“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.” - John Milton
I. Vagaries
Sitting alone at an outdoor cafe in the professional hub of his particular city, David Baxter was the type of young man who didn't want any introduction. He avoided small talk, long talk, salesmanship, friendship, jibber jabber and all forms of polite conversation. His life was spent in a constant state of evasion and defense from those you might call friends, acquaintances, loved ones or pets. If you saw David tonight in at your favorite bar, (which you wouldn't), he would be relieved if your mind choose to overlook his presence and instead recall the concert poster on the wall behind him. Even if he was sporting a tutu and covered in a slurry of peanut butter and cow shit. This, of course, was by design.
David was of average height and build, wore rarely managed close cropped brown hair, unassuming clothes with no bright colors or logo of any kind, and hadn't had a deep or meaningful conversation with a human for the last half of his 29 years. His glasses were, more often than not, trying to get the Hell down off his nose, and his athletic and capable stature was somehow muted and rendered unimposing by looking him straight in the face, although you’d have to be trying your best to achieve this vista.
Those who had known him enough to say so ended up discovered trying to coax something more out of him. These unlucky few were usually rewarded with a sort of determined shooing that bolstered their self esteem and suspicions and made him look the superficial tool. He didn’t much like doing this but it was, for everyone involved, the only reasonable course of action.
David accomplished the look, the rebuff of hangers on and the slight nod to Nihilism while doing his best to blend into the scenery and drawing as little attention to his ever fading social silhouette as possible.
His main focus this afternoon was his lunch and the dishes, silverware, and paper products that accompanied it. The place he had chosen for his excursions was an establishment with a minimum of customers, and one that was still within walking distance. Input was limited but not inescapable as he seemed to glare at his table, eyes always down and focus continually stretched.
"Would you like anything else today, sir?"
The server who approached was obviously concerned with the effect David’s lack of attention or eye contact would have on the compensation for her effort. Bringing the meal and providing all the options she mistakenly thought valuable to his experience was apparently worth around twenty percent of the bill. David had been privy to a website highlighting all the social conventions people were known to overlook. Since this could cause conversations, a menace to anyone in David’s position, he tried to stay current.
"No, thank you. Please bring the check.”
He didn't look up as he spoke and absentmindedly scratched the three day growth under his lower lip.
"Okay…..."
She didn’t sound convinced that he had her best financial interests in mind. While correct, she was very wrong about the why and how.
There was a trick to having casual conversation which wouldn't raise alarm with someone while not regarding them closely. David knew this in full more than any human. It was better not to look anyone in the eye because it encouraged continued involvement. It gave the conversational participant something to shoot for; recognition. He had learned this with striking intensity during puberty. You had to concentrate on nothing while appearing to focus on something far away; especially during puberty.
This was the mantra David had unified himself with at the start of his adolescence. It had to appear that your attention was needed elsewhere, within their line of sight, and couldn't be diverted for any reason. Unfortunately, this could just as easily cause another level of alert to be breached. It all depended on what he found himself focused on.
Today it was the butter knife the waitress had placed next to his plate of raw spinach and bread that made his jaw hurt when he bit into it. As usual there was no meat ordered. That was knowledge he had painstakingly excised from his daily experience long ago.
His subject was an ordinary dull table knife to anyone else, covered with scratches and a musty sheen which resulted from the thousands of times it had been washed. To David, it had history.
There was an interesting electron included in the stainless steel of the utensil that had been one of the first formed over fifteen billion years ago. When the burgeoning universe had cooled, this very particle was the third to come into existence after all that energy was converted. Strange to think that after all this time, in all the infinite space that existed on this plane, this particular interstellar traveler should end up having lunch with a man in dirty jeans and a mustard stained sweatshirt. On Earth of all places. The universe was full of irony, and distractions.
He stood and grabbed the pre-counted and folded bills from the front pocket of those unwashed jeans and tossed them on the table while averting his gaze. They were, as always, wrapped in rice paper. While tangible money came with its own set of problems, the overly social custom of settling debts with a bank card could not be more harrowing for David.
It was time to brave the walk home and he had best get on with it.
