 AF).

Philippe would go on, filling most of his early letters and sparing no detail, to write of the juvenile and craven acts he would perform during his first weeks and months alone. I will say that the sins committed were primarily sexual in nature, Father Bernard, but I’ll leave those barbaric details up to your imagination. Granted, this period was short—an infancy in the time of Philippe, but, should his word be released, I suspect Philippian detractors shall give great credence to this period, to point to it and say, “ah hah! There he is, Philippe The Damned.” But, it seems clear to me, that just as a rebellious child tests his new world, so did Philippe, pushing it to the limits of human depravity, until he knew not what to do with himself.

“I tried to get it to start again today,” he writes, in his fourth letter, in the fourth year after the freeze. “Time, that is. I want out. I need out. I am going mad in this place. It is a purgatory. A hell, maybe. Thoughts of death often cross my mind and perhaps I am already dead. Already a soul wandering an afterlife. But how to start it again? Pepper lines my nostrils and I have sneezed a thousand different ways. I roar from the bottom of my guts, but still I am here alone.”

For 34 years, Philippe would wander the world, looking for answers to his time-stuck questions, but the world, in its stillness, remained silent. Then, one day, he had an awakening, a movement of spirit.

“I sit here in the Stuttgart Library, surrounded by once living vessels of knowledge, wondering: what does a man do with all this time? I’ve rowed the seven still seas, hiked windless deserts, explored the dark side of the earth, and laid low in the shadows of foreign lands. But looking around I realize that other lands lay at my fingertips. That the worlds created by man are near infinite. I have the unique chance to hear from them, speak to them across centuries, to open up their minds and explore what they want to show me. I’ve been granted an audience with all of mankind and I dare not waste it any longer” (Letter 5, 38 AF).

What would follow—and I’ll be brief with my summation, Father Bernard, because this is not my area of expertise—was an “Age of Consumption,” during the years 38 AF to 1786 AF. Philippe, during this period of consumption, roamed the world’s libraries, consuming every text known to man, including literature, biographies, plays, and poetry. He learned multiple languages (and would begin to write his letters in English), produced his own works of fiction (which are breathtaking, I assure you), he transcribed history, memorized and reproduced philosophical texts word for word—if his letters are free of embellishment—studied ancient rhetoric, until he finally, after a long and arduous battle with the subjective arts, made his way to science.

Objectivity, however, in a world like his, didn’t exist. The basic laws of physics weren’t congruent to the things he saw and experienced. Without that baseline to build a coherent understanding of his world, science was, at best, a doctrine from another land, and at worst, simple fairy tales that didn’t match up with his day to day knowledge.

Take letter 334, dated 1786 AF, which began with the words, “I now know death” and tells of an experience he had, which science would not dare take up or explain (and when has science ever touched upon a terrible, time-stopping sneeze?). Philippe was in a small rowboat, on the English Channel, when he slipped, hit his head, and plunged into the murky depths. While he cannot recall the events that took place immediately after, what he does know is that he regained consciousness, without any serious injury, on a shoreline near Dieppe, France, his boat nowhere in sight. Let me be candid, Father Bernard—does this not sound like a man being guided by the hand of a God?

After this event, one thing was clear to Philippe: it was the end of any illusions he had regarding the power of science to explain his world. “This event has reminded me, as I often forget, that I know nothing of where I am, who I am, or what I am. Only that I am trapped here with nothing but time ahead of me. I understand now that not even death can be my escape.”

Philippe’s ostensible death would engender a period of great confusion. This era, as I had mentioned previously, Father Bernard, I call, “The Great Rambling,” though others are partial to calling it the “Philippian Dark Ages.” While it precedes my area of study, I believe it precipitates it. I will, first of all, grant you (and others) that this is a period of somewhat incoherent thought, the ravings, perhaps, of a madman, but there are glimmers of truth throughout this period of writing.

