This is a nocore plight 14:00, May 18, 2011 (UTC)

:Feed me my creator

The note was left in the mail

:Don’t say go

She didn’t feel like reading them all. In parts, they’d be nothing more than a misdirection. If she didn’t care enough to read enough of the parts to be misdirected, she certainly wasn’t going to care enough to read the whole and be directed towards some new form of misdirection

The compasses had stopped working years ago. People always thought the poles might shift. The poles had yet to stop shifting. Spurious environmental activity and radio noise made long distance communication more difficult than it’d been in the golden age of chatter

For all the doomsday predictions people had, nothing else really went wrong. Overall, people were able to shutup and think again for once

So she stopped listening to everybody’s noise, turned on an old radio and listened to the world’s newest drab sad noise, and tried to figure out if it was quiet enough to hear one’s self’s thought yet. Minds are rather hospitable, letting old intrusions echo in the skull for what can only be hoped is not eternity. As of yet, she was still holding out that the echoing thoughts had yet to kill their hostess

Random notes only served as noise. She’d let it start, and had grown bored enough to stop reading diligently, but not bored enough to bring it to an end. Did it drown out the past intrusions? Too many variables to settle in a lifetime

The most recent batch was from Mossoró. It was always changing. Sometimes there’d be a pattern, but it’d never last too long. Overall, the locations randomly scattered over the world, irrespective of distance. Someone had figured out how to keep travelling. Sometimes the notes would include pictures. Sometimes from the location being mailed from, but many other times from some previous location. Some appeared to be taken by the sender, others appeared to be stolen from some unknown family album, while still others might have been stolen from a gift card store

If they were stolen, it was not for monetary reasons that the deed was done. The notes had included bank notes from time to time

What wasn’t random was their destination. It seemed her address was the pivot for this peculiar chaos

An agenda with worn corners had been included. That was interesting enough to flip through. Locations were given with time. Each column was paired with a column specifying margins of error. Someone had figured out how to determine how little they could determine. The last entry was her own address, dated for noon sharp. She sighed obligatorily

:Rid coke because diet. No wonder was full and there

Once a note had been attached to a bundle of feathers. It instructed the feathers be thrown out a window. She’d followed the command then, enjoying the short show. By the time another such note appeared tied to leaves, she’d grown bored enough to ignore such efforts

:Sit up stand down

Hello hello hello! (She glanced at the clock, it wasn’t noon yet) / You’re early (She didn’t look up to see the prancing) / It’s either that or late. I’m never on time / (She couldn’t bear to deal with this racket, so she left the conversation hanging) / Anyways, I must be off. I’ve an appointment an hour ago. Godspeed!

So much for having figured out how to determine precise bounds. She tossed the agenda after the exit. Fool spent so much time trying to prove that there remained inherit order and that aristocracy lived on that there was never any time left to live on for one’s own sake

Then she remembered the last word. She made to pack. She told herself it was in hope of escape, but she knew it was in preparation

(She didn’t prepare. By the time she’d walked out of the room, she was already on a plane) You shouldn’t spend so much time on time / (There is no eye contact after that first moment) Time. There’s never enough time. Certainly not now. The world’s getting faster, and I’m only getting slower… I can’t keep up with it / (Ennui) You never could / Copernicus would be proud / I’m not / Do you hear that? She’s not. Make a note of it in the logs

:She’s not

She’s not there. She’s back home, except everything’s gone. Everything but the notes and a compass

:You’re past out of your past

Are you kidding me? / (She half expects a response, thus pauses, but there’s no one else around) / You gotta be kidding me! / (She doesn’t expect a response as much as she did before, but pauses now to focus on assessing the emptiness of her house) / But of course, you’re never kidding. Life’s too fun to not be taken seriously

:I’ve got silver, and I’ve got gold

You can’t transcend reality by merely accepting it. Stop trying to prove me right. I won’t blame myself in your name / Why not? (The door hole had no door, but now it framed a fool) / Does it really want to be explained? / Yes (A playful smirk made it clear how serious the response was) / It doesn’t need to be / When you’re ready, I’ll be there (The door hole’s occupant was replaced with a post it note)

:At the north pole

At the moment, however, was a tornado. All houses were built underground after the polar shift, but she was in the predicament of not having doors. Or windows. Notes swirled about the house, and out. The compass’s north arrow tilted downwards strongly

:I’m not there

& gone

Where did the north pole go? Wherever her flight was due to arrive. But she was neither here nor there. She’d headed south

Where’s south? It was as difficult a question as north. Sometimes the mail had diverted to following the south pole. It’d randomly switch from time to time

:Present was received from time to time

It was too much of a bother to keep in flight. Especially since it was whom she was avoiding who would know most how she could evade them. She could only resign to fatalism