He started down the sidewalk slowly and pensively with his head down, trying to grow accustomed to all the objects and organisms now in his broadened field of vision. Quick looks up to determine best routes and furtive glances at obstacles to assign danger and position were the most he would concede to the outdoors. Negotiating any geography in this world required interacting with more things than he would have liked.
His monthly trips to the cafe had come at a cost. He wasn't completely sure these outings were actually helping, but he did seem to find himself in random parking lots and stores focusing on dog's collars and pieces of garbage a bit less over the long term. He had to fool his mind into thinking this existence was manageable. That he could handle a foray into the swirling mass of possibilities and knowledge that accompanied interaction with inanimate, living, or once living things.
I am he as you are he as you are me, he thought. Big thanks to Mister Lennon. He wished he could see the humor in that without considering the math involved. Ah, to be an idiot. Maybe with just enough head injuries he would be able to...
"Hey fucker, watch it!", a man scary enough to intimidate a Sherman Tank rumbled. His girth seemed to suck testosterone from passersby in order to maintain its gravitational pull. The man was the scariest individual David had ever seen with pants sagging dramatically and the golden sticker still on his flat brimmed hat.
David had bumped into another shoulder of someone aware of more than him; aware of more and so much less. He chided himself to remain focused to avoid another incident. Retaining attention on the helpful things was his problem. Every space that didn't compromise his apartment was so....crowded.
"Sorry. I did not see you there." He was forgetting to use contractions lately. Interesting.
David expelled what he thought sounded like a reasonable, post apologetic chuckle and assembled a smile on his face that he'd seen others use while not feeling the emotion it conveyed. Luckily, it seemed to work well enough to separate the stranger’s attention from him. He would have to be more careful. The large, gruff and unkind looking behemoth he had collided with wore a knife hidden in his belt and had used it on several occasions. He also hadn't felt the least bit threatened while doing so. He had laughed in between thrusts. David knew this, because the knowledge existed.
He wished for the hundredth time that day that he had never left his hovel. He realized he spent entirely too much time pondering about that. Would the problem be more easily solved by leaving more often and becoming immune to this feeling, or staying inside where my awareness is able to coexist with my ecosystem? The hypothetical was one of the only things he could never know for certain.
After he turned the final corner with a quickened pace and reached true familiarity, David mounted each step on the front of his building with increasing alleviation. He was almost there, the place where he could relax; at least to the level he was capable of such a thing. He wiped the thin layer of sweat from under his hairline which inevitably accompanied a campaign out of doors and prepared for the last push.
His building was dressed much as he was; unadorned and unmemorable. The dirty grey brick facade and the plain windows that lacked accoutrements each somehow related to passers by that this was a building not worth note. Its interior miraculously matched the camouflage coating and he stepped through an entry way that had forgotten to acquire things like throw rugs on floors, paintings on walls, or even people in its breadth. It was clean and uncluttered in a way that brought David great comfort. Unfortunately, his scourge and arch nemesis on this level of existence was waiting next to his personal elevator, picking at her arthritic fingers and making grotesque throat noises. The horrendous and much feared by David, Mrs. Vartabedion.
Elaine Vartabedion was a woman who had done unthinkable things. Under her finely kept helmet of hair, choppily colored liver spots, wrinkled visage, and evenly draped crocheted shall there was malignant intent on par with Jon Wayne Gacey. David didn't like to be near her for many reasons, but the knowledge surrounding the things she had done to her two children, (Ben and Stacy), while living in a small flat in south London over fifty years ago had proven a large enough justification for him to venture a life without her presence.
In addition to all of that was her smell. The fragrance of the old had always put David on edge. Some allegory to all the influence he received from daily input and the fact that everything was always breaking down. Entropy was the true and honest clock built into the world around him, and the price of knowledge was that the time in which you could use it was always limited.
There was nothing more he could do about the old woman for what might be a few more days and he was forced to encounter her disgusting company on random occasions. She would always pop up like a mummified version of Oscar the Grouch with manufactured enthusiasm and politeness, asking for assistance or acquiescence about some hotly protested issue pertaining to the building. Being forced to deal with anyone was a footing with which David had never grown accustomed. Those who waited for and sought you out for any reason were as deplorable as the social simpletons who chose the urinal right beside you while all the other porcelain was conspicuously vacant.