For example, this section of letter 448, in 23, 418 AF: “Time. Time. Time. All I have is time and nothing else. An abundance of time. Man-made time. But what is time with no point to compare it to? Does it exist? I move forward but nothing else does. Is a point on a map a point if there is nothing but infinity in either direction? Where does it exist without context? Do I exist? Am I existence? Questions lead me nowhere because I am nowhere in time. I am the man from nowhere. No context. No place to go, no place to be. A whisper with no ears to hear me. Writing to no one. Writing to not-me, future-me, current-me, past-me. Who am I? Why was I chosen? Why am I here? Is it my goal, my purpose, to explore the far reaches of madness? To discover what one is capable of, when he has the time to build it, to achieve it? I have no wants, no goals, no far-fetched future to strive to. How can I achieve anything when there is no one to advance my achievements, no one to build upon them, no one to clap their hands at hard-fought sweat. What is man without another? A void. I am a void. I am a hiccup. I am an error of God, who forgot one of his lonely creatures in the crevices of time. Will he one day remember me? Will he one day pluck me from this place? Would he deem me worthy of the context of time? Or is that his goal? Am I here to learn, so that I can bring back my troubles to mankind? Lift them up from an opium of time, through a time-stuck seance, and give them the word of Philippe, all that I’ve learned, all that I know, for them and them alone. Am I conduit for God. Is this his purpose at work? Or am I systematic error of the universe? Is there a difference?”

Tell me, Father Bernard, am I imagining it all? Or is there is an inkling here, a sparkle of something akin to a religious moment, where our dear Mr. Audiarde begins to understand his greater purpose. I read his words and see a dull blade being sharpened by time. He begins, like a wandering prophet, to understand his purpose. His eyes glaze over, and God speaks to him, through him. Is not God one and the same—a creature out of time? Take his statement, “Will he one day remember me? Will he one day pluck me from this place?” He understands his damnation, this purgatory of time-stuck cleansing, but still, he moves forward without any destination. Is he being tested, as many who have heard the word of God have been tested before? Are these the words of the Almighty, coming through our dear Mr. Audiarde? Have they found their way to me, so that I, Father McFerrin, could share them with the world? Am I, with my own humble beginnings, being called to be the messenger for God? Am I being tested?

Perhaps this is the kernel of truth that I was looking for when I set out to write to you, Father Bernard. I did not see it until now, had not realized my own potential purpose in these machinations of God, but here we are. I can feel a spirit moving from within me, and I am now, as these words spill out onto the page, trembling with anticipation, but let us not stop here. Let us move on to perhaps his greatest work! The Treatise, dated 43,526 AF, was the 775th piece of writing penned by Philippe. In this work, his handwriting is slightly altered, as if it were written in haste, or as if a great wave of inspiration filled his spirit, and propelled his hand movements. It is on the longer side, at 98 pages, but not near the longest of the Philippian letters. It begins with a short story, a parable perhaps, titled “Do Geese See God?” about a young child who glimpses his own relative mortality while caring for a dying goose. In the final moments, the young protagonist sees his own reflection in the eyes of the goose, and he understands, for the first time in his short life, that all things must die. It is as if, Father Bernard, he is himself a god coveting the brief lives of us mere mortals, looking upon us from the heavenly altar of non-time, and creating his own fictional universe, where death is real and everywhere. While it is a moving experience for the reader, I believe its true audience is our dear Philippe himself, who is suffering from an eternity of stillness, yearning for mortality. With no end in sight, his only recourse is to instead warn us, which he does in the next section, the heart of the treatise. Here is one part, Father, in his own words.

“My dear reader. You who are the legions of the unstuck. Those fortunate souls who are cursed with a short 70 to 90 years. To the universe you are nothing but a whisper in the wind. You will create nothing. You will be nothing. You glimpse life. You grasp out to take it and before you can grab hold, your fire is put out, never to see flame again. This ephemeral gasp at life is both your noble curse and your salvation. You’ll find reminders of your mortality appearing in all aspects of life, in every society, on every mountain and at the bottom of every bog. You’ll think about it on rainy days and dark nights, when you’re tucked into bed or when you look into your lover’s eyes. Unlike me, who is damned to exist outside of time, you are mortal and your time is short. Do with it as you like. I give you permission. I give you the freedom but with an offering of hope. There is more to this world than what you simply experience, more than you can fit into a day. Life is full of the wondrous and the strange and I am here, a prophet whispering from another land, to tell you not to fear it. Because none of this is real. What is real is beyond you, beyond all of this, and beyond me. I know not what to call it except Godliness, and it is everywhere.”

