The Pantheon

You know how it is.

make sure to get all the permits approved by the city first. And by common sense second, I guess. You never know what stupid mistakes will be costing you your life. 

And here we have the other side of the coin. The kinder, brighter side. The heads to our tails. Let's make it clear; the demons in my tales are metaphors. Very brute force ones, I might say. The commentary on both sides of our societal coin should be obvious. We know what good and evil are. We should stop acting like we don't. 

Once again, we look at a coin with two sides. We dance along the edge, that tin sliver with the grooves. Perhaps by seeing both sides of this thing, we can get a greater grasp of its essence. Also, disclaimer: we once more have a narrator that is meant to be disagreed with. This should be obvious by how I've crafted him, but I really, really don't want you taking what he says to heart. 

Some burdens must be borne. The public cannot see. The public cannot feel. It is our responsibility to do these things. Thus speaks the Auburn Rose. 

Rudy's Cafe. You might not have been there, but you have an image of it in your head. I've been to those places, these greasy diners, and they are exactly the way you imagine they are. A little bit less sad, though. But much more unhealthy. Your arteries will scream.Anyways. This cafe is Rudy's. Who is Rudy? Why is Rudy? Wouldn't you like to know? Just listen, and all these questions will be answered...Or not. 

A sequel to Stock Markets: The Things That Crashed:https://www.buzzsprout.com/811181/episodes/14453149Long story short, mysteriously appearing clocks are a thing. They're such a thing that entire industries are built on the back of such a fact. We take it a step further. Industries are built of people, people who do work. What is this work? What kind of life can be made from clocks which materialize out of thin air? A very cool, absolutely not weird one. That's for sure.

What is hope? Is hope always a dream of change? Perhaps it is, but the change does not necessarily have to be in the world around us. Sometimes the change can be inside, too.Usually, the hope is both, and we just fail to recognize its second existence. 

We forget his name, but he has never forgotten us. Perhaps we forget the ground that we walk upon, too. Or the air that we breathe. But does that mean that our connection should be ignored? No.Obviously, no. We should think about it from time to time. 

Here, we follow into a world that is not, and never was. Perhaps it is good that it never could be. Good for us, for you, and me. Maybe.

One of the best ways to learn about yourself is to ask someone else whom you can trust about who and what you are. Same with societies, cultures, etc. We lose insight to hubris all the time. That being said, perhaps we can get even greater insight about ourselves not from our friends, but from our greatest enemies. 

Oof. This one's painful. And not just painful in the sense that I've been missing for a month. See, one of the problems here is that if you seek to find ways to make things non-sacred, you can find them. Cynicism, apathy can devour all, even your dreams.Flames can devour dreams too, though. It's a balancing act between the two; the line to walk is far too fine.Melinsk is in flames. Or was. Or will be. The timeline doesn't and never will make sense. 

You should have listened to the PSA. I did. That's why I'm still here, behind you. But you're not. Not there. Not in your shell. You should have listened. It meant you no harm. Nor did I. But the other thing...

PSA stands for public service announcement. And that was also a PSA. Usually, you should listen to these things. They're not all that frequent, and usually they're about something you need to be proactive about like boiling water.Of course, this PSA is not about boiling water. 

"Eww, that sounds disgusting."That's what you said. I heard you. I'm in the room with you right now. No, don't turn around. That will ruin the surprise.

You know, it's their favorite thing. They like to do that. Sometimes it means nothing. Sometimes it means everything. Our economy is overly abstracted. Let's be honest. The value of the stock market does not correspond with the health of the economy in as direct a relationship as we are taught to believe. Healthy industries can be wiped out by really, really stupid nonsense that sparks a panic. And then we all suffer.Very nice system we got here. Very cool.At least our stock markets are tagged to actual industries and companies, though. Not so much  the case here. 

There is nothing more maddening than the burden of the clock. It has given us order and stability, but where has our rights over our own time gone? We know where they went. To the same place everything we had went. To the same god.

It's quite an accomplished sandwich. Or series of sandwiches. Either way, you never expected that much from them, so it's just really nice that they were able to get this far and do so much. 

The natural character progression of any sandwich when it is lost. I have always detested the idea of hell. I know, I know. Who wouldn't? It is supposed to be despicable. But we see it weaponized here, up above. You must be a certain way or you are damned. But how clearly is that 'certain way' tied to morality, and not just giving yourself the branding of a creed? It's obvious. The people who talk about hell as a punishment in our world care more deeply about the victory of their identity than anything. Their master is cruel and cold, colder even than the demons in my stories.

We've all been there. It really stinks to lose something as simple as your lunch. It's terrible. Horrible. Someone must pay. 

We learned how to care for them. Now we traverse the grooves on the thin side of the coin to get to the other side. I know, I know. We all want to be on the side where oracles are real, and they can make your ridiculous dreams come true. We are here to bury gods. Sometimes those gods die in dreams. 

I know. The question's been bugging you. How do you cook a limoset? Well, I'll tell ya. The Pantheon's now infringing on the recipe market. 

We're back from our regularly scheduled Christmas break to bring you fine folks a heaping dose of madness :)I know. Boring title. We all know what gloves are. I don't like them, personally, even in the cases where they make sense. But if you're here you probably know that the story is only about gloves in the most vague of senses. We all gotta learn, after all. 

Moral of the story: grave-digging bad. Please applaud me for my bravery in spreading this message. 

We thought we could get through. We thought we could be better. But we weren't. Again. That doesn't mean we can stop trying, though. If you can understand anything, understand that. 

And finally, a breath of truth. We're all scared. We're all frightened. We all hate these things about ourselves. The only way out is through. Together. 

