{"id":4827,"date":"2016-03-08T16:09:04","date_gmt":"2016-03-08T16:09:04","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blog.nielskunze.com\/?p=4827"},"modified":"2016-03-08T16:24:13","modified_gmt":"2016-03-08T16:24:13","slug":"from-the-blood-of-conifers-chapter-1-the-fog-of-war","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blog.nielskunze.com\/?p=4827","title":{"rendered":"From the Blood of Conifers – Chapter 1: The Fog of War"},"content":{"rendered":"

From the Blood of Conifers
\nDe-Solving the Matrix; Dissolving the Veil<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\"Bashiba's<\/a>

Bashiba’s Breath<\/p><\/div>\n

Chapter 1 – The Fog of War<\/strong><\/p>\n

Through the wisps of indistinct dreams that seemed to hang in the night air like tattered and worn sheer curtains, a personality coalesced and fought toward awakening… toward the screaming alarm at the foot of the bed.<\/p>\n

Patrick awoke in near-perfect darkness. Only a faint glow filled the uncurtained windows with enough light to see sweet fuck all. He climbed out of bed; it was time; and ambled according to some ingrained kinesthetic memory through the obstacle course of his modest basement suite toward the bathroom at the other end of the unwalled space. He paused a moment at the third window, the one in the kitchen, to look out across the street.<\/p>\n

The lights from the buildings across the street were feeble diaphanous spheres contained in a thick and heavy fog. The lights were being swallowed by this inexorable foe, this daily visitor come to devour all sight and sensibility in the river-valley town. Only a gentle mist hovered over the surface of the lake, but where the rivers flowed, down near Patrick\u2019s place, the movement churned up thick wads of opaque moisture– obscuring and bone-chilling.<\/p>\n

\u201cFuck,\u201d whispered Patrick, as he continued to the bathroom… as though there had been any hope at all that the fog wouldn\u2019t settle in yet again. It was expected, inevitable… but that didn\u2019t make it any more tolerable.<\/p>\n

He sat on the toilet in absolute darkness, purging the last traces of visceral memory– of only just yesterday– from his aging, ailing body. The days were all mostly the same; best to just shit them out, not let them fester in monotony, inviting cancer, invoking pain. Patrick\u2019s first morning dump was often the highlight of the day… and dawn hadn\u2019t even revealed an inkling of arriving just yet.<\/p>\n

Finally, he flicked on the bathroom light. Proper wiping required actual seeing; he wasn\u2019t willing to perform the task by feel alone. And besides, if he didn\u2019t turn on the light, there was a good chance that he\u2019d fall right back asleep… right there on the toilet. And no one needs that kinda deep \u2018ring around the rosy\u2019 etched semi-permanently in their backside.<\/p>\n

Having exited the stench-du-jour, Patrick then proceeded to flick on the lights in his open living space, and made his way to the nook he called the kitchen to begin the coffee procedure. He often thought it curious that only since he\u2019d significantly cleaned up his diet, and had begun to intentionally detox, that now his morning defecations were so bizarrely aromatic. Sure, they still stank. Damn right they stank! But there was always something new, and unidentifiable… and nasty, rounding out the stench. Presumably, those new olfactory sensations were the dredged-up putrified remains of a careless youth finally being released. Kerplunk. Good riddance. To Patrick though, it seemed never-ending.<\/p>\n

With coffee in hand, as was his routine, Patrick then plunked himself down at the computer, to begin his morning cyber-routine. There were all the web-sites and blogs on his Top Sites page needing to be scrutinized one by one for any signs of novel interest. Two or three a day might have curiosity\u2019s irresistible hook, and Patrick would bite… and masticate… and even swallow… followed usually by cognitive indigestion for the rest of the day. Patrick was positively addicted to this agenda of trying to make sense of all of the news coming in from the front– the war front, that is.<\/p>\n

