buzzdixonwriter

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#fictoid #humor_pitiful_stabs_at #Edward_DAncona_art

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#fictoid #humor_pitiful_stabs_at #Ed_Emshwiller_art #Im_a_scifi_kinda_guy

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#fictoid #humor_pitiful_stabs_at #Edward_Penfield_art

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[buzzdixonwriter]

We Don’t Really Need To Exist [FICTOID]

He went hunting for deer and found the Truth.

Not a good trade.

He left home early on a frosty morning, heading deep into the wooded mountains surrounding the valley where he lived.

Though his family farmed there for generations, he felt called to hunting, to seeking our and tracking down and ultimately killing pretty.

He did so with no ill intent.  He took no pleasure in the animals’ fear or in whatever suffering they endured but death mercifully snuffed them out.

He frequently killed them with a single shot to the heart, causing them a moment’s shocked surprise before losing consciousness.

The bodies he dragged home, skinned and dressed them, using the hides for clothes and shoes, the meat for food.

Recently the animals retreated further and further into the woods, higher and higher up the mountains.

The hunter grumbled about this -- “More work for me dragging them back!” -- but stoically accepted it.

The further he got from his home, however, the more preternatural the woods felt. 

The mountains no longer looked familiar; rather strange peaks and craigs rose where never seen before.

The vegetation also seemed different from the familiar plants and trees around the farm.  The insect and bird sounds filling the air seemed alien and strange.

There seemed to be a disconnect between the human reality he knew and the reality of the woods around him.  He couldn’t put his finger on why, but it didn’t seem to him to be a false sensation.

Rather, it felt like he touched some deeper, more profound truth.

As he crested one ridge, he looked down and saw a deep valley below him.

At first it seemed made of gold, then he realized the hue came from dead grass.

He saw a oddly shaped multi-hued object floating in midair several feet above the valley floor.  Despite feeling dread at the sight of it, he climbed down into the valley to examine it more closely.

He guessed it to be about twenty feet across and forty feet high.  Its multiple facets appeared to be made of stained glass, each pane glowing with some spectral light from within.

It floated too high above him for him to reach it even if he took a running jump.

He wondered about taking a shot at it when a voice in his head said:  Don’t.

He looked startled.  Who am I? the voice reverberated.  I am that which cannot be named, I am the ultimate and the infinite, I am the only thing that truly exists.

“I exist,” the hunter said, not sounding at all convinced.

You merely think you think you exist.  You are but a figment of my imagination.  All that exists is a figment of my imagination:  This valley, these mountains, this land, this world, this universe.  Me and me alone.

He opened his mouth to protest but shut it again.  Deep in the core of his being he knew the words spoken to be true.

“I don’t exist?” he croaked.

You could never even have possibly existed.  You are a faction of a fraction of a figment.  You not only could have never possibly existed, but all you know does not exist either.

“No love?”

No love.  No hate.  No right.  No wrong.  No thing.  Nothing.

“I’ll tell the world about you.”

To gain what?  Further proof all is false, all is empty.  Chase the dragon’s tail, let it swallow itself.

Suddenly the hunter found themselves back among familiar woods, the roof of his home visible among the trees.

In the years to come, his family and friends all remarked on the eerie melancholy that descended on him when he returned from his last hunt.  They noticed he regarded life as tasteless and ashen, nothing worth living for, nothing worth dying for, just a nonsensical meaningless existence.

He never spoke of what caused such a profound and painful change in his outlook, and that caused those nearest him to fear him more.

While he could never find adequate words to convey his one inescapable truth to them, he knew it to be a fact.

Sometimes the abyss gazes back.

  © Buzz Dixon

[buzzdixonwriter]

#fictoid #humor_pitiful_stabs_at #Edward_Hopper_art

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[buzzdixonwriter]

#fictoid #humor_pitiful_stabs_at #Ed_Valigursky_art #Im_a_scifi_kinda_guy

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#fictoid #humor_pitiful_stabs_at

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#fictoid #humor_pitiful_stabs_at #Edward_Dalton_Stevens_art

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[buzzdixonwriter]

gifted [POEM]

when you get a gift you never knew you wanted but find you can’t live without be thankful god or fate or blind chance knew what you needed better than you did

  © Buzz Dixon

#poetry

[buzzdixonwriter]

#fictoid #humor_pitiful_stabs_at #Eduardo_Garcia_Benito_art

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#fictoid #humor_pitiful_stabs_at #Edmund_F_Ward_art

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#fictoid #humor_pitiful_stabs_at #Dugald_Stewart_Walker_art

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[buzzdixonwriter]

Si Quæris Peninsulam Amœnam Circumspice [FICTOID]

During the winter solstice all the pyramids in Michigan start walking around.

There were a surprising large number of them, most simple wood frames with canvas or drywall covering them, a few made of metal, but also six traditionally constructed from stacked stone, the tallest being twenty-four feet tall.

Only pyramids in the Lower Peninsula appeared affected by this sudden ambulatory endowment.

No reports of walking pyramids in the Upper Peninsula, or from the states bordering Michigan:  Wisconsin, Indiana, Ohio.

Whether submerged pyramids walked the floors of Lakes Michigan and Huron is unknown.

At first the walking pyramids alarmed the Michiganians, resulting in the National Guard being called out by the governor, but the walking pyramids presented no threat to anyone.

They obeyed traffic laws, waited for the light to turn green before crossing any streets, looked both ways before crossing any country roads.

With the ground frozen solid by Michigan’s typical brutal winter, they did no damage to farmlands or private property.

Once the initial alarm subsided, Michiganians began observing the walking pyramids with first curiosity then amusement.

Of course there were those who tried to exploit the phenomenon.  Several religious fundamentalists of varying faiths and denominations all proclaimed they pyramids were signs of God’s judgment, conservative political pundits blamed the left in general and communists in particular, various terrorist groups tried to claim credit but nobody took them seriously.

As the day wore on the stolid Michiganians became bored by it all and went home for hot cocoa and Mackinac Island Fudge.

When the sun began to set the pyramids dutifully returned to their home bases, carefully positioning themselves so they faced 180-degrees opposite their original orientation.

Why they did this remains as much of a mystery as their heretofore unanticipated ability to move though one of the more progressive religious leaders in the state said it had something to do with God showing his acceptance of transgender people.

To which most Michiganians thought, Yeah, right, whatever.

Since then none of the pyramids has moved so much as a single silly little millimeter.

Whatever their midwinter jaunt meant, the pyramids kept it to themselves.

  © Buzz Dixon

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[buzzdixonwriter]

#fictoid #humor_pitiful_stabs_at #Walter_Popp_art

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#fictoid #humor_pitiful_stabs_at #Ed_McNally_art

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#fictoid #humor_pitiful_stabs_at #Wesley_Snyder_art

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#fictoid #humor_pitiful_stabs_at #Douglass_Cockrell_art

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