Mystery means misery. In the infinite possibilities of creation, there is something out there whose greatest desire is to destroy and eat you. Yes, you specifically. Will you cower, then? That's what seems the easiest to do. 

There is so much certainty in sorrow. It is comforting, almost. Pain, misery, all these things can shelter you from chaos. So sometimes you begin to think that they are your friends. 

We would destroy the world, if only it meant saving our own soul. But what is more selfish than the person who believes themselves to be righteous? 

We would do anything for security, even destroy that which we make security for. We must recognize this in ourselves if we are ever to avoid tyranny. 

The trunk of the tree is here. It took time, water, effort, and patience. But trees will grow. Now let the branches spring forth.

Never look behind the mirror. You might like what you find. 

Or the bottom of a lake. Or a well. Or a cave? At the bottom of a body of water. But that sounds a lot less interesting. We don't know much about the oceans, collectively. We never have. Physical forces make the glimpses we get of the depths brief and expensive. It is no wonder, then, that we see all sorts of terrors in the deep. Realistically? The ocean is just as uncaring about our existence as the rest of creation. But that won't stop things like this from being created. 

The powers that be, the powers that be.Who is saying that you aren't the powers that be, yourself? You say that the world is cold and cruel. You say that everything is stacked against those who are unwilling to exploit the universe around them. What are you doing to change that, eh? Perhaps your whining about the subject was nothing more than an emotional smokescreen, and you are just as much the powers that be as those that you despise. You are the same.

You know them. You love them. After all, the person espousing the get rich quick scheme obviously has your best interests at heart. I mean, com on, why wouldn't they? Greed is a virtue, which means that... which means that...Which means that only one person is getting rich. It's probably not the person believing in the magical properties of their own being. 

Booooooo. BOO! That's me, booing myself. I've roadblocked myself, thus the delay in new stories. I had this whole tree of stuff going, but I paid far too much attention to the branches, and too little to the trunk. That might be a bit unclear, but c'mon. Unclear is what we do here. Anyways, this is something I've been able to get done while working on my many, beautiful branches, even while the trunk rots away. Honestly just putting this out here so this thing doesn't die in the algorithm. 

You know, just in case you ever had to care for an oracle, and were dumb. It happens more frequently than you'd think. 

Things look together in this graveyard, as they always do. They do outside of the graveyard, too, it's just that you get a better perspective on time here. 

How much can loyalty be a virtue? Surely only as much as our masters can be selfless. Otherwise, is it not a sin?

The night is frightening. But aren't we lucky that we can see anything at all?

Time is weird. It flows, but when you plunge your hand into the current, you change something about its direction.

What? A number as a title? Look at that.Anyways, this was crafted in the depths of covid, and was just sitting there, waiting to be finished. So here it is.

We're back, and we're weird! Forewarning, this is a bit more gruesome than our usual fare. Not that much, since I've deliberately blurred the language, but it's still there.

Written, once again, by a dream I had.I feel abused. I am less abused than most people in the world, probably. But I am still abused. A lot. Things like this come about because of that. There is an element of evil that will never be able to be cut out of the world, the natural. February 26th is an avatar of that. This is nothing more than a lament. There is little to be learned from the cruelty carved into the universe, at least, little useful. That cruelty we cannot change. But sometimes recognition of that cruelty can be cathartic. 

The worst part about mental demons is that they basically zombies. Except you can't headshot them. They just get back up again and again and again. The hope is, eventually there's just so little of them left from your constant attacks that they fade into a mote in the air. Nothing.The worst demons, I find, are ones that you know you're not responsible for, but still feel like you are, someway, somehow. That false responsibility tethers them to the mind, gives them a truly unholy vim and vigor. On a lighter note, I'm surprised at how similar the time totals are on this and Ashen Tongue. Did not plan that. Just a nice little surprise. Stop to smell the roses and all that.

A lament for a cruelty brought upon ourselves, by ourselves.Power, unfortunately, is a reality. A gun is a gun. Blood is blood. When power is not distracted by the ghosts and gods of our creation, it does what it always does. It kills.Gods are necessary. Very, very necessary. I just don't like the ones we have currently. Anyways, have you ever tasted ash? I have. Short story, but I'm not elaborating. It's about as gross as you think. 

I hate this. Too long. Also, it's probably not true. Bleh. 

This is just a personal grudge of mine. You must always act with hope. Even when you cannot see it, you must act like it is there. Otherwise, how can things change? How can things get better? You will not see the end. You will not even see your end. You will be gone before that. Stop laying back and rotting. You are a person. Act like it. Personal grudge :p

I promise I'll finish this mini -series. I promise. It's more important to me than the other ones. Anyways, a person is here. By some accounts, this person shouldn't exist. Or doesn't exist. Or will exist in the future. Is that complicated? Heck yes. But let's make it less complicated. What are accounts, anyway? Do you trust what other people tell you? I mean, kind of? Accounts are just other people telling you stuff. And here we have a guy, flesh and blood, figment of my imagination, but real here. It was one sharp snap. Ears bled. Not this man's ears. He was tyrant, left in a world where all the tyrants were dead. 

Do you know the prisoner's dilemma? Well, this is the jailer's dilemma. Not even vaguely related. Anyways, this story calls back to the Sisket, an old antagonist of this series. Basically, well, they...Nope. I don't explain things here. I trust you're smart enough to learn from context. And if you're not, try. You might just become smart enough in the process. 

55 reports came before this. What were they about? Oooh, spooky!Anyways, as the title, release date, and length imply, this is just a little addendum to Boring Summer Day. Perhaps the summer turned out to not be nearly so boring, eh?