Thursday 22 December 2016

I'm feeling weird so I made some poems

Hey Rhys,

Still no word from you, your love, or anyone who might know you whereabouts. I’ve been thinking a lot about you still though, I think it be almost a 50/50 split between you and X.


I know I’m supposed to be trying to reduce the amount of time I think about X, but the other day I tried writing some poems about my own break up, from scratch. They were not very good. I realised that I can’t write about X at all, but I’m not sure if it’s because I loved him too much, or not enough. I don’t think it’s the first one. And I don’t think I loved X as much as you two love each other. I mean, I was crushed when I found out about him and Vern, but I guess it was more because V was supposed to be my friend, right? But I think I’m figuring out that that’s what hurt me more, Vern being the other person, the other half who broke my hearts. She tore off the bigger pieces, I think.


Anyway, I gave up trying to turn my pain into art, even though I’ve read that it’s a very good way to deal with it, and reread the diaries I found in Sal’s files instead. I know that for Earth people what counted as poetry was a little bit different to what counts as poetry to us. But as I was reading over the diaries again, these words started to jump out at me, words and a few whole phrases. It was really weird, I've never reacted to words this way before. But every time I read them over something activates, a sound starts to bounce around. I read a paper on this human thing called synesthesia for Human History, I think it might be something like that. 

Anyway, after I figured this out I re-read them again, to see if the words changed, if they were like ripples in oil or fingerprints or whatever. But they didn’t change. Same words, same order.

I’m not sure if this is me dealing with my own sore heart, or something bigger, maybe one of you is trying to reach me? Either way, it feels like it means something, so I’m going to put them up here, too. If we all read things differently, then everything has the potential to be poetry, I guess.

Anyway, I made some voice recordings of the poems, I borrowed Sal's vox translator so that my voice will be clearer, and easier to understand. What you are reading here, if you are reading this, is the Earth version of this blog, and I know you communicate in both audio and written language, so I’m posting both. I’m trying to make as many different versions of this blog as I can, for as many different species, in case either you  or your love has made it to somewhere that isn't one of our stations. I've been trying to figure out if the garden ne has written about in the first scraps is one of ours, but it doesn't sound anything like a fuel station, or a hospital. It’s taking me a while, I don’t really get a lot of sleep these days. I love doing it, though. Anyway, I hope you can understand what I am saying. To be honest, I’m not even sure yet either. 

And again, if you can hear/read me, Rhys, or have any more information for me, or you want to get in touch, send me an email at therhysfiles@gmail.com


