The "Jar Dog" dream

Standing on a dilapidated porch, searching for a phone, car broken down on the side of the road -- fifty miles out from the last town as memory serves. The air is humid and paint is peeling from the walls. The air is hazy and condensation is slowly forming into trails on the dusty windows -- small muddy rivers taking unpredictable journeys, diverting as much as gravity will allow. No one replies to several vigorous knocks on the rickety door.

There must be a phone inside. Rachel checks the door, it is locked. We tromp through the half-mud to the back of the house and peer in through the screen door. The scattered house, its array of disorganization speaks of abandonment and indeed the house feels empty but it is not.

At the end of the hallway sits a round table on which a clear glass conch rests, emanating the muted whimpers of the miniature malnourished puppy trapped inside, parts of its twisted body magnified several times by the curved glass. Sickened but strangely fascinated and filled with empathy for this poor animal, we fail to notice at first, the man who slips into the room.

His wild hair, long fingernails, and frightening countenance fail to distract us from the cold black steel of the gun, which despite his shakes remains trained, accurately enough, at various parts of our bodies which we consider vital.

His first words, "The hardest part is getting him into the bottle before I leave for work in the morning."

Discovered Stardate X

If you had needed to speak from space in a voice heard through time — inscribed in the mottled rock of a burnt-out asteroid you would have done so. The inside walls of the pitted husk inscribed with symbols and pictures. The paint could not glow, could not impart meaning because it had never been applied to the walls with careful hands, minds thinking forward to the souls that would sit on rusted canisters pondering the meaning of the undeciphered language.

The mild gravity of the rock trapped stray atmosphere, not enough to breath but enough to notice the occasional speck of dust float past the plexathane bubble of a suit's helmet. The writings were conspicuously absent as they littered other ruins -- something set this desolate rock apart from the rest of the locations that had been found, both on the primary inhabited planet and the outpost colonies scattered through the solar system. Nowhere could be found — any technology which would have allowed this civilization to settle other planets and asteroids.

Though some means of colonization must have existed, all trace of it was now gone. Hidden for a purpose certainly, as settling a colony could not have been a small undertaking and it was carefully cleaned up, the means of travel between the home world and the colonies carefully stowed away, hidden or at least obscured from careful inspection.

Teleportation was the favorite theory among lay people but the team of xeno-archaeologists dismissed that summarily, as did the physicists who were consulted in the matter by the science inquiry board — a commission of career diplomats and orphans — who sought to provide answers while collecting and collating all existing information about the recently discovered astro-location.

Tiny Animals

If only they were less like small animals, Andrew thought, seated in front of a huge array of lcd screens, watching the interlace draw fuzzy dots as it cycled. He pressed one of the screens lightly with his pinky, watched the fractal pattern ooze out from the focus of the tip. Nowadays, it seemed everything was a pattern but he didn't mind. Patterns intrigued him, engulfed him, and made him as close to giddy as an Emotional Level was going to get.

"Well, everyone has to make a living," he thought to himself as he began to type, a crescendo of bits worming their way into the system, replicating, broadcasting, backing themselves up, and generally working themselves into a tither. Each line of code spoke softly of its decisions and mandates. Each method call invoking a neighborhood of guild workers, highly-trained in precision craftsmanship, to burst from inactivity for a common good.


( As with all of my writing, best when read aloud using the voice of Christopher Walken )

I'm wearing glasses now at age 43 for the first time since I was quite young. I probably should have started a couple years ago. I didn't recognize the increased cognitive load that my vision problems were causing because it showed up gradually. Now, with no headaches for almost a year I've come to realize that eye strain was the root cause.

It's wonderful to live in an age where we can augment these fragile meatspace bodies with technology. Before 1268, if you had vision problems, you were pretty much screwed. ( Museum of Vision )

Wearing a single contact, just in my bad eye, is better than glasses because of the fisheye / blur issues. However, we really need to invent some lenses that can auto focus. Personally, I would be willing to pay a lot for a solution.

Maybe there is hope: Google, Novartis and EPGL in Race to Develop First "Autofocus" Contact Lens


Okay BOGO, buy one get one free, I get that. I'm getting twice the product for my money. Mix and match, even better. Twice the value plus choice style points.

Two for two, or TFT, to the tune of AC/DC, you could probably brand that with a little music licensing on the side -- but it is still BOGO essentially.

Buy two get one, BTGO maybe? Now you're not impressing me, making me work and recall algebra. It's just intended to confuse with the 1/3rds of B2G1 and then the intermingling of the two price sets on the same shelves and making the offer types mix and match but each type can only be mix and matched with one of a set where the tags are only differentiated by one number because you've normalized your numerator at two to attempt to obfuscate the denominator.

It makes me want to not shop at your store.

Mission Spotlight, "Keep the Good Ones Close"

Mission Spotlight has just released a new album that I think you're going to like, a lot.

A great group of guys and talented musicians, to boot. I've known more than half of them my entire adult life so I may be a bit biased but I think this album is dope.

A rock solid country album with yearning pedal steel and touches of trumpet, piano, accordion and vocal harmony.

I'm not sure what you're waiting for? Get it now at CD Baby!

Or, I guess you could get it on iTunes. Either way, support my friends!

You could also make friends on Facebook or Twitter, they're pretty friendly.

older posts

throbbing mattress kitten


the drought and draught of hope

"splashed with a sense of place, this set of tunes wafts out of the northwest u.s. of a., leading you on a restless journey while crisscrossing the footsteps of pioneers. in this revolution of time, we all feel the drought and the draught of hope."

archaeology confession 192

"a field recording recovered many years after the crumbling of modern civilization, this document chronicles the experience of one man's journey before, during, and after the fall."

elderly tunes

"10 years of chaos, captured on the first five tmk albums, collected now in a single compilation."

why not listen to this?

make out by the silver surfer was chosen at random from the 184 songs available for you to download

more music...

© 1999—2016 Timothy Lee Russell


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