“Hello, Mr. Baxter. Did you happen to see the new rules we’ve posted concerning pets in the building?”
She made her way to intersect his path and resembled a soldier rushing a strongly held beachfront. No quit in her and no semblance of compassion, her transport craft left callously behind in the crashing waves to be dealt blows by incoming projectiles.
“I do not have any pets Mrs. Vartabedion. Now if you will please excuse me….” He slipped past her with the ease of the practiced and avoided looking her in the eye.
“Well, if you would just take the time to read the announcement, there’ll be no need for any confusion in the future. You see, I’m on the Co-op board, and it's my job to make sure everyone understands the new rules and procedures.”
She was being more obstinate than usual. David wished again that he possessed the ability to quickly and coldly murder someone. The skill might at least facilitate a silent and peaceful entrance to his living space. He considered whether the guilt would be worth it while trying to appear as polite as his knowledge and opinion would allow.
“I appreciate that Elaine, but as I said, I have no pets and no intention of changing that fact. Thank you for the information and good day to you.”
Just a week ago he had made an urgent, stammering call to those concerned and in his employ. Soon they would remove this particular tumor from his circumstance and he could settle even farther into the comfort of distraction. His eye never left the key hole finely built into the textured wall beside his elevator and he crossed the entry way looking purposeful and focused. “But Mr. Baxter, it is your responsibility as a tenant of this building to make yourself aware of…….”
Thankfully the elevator door slid shut before she was able to reach her hand in and trip the sensor. The mirrored aluminum showed David his own agitated but thankful reflection behind the years of tiny scratches and disturbing smears made up of things David wished he didn’t have to know about.
The old woman had grown increasingly forceful lately about engaging him in conversation. His talents when it came to recognizing the smell that accompanied her presence and performing the physical tasks of entering his building before ascending to his apartment were all being tested more each day that she decided her temporary headquarters was the lobby. His speed was definitely increasing, but so evidently, was her tenacity.
As the door to his home slid open he was able to take what felt like his first real and full breath in the last hour and a half. He seemed to feel every organ in his body relaxing and throwing back the lever on some vibrating recliner from the Sharper Image. Being in the rooms he had slaved over to free of distraction and history made him feel more at home than any living space he had ever frequented as a child. Somehow here, he was able to roll out from underneath the boulders he carried in public.
The apartment had no discernible colors other than white, grey and a little black. The darker colors were there simply for contrast. He had realized during his first attempts to fill this space that exclusively white rooms with similarly colored furniture and accessories made life in the human body quite difficult. Bruises, cuts and lost items added up until he was forced to provide himself some juxtaposition. The smoothly applied paint had been made with products and equipment acquired in their purest and most unspoiled form. David endeavored to fill his home with things no human had ever touched or been affected by. While this was almost impossible, he was getting better at it as the years cascaded by.
The material contained in his cave was all handmade, by him or those he had hired, and the ingredients and supplies were as closely guarded, produced and untouched by strangers as could be hoped for. Some things had to be accommodated or purchased from normal outlets, but those were interacted with rarely. There were too many fingers in those pies. Keeping as many people out of the process meant keeping his sanity. How much was left, he didn’t know.
He made his way to his bathroom and let go of the liquid waste that had accumulated since he left home. It was impossible for David to do this in a public restroom. Just the thought made his stomach jerk and gyrate like a dedicated exotic dancer having a grand mal. David figured he would be seeing a part of his leavings again in one form or another and tried not to consider the journey that might be taken before he was confronted with it. Knowing these things was so thoroughly exhausting.
He tore off his sweatshirt and hung it in the barely visible closet with the other three, then closed the sealed door until it disappeared into the wall. It was all very expensive and very Star Trek.
David realized with disappointment that his clothes needed to be laundered again. This would accumulate even more bounty to his already seam stressed databases, and every bit of water he added to that river created a deeper trough. For endurance purposes, the people whose past he had grown accustomed to and hired to remain out of contact with others would need to be relieved. There was always something in his life that needed replacing. And so on, and so on, until the end of his time. If he let himself consider all the possibilities and erosions, he was already doomed.