I can still remember the first time I read these words, Father Bernard. I was, as I am now, overrun with emotion, taken back by their bluntness. At first, I tried to bury them beneath a lifetime of church-borne theology, where there were no more prophets, and no more words of God, but who am I to shun this man? Who am I to say that this isn’t the word of God speaking through Philippe Audiarde? Who am I to say this isn’t an act of self-sacrifice, to guide the world home?

As you know, I am only a man of God. I have known nothing but a life of devotion and faith. I have dedicated my whole life to one text, only to discover another, as true and rich and improbable as any that came before it. But to be told, with such sincerity, the conviction of which could only be borne out of forty four thousand years alone in a purgatory, that there is something more than this life, something close to God, as I have always known, has cryalistized in my mind an act of truth.

How could I, now that I know this, turn away from this man? Do I not have an oath to God, and not the Church? Isn’t that where my allegiance lies, Father Bernard? Isn’t that where yours lies, as well? Is it not my duty, as a servant of God’s will, to spread his word far and wide? And hasn’t Philippe suffered more than any prophet before him? He has lived an eternity, unanswered. Who would I be to not heed his words? To let the words of this man, my prophet, disappear with the wind. To come so close to Godliness, only to turn my back on it. I would be a coward, not deserving of the title of Father. I would be no man of God. I would be nothing. No one. But with this, it is an opportunity to show the spirit of God that resides within me, to become the bearer of Philippe’s words, which are holy and true, purified by an eternity of time, and spread them forth.

And so, my answer has become clear and my purpose is all but done. With my help, acting as the messenger of a prophet, a new age will be upon us and it will be the Philippian age. And our good Church, if it is acting in the interest of God, and not its own motives, will recognize it for what it is: a new path forward, closer to His Holiness, with the venerable Philippe at its helm.

I have only one question left, Father Bernard: Are you with me?

Signed, Father McFerrin on the holy day of May 10th, 1894.

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[getoutoftheweeds-blog]

Sleep Hacks – 6 Ways I Get a Better Night’s Sleep

Sleep better = live better

There is no doubt a good night’s sleep is a major part of getting the most out of life.  But, it is not always easy to get to sleep, stay asleep or get enough sleep.   I have struggled with getting enough shut-eye lately.  So, I decided tackle this problem head on by (re)trying out a few things. 

Here are 6 things that really help me out when it comes to getting the best sleep I can.

No Blue Screen – Read instead:  It has been suggested the blue light spectrum signals your body that it is daytime and suppresses your natural melatonin production.  Blue light is what you get from your phone, T.V. and other devices.  So, I’ve been shutting off my devices an hour earlier than I used to.  This has given me the opportunity to read, journal or talk with my wife more.  Honestly, I have been going to bed about 30 minutes earlier than I used to by turning off the devices an hour earlier.

Nighttime routine: Routines are just behavior patterns.  I have a morning routine.  By the time I’m done with the routine, I’m fully awake, no coffee needed. (Coffee is still desired though.)  A routine is a signal for your body.  So why not have a routine that ushers in a good night’s sleep?  My wife and kids do this, and it seems to work just fine.  So, I have been copying them, trying to get my own routine dialed in.  It is working.  By the time I’m done, I have no desire to do anything else other than go to bed.

Get your stuff ready for the morning:  This is part of my routine, but deserves a little bit of differentiation.  To make my morning routine as efficient as possible, I lay out my clothes, food and anything else needed for the next day the night before.  I do this to eliminate stress in the morning.  Also, if I have all my stuff laid out, I don’t have to worry about waking anyone else up by fumbling through drawers and closets.  For the sleep side, I can go to bed without the stress of trying to remember everything I’ll need for the next day.

Brain Dump:  I have a lot going through my mind.  I know you do, too.  I have been taking a few minutes and just getting these thoughts out of my brain.  For me, it is random stuff that gets stuck in my head and keeps me from going to sleep.  If I write them down, I create some separation from the thought and won’t forget to explore it later.  My brain seems satisfied enough with this that it’ll allow me go to sleep. 

