Something avant-gardeThe red, yellow, and black jagged stripped curtains whipped about. They really were the ugliest curtains I had ever seen and, yes, I had made them. One memory told me that I had bought the material cheep at a remnant sale; another I had rescued the undeserving fabric from a store dumpster; and still another a gift. It was memories like this that I hadn’t a clue, which one was true for this reality. It was best just to go with the flow on the small stuff details. Human memory was not adapted well for reality hopping.
I closed my eyes and waited for a fantasy to inspire me. A nubile Scandinavian lass dressed in a miniskirt walking out of my mental mist towards me. She was a frequent player in my lewd mental theater in all the time-lines. Yet somehow she seemed even sexier, her wide triangular face more pixilated, and her expression even more inviting.
The Danish dream blonde winked as she began to unbutton her blouse and said as she slipped it off. “My mind is full of memories of past events that seemed to have happened just a few weeks ago,” she said cryptically blending phenomenology with eroticism. She twisted to put her generously filled brassiere into motion. Her pixilated face beamed, “I know it is true for you too,” she observed.
The odd direction this fantasy was taking… puzzled me… but not enough to not go with it. With the flexibility of an acrobat, she brought an ankle to her cheek revealing cotton panties under her mini skirt. She paused looking perplexed. “Yet the yesterdays seem to be diverging racially from the way they should have happened.” She touched her toes then smoothly stood on her hands making her inverted hanging bosom jiggle wonderfully. “It feels as if I were changing my own future past, as odd as that sounds.” She did splits accentuating her muscular legs clad with army boots, all the while maintaining a distracted look.
“Maybe this is just a parallel world with its own slug’s trail of a past,” suggested a booming disembodied voice in my mind.
“That would avoid the time traveler’s paradox,” replied the fantasy blonde turning he acrobatic feats into a lewd anatomy lesson. “On the other hand, the time traveler’s paradox is probably just a rhetorical illusion. If you want me to exist I will. Wouldn’t you like me to exist?” She flared her shockingly blue eyes as puckish smile curled on her wide triangular face. “I knew you did,” she confirmed. Her smile became wicked as she cartwheeled into a split.
A large octopus with firm snake like tentacles glided into the erotic scene out of the darkness. It seized her! She whispered in the cognitive ether as she wrestled with the writhing beast. “The past is not an unchanging thing like a road, it isn’t a thing at all, it is a bounded but infinite set of hyperbolic parallels.” Each word rode a grimacing staccato. It was clear the intent of the licentious cephalopod and she was clearly aroused by the tussle.
“An infinite but bounded set of hyperbolic parallels,” she repeated as she struggled on, “that pass through a local condensation in the sea of all the possible things... reality is only the ephemeral present with no firm past or future, but I’m part of the solution...” She surrendered.
“Ah... not just a fantasy girl,” replied the octopus coolly as a howling wind began to sweep all away, “That explained a lot.”
Well let see if that does anything…
Bewildered