He fell into his finely handmade and untouched chair. It was perfectly fit to his body and it was the most comfortable place where David had ever rested his ass. There was only one chair here, and that always calmed him. There were so many chairs on the outside. It hurt to think about. Where they had been, who had sat in them and why? Once again, the whole process made him tired.
As he slowly tried to close his eyes in hopes of a short and beneficial nap, he became aware of the feeling which proceeded yet another of his many anxieties. A dull low hum that no one on this earth would ever discover existed.
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To say that it occurred only in his mind would have raised more questions than it answered. He knew the answers to them all of course, but sometimes it helped to try thinking like one of those people outside, not so afflicted. The disturbance abruptly rose to a crescendo that could only be felt in his ears and experienced in the tiny part of his mind where he kept his ego.
“Great. Just fucking great…..”
David felt like he was being forced to look at a traffic-cam photo of his latest infraction. The fact that he didn’t drive wasn’t able to make the comparison any less bitter.
All the grey and black objects in his living room and kitchen slowly started to rise and he felt static electricity in his clothes that had, until now, not presented itself in such a violent fashion. His glass, spoon and fork, the only pen he had ever owned filled with unspoiled and newly formed ink all hovered with no perceivable movement along with his exercise cycle and all the notes and papers on his desk. His apartment now resembled the videos of the astronauts in a space shuttle, the adventurers calmly swiping things out of their way while floating through a narrow tube filled with litter and shiny bits of blinking service panel. He was deep inside the mind of David Copperfield.
He remembered seeing an Episode of Mad About You as a child where Paul, the main character, had inadvertently switched pants with the magician. He kept pulling random items out of the pockets that were increasingly ridiculous and unhelpful to the problem that needed solving in twenty eight minutes or less. David wished his difficulties were anywhere near the cul-de-sac of houses that neighborhood sheltered.
Suddenly everything but the pen dropped to the next available surface with an amicable clump and the writing instrument floated over to, and started scribbling on the wall opposite him. Seemingly due to its own intellect, the pen moved even more quickly than should have been possible. It reinforced barely visible lines over and over until the shapes coalesced into dark letters constructed from authoritative and unnerving penmanship. The words were taking shape more rapidly than physics seemed to allow, and removing those marks would be David’s next project. He was forced to keep a tidy and stark house, by his knowledge and his strict nature.
David waited patiently with mind and consciousness vibrating for the words to appear. He went into his small but functional kitchen, poured a glass of water and sat back down. He was already shrinking from the inevitable conclusion that had to follow this invasion of his privacy.
The pen floated back over to him and dropped in his lap like a puppy seeking absolution. He slapped it away uncontrollably. David looked up and read the message that destroyed his wall and day with equal measure.
“We are still awaiting your answers to the previous inquiries David Baxter. Do not make us arrange another opportunity to extract comfort.”
So much intelligence and time on their hands and they still couldn’t hope to master the simplest bits of human interaction. He wished again that he could transfer all the knowledge of our nuances to them. It would make for a much easier exchange of information.
David prepared to raise his voice to a pitch he was afraid Mrs. Vartebetian would hear and complain about. Even through soundproof walls, fifty seven stories up on the top floor, he foolishly dreaded she would somehow discern his shouts and try to slip the knife in deeper with a complaint to the owner. If she ever found out that he was the one who in fact had purchased this entire building and the surrounding two blocks, it would only serve to cause even more interaction.
“Aenit! I have told you before. Just because I know everything does not mean I can help you with anything!”
The now almost imperceptible humming changed to a rhythmic circuit as his pen vibrated traumatically on the floor. The feeling, it couldn’t really be called a noise, increased in ferocity until a steady and unyielding blur seemed to overtake David’s central nervous system. His current and buffered experience was blindsided and replaced with a blank slate that he almost could have enjoyed if not for the interaction that would inevitably follow. No matter how stark the meeting place, he was still left with the memory when it was over. A monumentally insulting and vapid recollection which could only hurt the delicate balance he had created and maintained in order to keep from slumping over in a nondescript alley and becoming catatonic.
An absolute void unable to produce or spur thought, knowledge or perception formed around his consciousness and padded it from the physical reality that crowded his waking hours. He was cut off from the talent he both cherished and hated more than anything that could be said to exist in any plane or dimension. He knew essentially nothing but what was right in front of him and this could have been a kind of pleasant breath of fresh air for the only man on Earth who knew everything about anything, if only it didn’t involve the ones who controlled it.