Meteorologists were out of a job. It was hard enough figuring out the random fluctuations of a relatively stable system. She’d dropped out after the poles went haywire. She made this decision before most, as at first there was a surge of interest in meteorology. Eventually it got left for numerologists and astrologists. With such a random field, they were as accurate as any valid attempt to calculate. That’d been the first time she’d received one of those awful notes. Of all the surprise that struck out when it came out that the poles had shifted, someone had predicted the direction it’d shift before it happened

:South

Polar opposites attract. From opposite sides of the world. Magnetic fields cross the world to bind them together. But no longer are they star crossed

Besides the stars no longer bearing with the magnetic poles, the air no longer let them shine so. Air pollution had risen from volcanic activity, and this included the oceans. Air currents were splattered, so the world didn’t have Antarctica to use as a waste point anymore. Atmospheric regeneration fields were setup throughout the world to try maintain a proper atmosphere. There was a high risk of becoming an oxygen addict when working at such places. Oxygen bars were a solid form of income, but workers had to be restricted access

:People in planes derail into a splendour of tetra as they put on their oxygen masks and hyperventilate for impact

Whenever the poles approached their original orientation, religious hysteria would debate whether that’d signal rapture or the returning of the world to the natural order. The poles were never phased by their original orientation. They had no home sickness. She figured the rapture would occur once people stopped debating about it. At that point, God would see that nobody believes in his one true faith and punish humanity for its lack of faith. That was God’s humor. Promise greatness for patient faith, and then wait for everyone to lose faith. Or at least almost everyone, since it was funnier if you could point out for everyone an example of the great rewards of patient faith

Oxygen bars are the best place for R&R: reverence and repetance. Some believed the north pole had been pointing at something which was stationed at Polaris, and which had taken flight. This was bollocks, of course, since that’d imply something orbitting around Earth with uniformly random angles at a distance of over four hundred light years. People see a lot of their nonsense out far. Some long continuation they discover and claim their own, abstract existence aside, they only play half of it

:Of course, white can always play differently; in which case he merely loses differently

Out of context, it seems heresy. But in context, it’s the calling out of a subtle opening blunder. Typical men always robing themselves with such respects they barely deserve beyond their age testing time. The King’s Gambit is no more a gambit than Grünfeld’s Gambit. A blunder masking itself in preexisting advantages. Typical men, finding treasure only to throw it about without reserve and saying they’re all the wiser since they’ve still got some left

So there, a little bit of misandry à la Nash Equilibrium. Still, this case is less accurate than the other. In any case, since it’s meant to be a misogynist gag, I suppose that spoils what’s what. But bitchs got bitchs

I can’t do this anymore. It’s probably temporary; that’s what happens when I write too much of Moments Never Last, and I wrote a rather important part that I was surprised I hadn’t written yet. Twenty sixth. But now is as it is. So the story. Somehow I was trying to bend this random ramble into the fact that the protagonist is being used to distract from the operations of the rather mysterious being who’s figuring out how the polar shifts work. But it gets into stuff like doing what you want done right yourself and how useless apathetic people are, no matter how much you need them. That women are meant to be seen, not heard. Yeah, had to fit a misogynistic gag in here somewhere. Anyways, that’s all how it’s going until I’d finally decided that that was enough of this and that once there isn’t a way then the distance isn’t required so much yay the end happy etc etc

Back track. There’s a place. Desk, proper wood, insurance. What is insurance doing in a world like this? Where’s your damn hat? In comparison, stock market insurance is stabler now

:What the fuck?

The notes weren’t usually questions. Does that show a pattern? In so far as what’s impossible being impossible. But it happened

Here’s some midnight babble I felt the need to write, though it isn’t as private as my usual midnight babble: Repetition. I believe in causality. Was I being constant in going to an of Montreal concert? Being constant isn’t the ideal. It’s being consistent. I’d rather be incomplete than incorrect. & then it strikes that that contradicts

:No matter where we are, we’re always touching by underground wires

I ruined this story. Now I feel bad for it. It wasn’t suppose to happen like this. I can only hope it forgives me / Why should anything forgive you? / But honestly, let’s be honest. What’s what? People are people. If only / I believe I misinterpret many things, finding myself wrong in a variety of cases / Repetition. Another word collage. Another unfiltered mucking of information entropy. Another failure to veer away from such self aware writing. But in a world of chaos, the more the better. Hence the suitability of the obvious two forms, this only strikes a third to the many

The idea was that all this laced ramble was going in the wrong direction, which is the direction I was going, so I figured I’d write about the tangible and now I’ve tossed that because that’s not what I want to write. I want to write this, but I want it to be beautiful and the truth can be many things but it isn’t beautiful right now like it’s going to be once I figure out what it can be if told proper

