3 aborted entries

Dear diary, here is an entry that consists of a few other entries that I formerly aborted. My reason for aborting them is that I did not like them very much. I mean, they displeased me when I viewed them as individuals; but, once I combined them all into a single post, I hated them roughly five percent less than before: and this was enough to convince the studio executives to…

Ah, nevermind—I was going to try to come up with a fib about how the executives ended up giving my project the green light, but I don’t know enough about that type of talk to pull off the wisecrack.

Obligatory image

Please note that the bold titles preceding the following abortions are not their true names—I just had to distinguish each one from the next, to avoid confusion. (God forbid that I confuse anyone.)

Prophecy

On a dark and stormy night, instead of disappearing after an instant, a single flash of lightning will get suspended into existence and survive with all of its brilliance lashing heavenward.

The next morning, mobs of scientists will emerge from their labs and attempt to climb the lightning to measure its branches; and, when doing so, they will accidentally burn themselves.

So the church will send out entire hosts of ex-showgirls to offer each injured scientist a pat of butter from the edge of a blade, but instead they’ll all prefer to suck their fingers.

Thought

A country steals human beings from another land. That same great nation then treats those human beings the way Hollywood treats horses. At this point, I would say that the world is in a state of inharmoniousness. If it is possible for this world to return to a state of harmony, I wonder what must happen and how long it might take.

Just now I wrote “If it is possible to return to a state of harmony…” Using that word return implies that the world has previously experienced such a state. I wonder if this is true. Also, whether or not it is true, I wonder why I assumed that it was.

This is another of those mysteries (like “whether or not our world had a beginning,” or “whether or not an omnipotent deity exists”) whose every solution I find sufficiently terrifying:

1. If our world has never enjoyed perfect harmony, it frightens me to think that this present state of turmoil might be permanent.
2. On the other hand, if our world was once indeed completely harmonious, it scares me to consider that, even if we manage to re-achieve this state, it can then be re-lost. (It is also chilling to note how far we’ve strayed.)

Fadeout

Check the direction of the breeze, get a rug and surf it. To work for a living, to attempt to please others—these things are like joints in a healthy slab of beef. Well oiled, operational, however gristly. Those who are able to ride a bike without hands are like water polo for desiccated urbanites.

I’ve been told that in ancient days, games were governed by rules. Lawyers used to detect what was trending in their native villages by doing a web search—it wasn’t easy. I admire their stance: shiny cars and a hairstyle resembling a planet-sized uterus.

Press a curious urge to unveil its end; and, if I approve your work, you can name yourself Jenny or Brant. For a flower knows exactly why it blooms: it’s got stock in that. And that’s why my people emulate this whimsical ingenuity thrice per diem. (All of my people are clerks.)

But the difficulties of gaining attention in the various discotheques are nonexistent. Attracting a mass of disciples is a cinch. My cult published a sizable book called The Encyclopedia of Selfies, which contains every single autoportrait that anyone ever captured since the beginning of sight. We used radio as the cutoff, on account of the high number of saviors that preceded the advent of nudity.

Our epoch, being one of rapid technological development, is more fickle in temperament than epochs are on the average; and it’s my opinion that epochs are inherently fickle, so that’s saying something. I’m sure that I’ve figured out this modern mania; but I keep trying to misunderstand, so as to strike upon something counterproductive. You guessed it: I’m wasting my effort because eternity is explicable.