Wednesday 14 December 2016

Apology/Zero Gravity

Okay, I need to get some words out, because I've been feeling really weird, there's this weight clinging to my body, it's kind of like that feeling you get when you remove off-ship suit to go inside but for some reason it still feels like you're wearing it. Even writing this down feels weird, I would never say a sentence like that out loud. I guess that's the whole point of this blog, though, to help me work through this tangled mess of feelings, all this stuff that's jammed in with hearts and ribs and other bits and pieces. I hope this gets easier when I cross over into my second century. Anyway. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, I fucked up, Rhys. I don't know why I assumed your love was a 'girl', that was real shit of me and I am sorry. I could try and blame it on the translation program, but you and I both know that a translation program is only as good as the information you put into it. Maybe I was projecting myself on to nem, because it seems like you both love each other a lot, and I thought it would be nice to imagine myself being loved that much. But that's not fair to you or nem, you have your own thing going and you're own pain and I shouldn't be trying to hijack that just to make myself feel better. I guess I'm just feeling a bit fried because while I was looking for information about X's sleeper in Sal's Records I found some video files. I know I should not have opened them but I did because what else does someone who feels pretty smashed up inside do? And of course seeing that face kissing all over Vern's face smashed me up a little more, and yes my hearts feel like they've been hurled outside and left to be crushed between two asteroids, until they are nothing but gross blue smears on the surface of some pretty space rock. Anyway. That doesn't excuse me from assuming nir pronouns. So I'm sorry. I will go back and change them but I thought I should make this clear first.
Anyway. While I was going through some of Sal's  video files, I found more scraps that I think you should see. I think they must be parts of a ship captain's video logs, but they're not like any ship log, or from any ship 
Anyway, there's a whole bunch of files, but it seems like Sal's only been able to open up two of them so far,  and I feel like there should definitely be more, that they're just two pieces of a much larger picture. And I'm still figuring out how to convert them into a format I can upload onto this blog (it's a fucking nightmare just so you know). But just in case you see this before I am able to upload it, I have transcribed the text. I'll see if I can get some audio up, but if not, I guess I'll just make some of my own, probably like last time, except perhaps a bit less abstract. It was strange, actually, seeing your love's face, and hearing nir voice. I'd read those garden scraps over so many times I thought I knew what nir voice would sound like. Projecting again, I guess.
Anyway, they go like this:
[Your love (?) puts on nir space helmet]
You know what all those books and movies and video games about space don't tell you? How great it is to masturbate at zero gravity. Lately I've been try and make it so that when I come, I've rotated exactly 180 degrees and am perfectly upside down. It's harder than you think, but I'm doing a pretty good job practising. Fuck, they had pretty eyes. And at least masturbating distracts me from the fact that the closer I get to where Earth should be, the more debris we seem to be flying into.
[Your love (?) wipes  tears into nir cheeks]
Maybe they are in space now, too. They were always talking about it, about heading for one of the moons of Jupiter. Maybe I'll find them out here, somewhere hiding in amongst the stars, the way they used to hide underneath my bed sometimes, waiting for me. That’d be really great, because I need someone to share the rest of this bourbon with. I need to tell them how good having no gravity has been for my episodes, how I hardly ever have them anymore. I need ...
Maybe they're in that ship that I saw on the radar this morning. For a second I thought it might be earth, and I almost blacked out from relief. But it's too small to be a planet, and moving too quickly. They seem pretty close, but when I tried to make out the shape of it through the window, all I could see was space rocks and maybe bits of Earth.
What do you think, Rhys? Is this nem? And are you they?  I hope that if you did escape, you kept going past Jupiter's moons, and that you got somewhere that's actually kind of safe, that the ship that picked you up was a safe one. Also I am curious about what your eyes look like, given that they are enough to get your love off. Watching these videos squeezes my banged up heart a little, actually, not just because of your love's sore sounding voice when ne are speaking about you, but also because I guess this is before ne found out  what has happened to nir planet.
Anyway. If you know something  about Rhys, or  please get in contact with me at therhysfiles@gmail.com. Also, I tried the masturbation thing, and ne is right, it is fucking amazing.

I'll talk to you soon. I don't want to write anymore today. 

Scraps

I made some music. I hope you like it.

5.
I thought gardens were supposed to be loud. And dark. I thought they were supposed to smell sweet, like rotting things, like garbage dumps. But this one is fresh planted, weeks old. The trees have barely taken root. I bet I could pull that fan palm by the corner door out single handed. I bet I could tear the whole place up, just me. And it is just me here, it has been just me here for days.
There’s been no sign of Rhys so far, but I’ve been looking. And they have plants here that help me remember them. Not the kind of remembering that makes me sad; it brings them here, out of my chest and into the space beside me. Laying on their back with their legs crossed underneath them. Combing their hair out into a thick blond halo and chewing cherry flavoured gum.
I started writing this down because I’m getting lonely. I got so used to speaking to the video log that when I couldn't anymore, a large space opened up, and needed to be filled. A blank page is a different size to a camera lens, it fills a different space in my head and I'm having difficulty shifting things around. I still read the words out loud as I write them down.
4. 


The garden was designed by me, even though the Earth they want was never the Earth I knew. Everything I’ve asked for came from this CD rom called Encarta 95. Rhys found it in a dumpster before I knew them, and gave it to me when they found out that I could read.  And I read all of it, on their stolen laptop, on long nights when they weren't in their room, or mine, when they were out with someone else. I learnt a lot about growing things that way. There was this entry, I highlighted every word. I'd read it so many times I can still write it out, word for word, more or less.
“The rosemary plant is a woody perennial herb native to the Mediterranean region. It is a member of the mint family, and its name is derives from the Latin for "dew" (ros) and "sea" (marinus), or "dew of the sea". Taking a draught made from the flowers of the plant has been said to allow access to deep pockets of memory. Some say that if you drink it hot, you will be able to commune with the dead.”
I didn't think they'd find it, I wasn't sure if it even existed. But it does, and they did. It has broad green, almost blue leaves and large, full petals that glow neon pink.
3.