Now he would be Visited, which was the Nithromang’s obnoxious and misshapen version of a civilized chat.
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David could never quite form a description of this place he instantly found himself in. Regardless of his ability to characterize it he was all at once there. It wasn’t a location, per se, but it had to be called something.
He settled again on calling it The Void. He was still unmoved by the moniker, but the skills that David possessed did not lend themselves to any more creativity than had a normal man. He was stuck producing unimaginative and prevalent descriptions regarding the most astonishing facts and occurrences. It really was a shame. Indeed, they should have sent a poet.
His consciousness was experiencing everything unrelated to his choices now in this place. He didn’t have the ability to focus on one aspect exclusively, and each perceivable situation or object was just as discernible and easily translated as any other. It was blissful torture for a man with his talents.
The only thing he could relate it to was a dream. He knew intimate things about his surroundings and circumstances, but had no idea how he had learned those details. There were no corporeal movements needed to focus here, and every piece of knowledge was default and lukewarm. The surroundings were as meaningless and indeterminate as the idea of a location here, and David had been dragged to this state too many times to be concerned with either.
He was immediately bombarded by images and assembled emotions that the Nithromang thought made him comfortable based on their observations of humanity. Blurry shapes of caring mothers faded in and out with sunny backgrounds, walks in the park, and carnivals seen only in episodes of Dawson’s Creek and movies about small towns where normal human behavior hadn’t quite wormed its way in. Semi-convincing versions of treats like ice cream and cotton candy were sent through his awareness in blinding succession. It felt like he was being dragged by his balls through every Disney park and the entire catalog of Lifetime movies one after the other at a speed approaching that of light. He had tried to tell them to remove these gimmicks from his Visits, but they seemed to have a narcissistic addiction to showing how well they thought they knew the human species.
David’s mind reeled, but after enough times pulled through this particular rabbit hole, he was very much able to recognize the uselessness and focus on priorities.
“You know I cannot answer any questions in this state, Aenit! I will say it again, because I cannot seem to get through to you. Are you all as stupid as you think we are?”
Because he didn’t have a mouth with which to do so, his mind grinned widely. He always enjoyed insulting their intelligence whether the jab was accurate or not. A good bit of slander was precious, even if you didn’t possess a physical form at the time.
Almost instantly there was a man shape in front of him, and even though David could glean no evidence about the details of his appearance, he knew he was quite impatient and more than a little annoyed. Aenit did not endure cloudy answers to the questions he posed.
Aenit’s idea of a man carried itself similarly to the arrangement of David’s father. His parent’s movements and overall shape conveyed by a shadow. Aenit thought this would create a more cooperative mindset in David, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. The subject of David’s father was a very delicate one, and he didn’t like to be reminded of it for any reason. As always, Aenit’s chosen presentation had the opposite effect that he and the other Members had craved, so the sight of the familiar absence of light walking up to David only made him less amiable. They really knew nothing about humans.
He would have shaken his head and made a tisking noise to show how pathetic this was to him, but when you were only an idea in a place that didn’t really exist; your choices of reaction were sorely limited.
“We have an agreement David Baxter. You are not honoring the compromise both parties conceded to. We are aware of your penchant for procrastination and rebellious behavior, but our original terms did not allot for these delays.”
The father shadow seemed to almost come apart with every syllable that David understood, like the contents were stretching their boundaries. Maybe they thought this effect simulated verbal communication and body language. He wished that he could salute Aenit with his middle finger, but he hadn’t been deemed worthy enough to be associated with a form of any kind he could discern. He responded with as much venom in his thoughts as was possible.
“Oh really? Is that what this is? A compromise? An agreement? It seemed to me that it more closely resembled a shameless ultimatum, maybe slavery?
I have to answer all your questions and endure your utterly repellant company whenever you deem it necessary; all this while giving me none of the answers you have promised. There is not much I don’t know, but you are still keeping it from me. Is that about right you multi-dimensional fuck?”