Get in the bed early:  I can’t sleep in.  That is not to say I couldn’t sleep in, but everything in my house gets up before the sun comes up.  That means I can’t sleep late.  Also, I really like getting up at the same time every day.  There is something peaceful about that.  If I want to get more sleep, I have to go to bed earlier.  If I am honest with myself, I am only productive for about an hour after the kids go to bed, so why stay up later than that?  Sleep is more beneficial than more YouTube or Netflix.  A few years ago, once a month, I made it a point to go to bed when the kids did.  Those were some of the best night’s sleep I have ever had.  I had the benefits of sleeping in, but was still up early.  Going to bed earlier has had no negative side effects.  I think you should try it, too.

Topical Magnesium: This is a spray I put on before I go to bed.  Magnesium has been used as a sleep aid for hundreds of years.  I’m not 100% sure how it works, but it works for me.  When I use it, I get deeper sleep with more vivid dreams.  This means I wake up less often during the night.  For me, that alone is worth using it.  It is said that many folks are deficient in magnesium.  If you are having trouble staying asleep, this may be something you want to try.

Things I’ve tried, but now avoid:

Melatonin:  I have tried a few different natural “sleepy time” products that had added melatonin in it.  I couldn’t tell a major improvement of sleep quality or quantity.  Also, there has been some research which indicates the use of external melatonin causes your body to produce less in response.  This means that after a short period of time, you can’t go to sleep at all without exogenous melatonin.  I don’t want that to happen to me. 

OTC sleep aids (Night Ibuprofen for example): I have taken these in the past to help me fall asleep when I didn’t think I could.  For example, I have taken this right before long plane flights across the country.  I have taken nighttime ibuprofen with some good effect after long races or other sustained efforts that left me beat up, drained yet unable to go to sleep.  It kept some inflammation down, took the edge off some soreness and helped me to fall asleep.  I know those cases are because of hormone imbalances.  Those are rare exceptions.  The problem for me is that it is hard to wake up after I take an OTC sleep aid.  Even if taken at night, I struggle to get going the next morning.  I have never awakened after taking a sleep aid and said, “Wow! I feel refreshed!” 

Alcohol: Alcohol is a depressant, so in theory it should help you go to sleep, right?  That doesn’t seem to be the case for me.  In fact, I feel more energetic when I consume alcohol.  In addition, I just don’t get good quality sleep after consuming it.  In fact, I know if I consume alcohol right before bed I will wake up more often during the night, I won’t sleep as long and I will most likely awake still feeling tired. 

Herbal Tea and other warm decaffeinated beverages:  I figured I would sleep better if I got some warm liquids in me.  This has been a home remedy for thousands of years.  The problem is that it simply doesn’t work on me.  It seems that any liquid I take in before bed is destined to keep me awake until I empty my bladder.  This might work better if I had better timing.  But as of right now, it doesn’t help at all.

Travel Sleep hacks:

Use a sleep mask:  I have trouble sleeping if there is light in the room.  My ideal sleep spot would be deep in a cave somewhere without any electricity.  Every hotel room I have ever stayed in is flooded with light.  The curtains always let a sliver of light through, the T.V. and microwave always have a light on and the smoke detector flashes at me all night long.  To combat this, I pull out my trusty buff and wear it like a blindfold.  This helps me get to sleep despite all the light pollution in the room. 

Drop the temperature of the room:  In order to simulate my ideal cave sleep room, I drop the temp of the room down before I go to sleep.  I make sure that it is cold enough to need the blanket that is on the bed.  If I don’t, I just can’t stay at sleep. 

Ear Plugs:  Along with the light pollution, there is a ton of noise pollution at hotels as well.  I can hear the road, the kids upstairs, the T.V. in the next room and the stairwell door slamming shut over and over again.  To combat this, I use foam earplugs.  The foam ones are soft enough not to hurt if I sleep on my side.  Also, foam plugs tend to have the best noise reduction rate. 

Keep my schedule the same as when I am at home:  I travel across time zones a lot.  But, if I am going to be out for less than a week, I try to keep my schedule on Eastern Time, just like I would be at home.  This way, I am not completely thrown out-of-whack in a couple days. 

In conclusion, sleep is important.  Get enough of it.  There are folks out there that can thrive on a few hours’ sleep.  They are the exception to the rule.  Make sure you are getting the amount you need.  If you need better sleep, give these tips and tricks a try.  If you try one (or all) of them, let us know how it worked for you. 

We can’t wait to hear from you.

[lucidpoetry-blog]

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