Today the moths were released into the garden. I told the architect that if he wanted the plants to grow here like they used to do on Earth, they’d need moths to keep things going.
“Are you sure?” he’d asked at first, “that doesn't sound right.” But then I showed him an orchid I had found with dark spotted and yellowing leaves, and I spoke with such authority and earnestness, he decided that it must be true. Bees would have been the best to have, I think, but I want moths, for Rhys.
“We need to name our gang,” they'd said. We were sitting on the roof of the ALDI building divvying up some of the stolen loot between us, as I checked items off the list on the back of my hand. I was a better thief than them, I mastered sleight of hand, but they took more risks, went harder for bigger stuff. That time, they'd managed to steal a small gas bottle, two cans of mid strength beer and a packet of salt and vinegar chips from a fuelling station.
“I think there needs to be more than two people in a gang” I'd said, cracking open my beer, letting it fizz and drip down my hand.
Rhys ignored me, taking a long sip of their own beer, looking out over the rooftops. They'd already settled on a name for us; the Bohe - moths.
“Because moths like the dark?” I'd asked. They'd shrugged. I could feel the beer warming me up from the inside out, like I was being microwaved.
“Sure. Want to hear my moth call?”
All night, the lights are kept on inside the garden; if plants need sun to grow, why not let the sun burn all the time? But tonight the moths have gathered round the light fixtures, in clouds so thick it almost feels like night. They clump, but they don't make the sound that Rhys made. They rustle, like little leaves.
2.



The garden is a good place to be hungover. When the comedown from remembering Rhys gets too much, I go and sit in the river I made them make for me. At first it didn't look right, with the high sides cut into the floor, the black plastic laid down, it looked like the nasty canals that used to carry the trash out into the bay. But now the roots of the low growing plants have started to creep over and cover up the sharp edges with their soft mosses.
Holy shit can you believe this? We were hunting for bird-kill, and somehow made it to some real, running water. The colour was green-black, old bruisey and oil thick. I wanted to dip my fingers into this water, but part of me, the scared part, was afraid that they would come out just bones. The surface was flat, but when the sun hit it glittered like wet roads at night. When this happened, I was filled with wanting to kiss Rhys, but instead I pulled their hair, and they pinched me under the ribs.
“First one in’s a pile of trash!” they'd cried.
“A pile of bones,” I'd said, “And you're already a pile of trash.” They pinched me again, on the nipple. I flinched away, and reached for their upper arm. This was always how we were together, hands on each other all the time. Sometimes softer, sometimes much harder than this.
The architect came to see me again today. I told him, “We need more water.”
“We've given you so much already,” he said. He squinted at me in the moth-made dark.
“It's not enough.” I said, “Our plants, and our animals, and our people, we need water all the time.”
He shook his head, looked down at me sitting in the river he designed for me.
“No wonder your planet broke,” he said.
1.



I think the garden is almost ready now. I've walked down every path, marked off every plant from the list on the back of my hand. But there are new things starting to grow now, things that I don't recognise growing in between layers, filling the gaps. I flex my fingers, push down the urge to pull them out, to keep only the ones I know. This isn't for me, though. This is for them. This is for Rhys. They might like the stuff that grows in between. It might be their favourite part. 
The moths are still blocking out the lights. I thought they might have got over them by now, but they’re still there, choking out the light. This morning the architect asked me what this will mean for the plants. “Nothing,” I told him. “The plants are fully charged, like batteries. And the moths will be soon, too. Then they'll leave the lights alone.” This isn't true, but as I said it, I looked him in the eye, and he nodded ‘okay’. I don’t know what this will mean for the plants, but I won't be gone for long. I'll go get Rhys, from wherever they are, and I'll bring them back. The garden just has to survive for that long. They just have to see it. Then they'll know what I can feel. Then they'll know what I can do.
0.
{/}

