Funky

There was something funky about the way no one noticed as he walked the sidewalk.

The gentleman picking out fruit at the corner stand. The woman walking her dog towards him. The delivery man checking over the boxes in back of his truck. Never mind it was ten in the evening.

Not one person glanced in his direction.

He stopped at the newsstand, looked over the headlines, asked about the impending strike at the local paper. The vendor grunted noncommittally.

He fished into his pocket, as if looking for change, and drew in one smooth motion.

Everyone reacted at once.

Are We All Bound In Hell?

The quantum traveler reviewed history yet again.

Age of change?

Age of reality?

Watching the Mandela effects replace known history?

Or a mind swapped into a shifted realm?

For?

In Abe Lincoln's election 1860 only 2 parties ran. Not 4.

Lincoln according to Hillary Clinton and myself was a senator.

The question really is does any of it matter?

Or is this all some sort of dream?

Science confirms we live in a simulator.

So a test is expected at the end of a simulated training run.

Is life the test or is hell just all there is to expect?

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Elusive

The change? It took me a bit. But today's change was the slope of reality?

Meaning? I jump realities in the simulator. And? Well, I knew the path. I knew it was flat. And? Yesterday it was sloped. Sloped enough one could see the slope. Nothing outside of that changed. Just that which was flat and none uphill. Was now sloped enough that it took effort to go from point A to point B.

Making reality a question of the mind. For if it was always sloped here. As indicated by a conversation I was having with the individual? Simulator.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Adrian’s Jog

Adrian jogged in the park, the autumn breeze against his face. He nodded his good morning to fellow joggers as he enjoyed the chirping birds.

When he finished his laps, he stopped at the breakfast truck and bought his usual cup of black coffee.

The owner handed Adrian his change. “Crisp morning.”

Adrian sipped his coffee before responding. “Yeah, sure is.”

He said goodbye and took a seat on the bench.

The park began to fill with dog owners taking their pets for morning walks and the cool air warmed.

Adrian relaxed and closed his eyes.

It began to rain.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Art Of Manipulation

The art of manipulation or being a spy is something. To be a double agent or triple agent even is more interesting than one would expect.

To deal with the reality of a government. Change it just a little. By using words instead of physical assassination, one can change realities.

To get into a government or corporation and manipulate it towards good? Something very few can do. The intentions of corporations along with the state is to control the minds of the people the system of things enslaves. To change the doctrine even a bit can cause pain. Free humanity.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Clinton is an expat, filmmaker, and story teller

Multiverse Question?

Wandering the multiverse. I find the concept of change the bi-word of everything. One day, the illusion spells the reality of a word one way. The next day, the reality spells it another. The definition of wisdom is to come to some understanding? Probably why I still have not mastered how to play the cord of C on a guitar.

If everything changes from one reality to the next. What is the purpose of study? Defining a reality for when the next moment you could be elsewhere seems the definition of absurdity. To waste time trying to understand. Try to succeed.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

The Tides They Are A-Changin'

It was a twice daily occurrence. Water gradually crept up the shore, claiming the land and scattered detritus in sacrificial tribute, only to recess gracefully back once more.

The powerful and inexorable tides! Countless livelihoods depended on their constant rhythm. Yet for those who knew what to look for, troubling signs portended a change was coming. A slight burgeoning of the seas slowly encroaching the Earth's surface.

And then tonight. Water flooded everywhere, until even the tallest mountains were covered. This was no 40-day affair, but the complete envelopment of all humankind.

Water, water everywhere, no one left to drink.

Change

On the working class tube filled with out-of-work laborers, gangs and students, Reyva hugged her backpack on her lap and gazed at the ads above her head. 

“Change your Life! Travel with Distant Horizons!” 

She ditched her unfinished schoolwork and went. 

At Distant Horizons, she lied about her age. She wasn’t afraid to make adult choices.

They strapped her to a table. Fear gripped her, but they stripped it away. Gave her a new body, a new purpose.

Within the storms of Thacyline, she rode the winds on golden wings and avoided looking towards Earth. 

She could never go back.

From Guest Contributor Tyrean Martinson

Gravity

A panhandler with the woeful face of a Christian martyr in a medieval painting stops me outside the discount liquor store. He says he needs two more bucks to get a bottle. Marlene, he adds as if I know her, is resting with a beer and the dude that shot her whose nickname is Rabbit. Has anyone asked us how we see things? No! We’re all on the road. But now it’s really getting fun. I dig some change out of my pocket. There are only so many opportunities to take maximum advantage of gravity’s pull on people and objects.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

The Change

“Watta you gonna do?”

“I don’t know.” It was getting dark.

“You could run away.”

“Where would I go?”

“California?”

“That far?”

“Or Mexico.”

“I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Then just give it back.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I already spent it on candy.”

His friend thought about that. “Can I have some?”

“I ate it all.”

After watching the traffic at the intersection for a while, the boy’s friend got up. “I can’t go to California,” he said apologetically.

“Why not?”

“I’m not allowed to cross the street.”

“Yeah,” the little boy still sitting on the curb admitted, “me neither.”

From Guest Contributor Jean Blasiar