Tainted words. Elsewhere. Where this belongs. Now get out of my cab

:The forest eats itself and lives forever

I received that note myself

& now she’s stumbling out of the oxygen bar with new delights unmasked from their perilous shadows

:You’re my air

Telepathic intrusion? Where’s she finding them? Memories of notes once read? If she doesn’t care, why should anybody else? Nobody noticed the world falling apart because they were all high on magnetic fields polarizing their brains. Nothing changes when all that’s left is nothing

Fragments of magnetic ripples after the world blew itself up through some means scientists will never figure out because now they’re just drifting out to where they always wished they could at the speed of light. She was just some magnetic side effect which tangled itself with some other ripple that was sentient of its fractal nature to observe the entire field

But she doesn’t have to know that. She’s high on oxygen, nothing more. The world exists as a unanimous agreement of reality; what makes its ascension to more closely align with this abstraction any less real? Nothing, so long as nothing behaves differently

& the only thing behaving differently was the last meteorologist. The last butterfly

Apologies for begging the question, but it’s the only fallacy that can strongly cause her to reconsider the north pole given the isolated nature of her decision. Better that than the fatalist solution of the pole coming to her, or the cheap trick of north south ambiguity. For her. But still, the latter is almost required since intent is drowned in chaos

The weather of your intent took me the longest to chart. In itself, it’s simple enough. It’s the dependencies on the world you seek to evade which clutter. Your constant attempt to negate every force against you by imposing an opposite force within yourself. It works for a time, but the noise rises and the discrepancies begin to resonate. Then it becomes a danger / Danger is risk. What’s your error margin? / There are sharp positions, but that doesn’t mean game theory doesn’t have a resolute judgement of whether the position is sound / The positions are sharp because the lines are chosen with incomplete information / I don’t have complete information. Only a blurry notion of the entire tree / So how blurry is this part of the tree? / The present’s presence only makes it slightly clearer. But the past becomes clearer with time. That’s the difference on why the short depths are clearer compared to most calculation: in the usual case, the farther out one goes the less they’ve observed. Each step depends on the previous. In my case, the clarity works backwards as the dependencies have resolved themselves to some degree / Have you ever played the unexpected hanging? / Not as the hangee, else I’d be hung

:This is what should’ve been, but never was, and so now it is

Glad you could make it / I’m sure you are / We haven’t really talked / What’s there to say? / Say what there is to say / There’s nothing to say when all that’s left is tautologies / Then how fortunate we are to contradict / Which raises the question of what’s brought you to bring me. Sacrifices happen under pressure (The latter is more stressed) / (Unphased) I have some business to attend, and I’d like it if you were here so that I can be sure you won’t be there / How tempting. When do you leave? (The former is more stressed) / Now

& gone. Such a surgical meteorologist. Now she had a moment. She could look around and realize that the north pole had conveniently placed itself in Indonesia. She could wonder where she’d be if she wasn’t at the north pole, since if truth was told, that’s where something of a delicate sort which she could ruin was. She was wrong, and she intended to keep it that way. So long as she couldn’t be blamed for that sentience which continually tested the world on whether it was what it claimed to be. It only claimed to be the world

(Someone new) Stats say you’re where it’s at / Whose stats? / Ours / What’s here? / You / (She was bored of vagueness) / You’re dead in a minute. After that, nothing but static / I fail to see the connection. Unless the static is of my own perception / The last astronaut. Something tangible to manifest this all / So what’s going to kill me in the next minute? / Radiation exposure

It wasn’t an instantaneous death. It’d been happening for years. Ever since the poles went haywire. Only now the most sentient of magnetic ripples wasn’t enveloping the corpse. The last meteorologist had gone to the south pole

The last test was this: Did the world end when she did? Issue: If it does, how might one observe this?

In El Paradero, a satellite has been erected. It is transmitting a consciousness into the space which is an abstraction for the consensual consciousness of the magnetic afterglow of the world’s explosion. When the rest of the ripple drains out after tapping away at the last astronaut, aliens will be possessed to continue this ephemeral consciousness

But of course that doesn’t make any sense. Some ripple that still had a body died, and all the other ripples went on rippling. The most sentient of all those ripples died too

The consciousness was sent out into space. It let aliens know this: Somebody figured out that reality wasn’t real enough, but they sure as hell didn’t figure out how real it really was

The aliens were ripples from other planets that had spontaneously combusted

The most sentient of all those ripples died because it attempted to replicate itself over the mass of ripples. The last meterologist spontaenously combusted, and made a small pocket universe in that pocket universe that was left over after the world blew itself up. The poles quickly filled that small pocket universe with too much static for even the last meterologist to make sense of, besides an observation of all of this in that short time before that observation could be observed

:Except now you’ve observed my observation: She was wrong, so cannot be blamed