I See/Hear You

Rhys, hey. You don't know me, but I'm here to tell you that someone's looking for you. I'm not sure who though, all I have are scraps of information, but I thought they might be important scraps, or scraps that might be important to you.  I promise I'm not trying to trap you, I'm not that skilled with computers. I mean, I am pretty good at breaking into Sal's records but that's about as far as my hacking skills go. That and setting up this blog. I read that blogs are kind of like beacons. Oh, and I guess I had to find a way into your cyber space (which is fucked, by the way).  Okay, so I'm pretty good at hacking into stuff. But I'm not trying to trap you. Even if I was old enough to be one, I swear I wouldn't have it in me. I know that sounds like something a trapper would say, but it's true. Anyway. Keep reading if you believe me, I guess.
I was actually looking for something else when I found this stuff on whoever is trying to find you, I was looking for info on a sleeper my X is hiding out in. Sal said I wouldn't find it in any of the records, but I don't always trust Sal to tell me the truth. She is an archivist, but she's been helping out with ship security this last third, and so she's got all this surveillance data just sitting on her terminal.  She still asks me lots of questions, even though she already knows  most of their answers. Like she asked me why X and I broke up, even though I fucking know she knew it was because of what happened with Vern. Urgh, just thinking about X and Vern together sets all of my teeth on edge. I want to ask Sal how long she'd known about them for but I know she won't tell me. I guess it makes more sense now,  though, the day we were sitting together in the caff and I was telling her what X and I were going to do for our anniversary, that we might see if we could get a pass to go off-ship, and she got all rough-faced and gave me this weird speech about me being too young for such a serious relationship, that I was only in my fifties and that I shouldn't limit myself and blah blah blah. She'd probably found the footage that morning. Fuck. 
Anyway. I haven't gone back to searching for X just yet. I've been pretty busy with these scraps.
Actually, I guess I shouldn't be calling them scraps. Scraps are things that break off ships and get burnt up in volatile atmospheres, and these seem too important for that.  It's weird though, cos the actual words your girl has written don't really make much sense to me. Like I know they've been run through a translator so I can read them, just as my words are being run through a translation program so you can read them. People always go on about things getting lost in translation but I'm not even sure if that's true now, like, I think the tech we have is pretty good these days. Anyway. I read the words and even though I didn't quite get what she was on about, I got a bunch of feelings, or a set of impressions, I guess, the kind that makes my tongue curl up and my fingers spread out. Kind of like when you stare at something too bright, and the light burns a dark spot into all of your eyes? Anyway. These feelings were nice, they reminded me of before things got weird, before X climbed into Vern's sleeper while I was on a moon excavation practical. But they also made me want to throw up a little bit.
Anyway. I hope you know that she's is in love with you, cos if you don't, well sorry, I guess I've kind of ruined that surprise. If you can't tell that from the words, try and tell that from the music I made. Sound is more my thing than words, and I know it’s a lot of other people’s thing too, so, I figured I’d reach more people that way, sound and words, together. I guess it's like instead of running the words through a translation program, I'm running them through my head, and music is coming out. Anyway, I'll put it all in the next post, Just start from 5, end at 0. Or don’t, I’m not sure yet if that matters. It's kind of meant to be like that garden, the one that I think has been built for you somewhere in this star system. I mean, I'm not sure if it's she's in this star system, but that garden she's describing sure sounds like one of ours. 

It's also meant to be like love, I guess. I just wanted to let you know that I see/hear you.
Oh, and if you are reading this, and you're not Rhys, I hope you get some feelings or impressions,too. If they matched mine, that would be cool, but it would be even cooler if they didn't, and you could tell me what you see/hear instead.  And if you know anything about where Rhys might be, could you let me know? I guess that's the main thing I want. That, and I want you to know that there's love involved, so if you are out to trap them, maybe you shouldn't? You can send me message at therhysfiles@gmail.com. 

I'm still not sure if I should tell Sal that I've made this, but I will keep looking through the records for scraps, at least until she finds me digging.
Anyway. I hope to get a message from you soon.