There was a long (or perhaps short) period of the only thing which could be considered silence in this place. The entirety of visions and comforting suggestion slowed to a crawl and became a side note enhancing the pause. David thought this might be them considering their answer, or planning his torturous punishment. Either way, he was delighted he could make them something close to angry.
“After removing all the redundant descriptions and useless insults from your communication, that is the definition of our arrangement, yes.” David would have gaped if he had possessed the tools for such an act.
It was the most concise and direct answer he had ever gotten from any of the Nithromang, Aenit in particular. The form had taken seemed to slacken a little when truly angry, and he guessed his kidnapper was seething right now. The shadow looked as if its boundaries had turned to cellophane and the film was barely keeping the liquid inside from sloshing to the ground in a wet and sticky pile. It was as if anger dissolved the control they had on their constructs here, and David wondered if this piece of information could benefit him. Sometimes it was almost impossible for him to adjust to limited knowledge while considering the best way to use it.
In the next instant the shadow seemed to have always been solid and the words that he felt, heard or understood were the most intensely conveyed command he had ever experienced in that place.
“You have two of your days to provide answers to the questions we have already delivered. No more. Do not disappoint us David Baxter. You will truly dislike the results.”
“Delivered” was a nice way to describe what had happened. Actually, David had found the message scratched into his kitchen ceiling one morning. They had used his house keys.
“Are there any additional instructions needed to complete your task?” The voice dripped with impatience and a callous quality that could only be produced when speaking directly to someone’s mind. That feeling was the real communication which occurred in this Visit. That was the message they wanted to leave him with.
“I will look through the samples again. I will answer the questions I can and the others you can turn sideways and shove straight up your alien asshOOOOooooooo……….”
They had had enough. His thought ceased to exist in that place courtesy of a long, drawn out and wavering reduction. Message was conveyed, the threat was received and the postal worker disposed of. They sent him back.
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As he was forcefully reunited with his consciousness, David suddenly felt every cell in his body at the same instant. He could sense the pressure his pumping blood put on the walls of every vein and artery. He knew his body’s strains and imperfections to the minutest detail and could have run circles around any diagnostician on Earth. Abruptly, he was aware of it all. His mind felt like an invader trespassing through every inch of his flesh and all his many pieces were protesting its tenure. He had never been thrown back into reality so quickly. He could only guess as to the severity of his warning. The Nithromang usually weren’t much for chest beating. They had no reason to.
He was pounded back into the real world with the force mentioned in descriptions of the fall of Satan. He was now the square peg in a round hole. All the things he had known about the past and present of everything he had touched with his five senses was injected back into his mind with an alarming fury. David held his head in his vibrating hands and made deals with a deity he knew for a fact wasn’t listening, and didn’t even exist.
He was aware, out on the borders of his perception, that he had only been back a few moments, but it felt like he had always been in this pool of pain where his capacity was being stretched to fit an infinite total of facts. If this had ever lasted longer than three or four seconds he would have dived through his floor to ceiling window head first onto the cold grey freedom of the street long ago. His inter-dimensional pen pals called this a Visit. He called it a fleeting duty to commit suicide in the quickest way possible involving the maximum amount of cleanup. Every time this happened he had hungrily craved a bullet and deftly silenced his appetite only a few seconds later. When the balloon he called his mind had once again reached its cusp, he was instantly back as his old self.
The will to live and die, both understood and reasoned with in the time it took to chew and swallow half a chicken McNugget. Somehow he knew it was a gift to see these extremes so vividly, but he still hated the bastards for forcing him to hazard a glimpse.
His vision abruptly solidified with him in the same state as always after the Visits were complete. He was still in his chair with his feet on the floor, but at an impossible distance from the edge of the seat. He was slouching again with his head nestled in the corner of the furniture where a well shaped person’s ass would rest. No wonder he had bad posture and back pain. Multi-dimensional beings whisked you away with no warning; left you a bent up suicidal husk, and you didn’t even get a workplace safety seminar or OSHA pamphlet to assist you in collecting damages.
He assumed with total faith and blind belief that he would have had better luck nestled in a beehive cubicle deep in the gaping maw of corporate America. At least there he would be surrounded by those who could relate and instructions on how to endure.
The exclamation, “Fuck my life!” was one with which David Baxter had an essential and tenacious relationship.