Howard Communicates via Waves
It is the middle of the night, I'm broadcasting to you life-forms from outer space. It is the middle of the day. It is the afternoon. I am radioing this in at this moment from outer-space! There is no global time. I am looking at the sun as it peeks over to see what the moon is doing on the other side of the earth. Is it Tuesday or Wednesday? I can see both of them. Yes, it IS possible.
If I haven't introduced myself before, I am Howard It has always been my hobbyhorse to one day play father time and watch both the sunset, and the sunrise. Yes, you can see my face directly. Do not look so shocked. I am not wearing a space-suit, or garters, or fetters, or a silly pair of pants, or a bow-tie, neither am I wearing anything disreputable on my person. I have learned to astral project so that I may go places where no man or woman has gone before, where the effects of oxygen-deprivation do not affect my physical body because of my exceptional circumstances, yet all my internal physiology is inherently linked with the stars, with what a primate loosely orbitting several meteors somewhere in the universe might be like, so that I may have my outerworldly adventures, under relatively comfortable circumstances.
Of course, you who may be skeptics may wonder, but the fact is there is someone who knows, and although I cannot report the exact coordinates of my soul at this particular moment in your limited numerals, it is because actually, the worm-hole that holds this galaxy is constantly shifting on its axis, and at this moment, things are instable enough, that I can't tell you precisely, whether the year of the rooster is fully or only partially evolving at this particular moment of conjunction between the various planets and stars that hold this intricate system together, or whether shapes are round or oblong, but I can tell you that for some reason, my astral body has taken up a new form of movement, which I can only describe as some kind of disco dance.
To not overwhelm you now with lengthy explanations, I will simply send my regards and assurance that I will be completely safe out here in outer-space, and I will share my my main observance, which would be that it is overwhelmingly quiet out here. It is so quiet that as I speak I cannot even subvocalize what I am saying. SILENCE... Since there is no oxygen, the sound doesn't carry. I am coerced into the supposition that even my mind must be communicating on a more fundamental, intuitive plain. It is a mute one, in which symbols are more expressive, concentrated, intense, and less diluted in form, yet the debris of matter whirling at millions of miles an hour is no less real. It sounds so much more clearer. Even as gysers are exploding in front of you, it would be easy enough to fall asleep. For the written language communicated in space, there are no auditory ambiguities or opportunities to mistake the sound of a C for a D, or any other for that matter, because you don't even internally hear it. The thought of sound is impossible. However, the language here is so impeccably understandable. A Satellite just told me it is time to sign off. Humans on earth cannot often afford this luxury. Space is a wonderful place. No wonder aliens are so laid back.
Oh no! I appear to be gravitating towards another mass...
H892#!
Filed under Howard Wayword
If I haven't introduced myself before, I am Howard It has always been my hobbyhorse to one day play father time and watch both the sunset, and the sunrise. Yes, you can see my face directly. Do not look so shocked. I am not wearing a space-suit, or garters, or fetters, or a silly pair of pants, or a bow-tie, neither am I wearing anything disreputable on my person. I have learned to astral project so that I may go places where no man or woman has gone before, where the effects of oxygen-deprivation do not affect my physical body because of my exceptional circumstances, yet all my internal physiology is inherently linked with the stars, with what a primate loosely orbitting several meteors somewhere in the universe might be like, so that I may have my outerworldly adventures, under relatively comfortable circumstances.
Of course, you who may be skeptics may wonder, but the fact is there is someone who knows, and although I cannot report the exact coordinates of my soul at this particular moment in your limited numerals, it is because actually, the worm-hole that holds this galaxy is constantly shifting on its axis, and at this moment, things are instable enough, that I can't tell you precisely, whether the year of the rooster is fully or only partially evolving at this particular moment of conjunction between the various planets and stars that hold this intricate system together, or whether shapes are round or oblong, but I can tell you that for some reason, my astral body has taken up a new form of movement, which I can only describe as some kind of disco dance.
To not overwhelm you now with lengthy explanations, I will simply send my regards and assurance that I will be completely safe out here in outer-space, and I will share my my main observance, which would be that it is overwhelmingly quiet out here. It is so quiet that as I speak I cannot even subvocalize what I am saying. SILENCE... Since there is no oxygen, the sound doesn't carry. I am coerced into the supposition that even my mind must be communicating on a more fundamental, intuitive plain. It is a mute one, in which symbols are more expressive, concentrated, intense, and less diluted in form, yet the debris of matter whirling at millions of miles an hour is no less real. It sounds so much more clearer. Even as gysers are exploding in front of you, it would be easy enough to fall asleep. For the written language communicated in space, there are no auditory ambiguities or opportunities to mistake the sound of a C for a D, or any other for that matter, because you don't even internally hear it. The thought of sound is impossible. However, the language here is so impeccably understandable. A Satellite just told me it is time to sign off. Humans on earth cannot often afford this luxury. Space is a wonderful place. No wonder aliens are so laid back.
Oh no! I appear to be gravitating towards another mass...
H892#!
Filed under Howard Wayword
posted by sirbarrett at 11:49 p.m.
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