It was the War on Terror, the War on Drugs, the War on Cancer, the War on The Middle Class, the War on The 99%, the War on Math, the War on Wall Street, the War in The Middle East, the War on Guns– now that was a good one! It was just one giant War on Common Sense, or simply the War on Truth. On his better days, Patrick thought it was the War FOR Truth. The truth of it was, though, that it all just made his head swim…<\/p>\n

Ah, the internet– all you can eat at the information buffet!<\/p>\n

Patrick had just poured his second cup of coffee when there was a knock at the door. \u201cShit! That can\u2019t be Jeffrey already.\u201d It was still twenty minutes too early. He hadn\u2019t even had his second shit.<\/p>\n

It was Jeffrey– smiling-his-mother-fucking-ass-off Jeffrey!<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy are you here?\u201d droned Patrick backing away from the door, retreating into his living space. \u201cYou\u2019re way too fucking early.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI tried calling,\u201d explained Jeffrey cordially. \u201cYour phone must be off… since last night.\u201d He said it in a way that lacked even the tiniest trace of accusation or judgment. The very inflection of his voice was a shrug saying \u201cNo big deal.\u201d He said it almost cheerfully. Fucking Jeffrey! Fucking cheerful Jeffrey! It was a big deal to Patrick– putting this very real chink in his morning routine.<\/p>\n

\u201cI haven\u2019t even had my second shit yet!\u201d<\/p>\n

That made Jeffrey flinch, ever so slightly. (It had been Jeffrey– for the most part– after all, who had persuaded Patrick to finally begin cleaning up his life. Jeffrey knew the importance of shitting.) The flinch lasted perhaps a nanosecond, and then Jeffrey was overcome with cheerfulness once more. \u201cI have to stop off at Gram\u2019s,\u201d he explained, as Patrick hurried to get his things together. \u201cThere\u2019s something I need to pick up before work.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy can\u2019t we stop by after work?\u201d insisted Patrick, still trying to salvage the possibility of that second shit.<\/p>\n

\u201cGram insisted,\u201d said Jeffrey, hoping that was explanation enough. And knowing that it wasn\u2019t, he added \u201cShe\u2019s got this thing about timing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIsn\u2019t she dead yet?\u201d said Patrick heartlessly. \u201cNo offense,\u201d he quickly added, and then plowed on. \u201cI mean, how the fuck old is she now anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n

Jeffrey might\u2019ve been a bit taken aback, but he answered quite cheerfully nevertheless. \u201cWhat? She\u2019s only a hundred and six.\u201d And with all that righteous good cheer mixed in you just couldn\u2019t tell if Jeffrey was being sarcastic or perfectly serious– like people are supposed to live to a hundred and six!<\/p>\n

Patrick was dressed now. He always drank his coffee from a to-go mug anyway, so that was no problem to take along. \u201cJust let me fill my water bottle,\u201d he said, rinsing it in the sink. Jeffrey remained in silent good cheer… and somehow that irked Patrick, as he made his way over to the distiller. \u201cOh, and my insulin,\u201d he said, grabbing the pouch from the counter. He filled the bottle from the reservoir, took a little sip, and they were quickly out the door.<\/p>\n

Patrick and Jeffrey were on their way to Gram\u2019s.
\n_________________________________________________<\/p>\n

Go to the Next Chapter<\/a> of From the Blood of Conifers<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

From the Blood of Conifers De-Solving the Matrix; Dissolving the Veil Chapter 1 – The Fog of War Through the wisps of indistinct dreams that seemed to hang in the night air like tattered and worn sheer curtains, a personality (…)<\/p>\n

Read the rest of this entry »<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[26],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4827","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-from-the-blood-of-conifers"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.nielskunze.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4827","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.nielskunze.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.nielskunze.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.nielskunze.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.nielskunze.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4827"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/blog.nielskunze.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4827\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4833,"href":"https:\/\/blog.nielskunze.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4827\/revisions\/4833"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.nielskunze.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4827"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.nielskunze.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4827"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.nielskunze.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4827"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}