Untold Tales Channel

People in the bubbles

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 14 Feb 2017 14:42:00 -0800

Daydreamers on our way

Third episode on podcast from Untold Tales Channel. This time we take a look at people living inside their dream bubble. How harmful might they be to the society? Maybe they are not harmful at all? Are they useful or something should be done with them? How do you see this topic? Visit coal mines, amazon jungle and much more to get to know my truth about it. Best of all!

Background music(all downloaded from YouTube Music Library):

Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 10:50 Liszt

Consequence - Wonders by Kevin MacLeod is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution licence (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/)
Source: http://incompetech.com/music/royalty-free/index.html?isrc=USUAN1100283
Artist: http://incompetech.com/
Otis McDonald

Back Streets of Seoul 3:38 MK2

Tight Perm 1:35 Silent Partner

The Poisoned Princess 1:49 Media Right Productions

ship bell

Meeting at the railway track

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 14 Feb 2017 14:29:00 -0800

Meeting at the railway track

Story about depressed souls whose psychological shield was not hard enough to sustain the life difficulties. They all made very desperate and same decision though they came from very different and at times distant places. What would be their fate? Immerse yourself in an unidentified space-time, in a snowy, cold afternoon besides the railway track.

Audio soundtrack was downloaded from Youtube Audio Library:

From Russia With Love 2:25 Huma-Huma

The Poisoned Princess 1:49 Media Right Productions

sound effect: ship bell

Mr. dot

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 14 Feb 2017 14:15:00 -0800

Mr. Dot is on podcast

Conversation in between Mr. Dot and his curious cousin :) Is putting a dot equivalent to the end of everything? Take this journey along with Mr. Dot(obviously sitting comfortably on your seat as he did) and try to answer this question while listening to the first episode of Untold Tales Channel podcast.

PS. Try not to go completely insane at the end of it :)

Background music was downloaded from Youtube Audio Library :

The Poisoned Princess 1:49 Media Right Productions

Arabian Sand 2:32 E's Jammy Jams

sound effect: ship bell (downloaded from Youtube Audio Library)

Untold Tales Channel launches as a podcast/promotional feed

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 14 Feb 2017 13:05:00 -0800

Untold Tales channel launches on podcast

Untold Tales Channel contains surreal, short stories aiming at giving new perspective on things that do matter. Prepare to crazy, swift ride with no bars hold, into the maze of your own fears, doubts, dreams, observations provided in the form of sci-fi, fantasy, supense but always surreal worlds which emerge from chaos trying to assess the so-called order.

New story - new perspective - new world- new chaos within order.

Listen, enjoy and give me a feedback :)

Copyright © 2017 Inersh Leybrad

Audio theme was downloaded from You Tube Audio Library.
Act Two - Tenebrous Brothers Carnival by Kevin MacLeod is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution licence (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/)
Source: http://incompetech.com/music/royalty-free/index.html?isrc=USUAN1100641

Artist: http://incompetech.com/

Is living in your own world harmful to the "real world" ?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 6 Feb 2017 16:26:00 -0800

People in the bubbles

We are frequently judged as redundant though we might have contributed to moving our society forward. We are sometimes disliked though we did not procure any harm. Who are we and what do we mean for the world? Listen and read to a new story from Untold Tales Channel.

Audio form:

Written form:

From the monkeys playing volleyball in an outer space using planets as balls to a woman taking shower which changes into the waterfall splashing straight into the big city centre. His paint brush moved slowly along the canvas. It was almost ready to be displayed on the most prestigious galleries all around the globe. His previous artworks granted him the reputation of the finest new generation surrealism painter. The new ones are going to match up with high expectations. There will be numerous articles in a specialist press praising him even more than before. He will be revered as he always wished to be. Obviously, it will largely affect the prices of his masterpieces at the auctions. Who knows, maybe they will reach seven digits?

The paintings have been created in the bubble. His own bubble. He has been walking inside it for the last 40 years. Theoretically he knew he could do the same outside the bubble, but he did not. For the outsiders his job was just moving the coal from one heap to the other. They said it was for the benefit of the society and they also told that he should stop daydreaming.

But the bubble never disappeared. His co-workers quickly noted down his mental absence and ridiculed him for that. He, however ridiculed them back without them knowing it what made it the most perfect revenge one might think of, as they could not combat it. They did not have their own bubbles and they really believed in a bullshit that moving coal from one heap to the other might help to build a better world. Poor morons. He already accumulated decent amount of money to purchase the painting equipment and he will show what he can do. And it will happen very soon. Just a few paintings more inside a safe bubble...

Abrupt signal from material world awoke him from swimming in the pool of his thoughts... He had utmost impression that someone was just watching him. He turned back and saw a black car parked nearby his heap...

The other side of the planet Earth, deep jungle.

He was lying alone inside his hut in his hammock as he always had been. He didn't want to learn neither how to shot birds with that silly, long, wooden tube called curara, nor how to build the house, nor was he willing to drink ayahuesca liquid which caused only dizziness and strange visions he did not enjoy. Not to mention the ritual of reducing the head size of defeated enemy his Jibaro tribe had been practising for ages. The only thing he really liked about living in the jungle were the lonely nights. Because of the constant humming, buzzing, snuffling, moaning, croaking and obviously cicadas sounds those nights should not be called silent nights. He loved them anyways as that it was the perfect time to do with the greatest intensity what he does more or less on daily basis, that is to imagine how the world beyond the jungle might look like? How they hunt for food, what kind of houses do they have, what kind of tools they use? He was not scared of it. Just curious. He always wanted to get there and he knew that such a moment will come sooner or later. He was the one who asked most questions when man from the outside world visited the jungle. Those man left many curious gifts such as stick, which shines like a sun or a long colourful something, which strangely fits the size of leg...

The boy stretched in a hammock and said to himself “ I am sure there is no wizardry in it as shaman claims, there must be a practical use for those things...”, he did not finish his analysis cause the shaman entered the hut and said : “The time has come.” The boy knew that his time indeed came. He was to be judged. They said he lives inside a dream bubble and is not adaptable to society. He assumed he was going to be expelled from the village what paradoxically might even force him to look for the outside world – his dearest dream. They went outside and he saw something he had never seen before. Hundreds of men who belonged to the outside world were tied in a circle besides fireplace and tribal fellows were dancing around them. “ We are waiting for the last guests” a shaman said.

The other side of the planet Earth. Very cramped space.

He did not know the names of his parents. He did not receive any formal education. Up to the age of 25 he only knew 4 things : wretched old coach, stinking red carpet and an old TV placed in a small table in front of him. All of that amounted to merely 10 square meter. That was enough for him. The monster who was coming there once a week in order to rape him totally underestimated him. The boy built such a powerful bubble that no one and never could break it. It sufficed for him to watch the TV channels to learn the language. He also improved his physical strength repeating series of exercises displayed on a breakfast TV show. The boy couldn't tell what was the breakfast because firstly he received from the monster food supply only once a week and secondly he couldn't separate parts of the day from each other. Boy also suspected that contrary to what monster told him, the world beyond 10 square meters really exists and is liveable and not contaminated, as monster claims. “ If it were contaminated how could the monster survived right there?”, the boy was wondering. Nevertheless, what really kept him alive were the stories he created inside his bubble. The grain of inspiration stems from TV images, but the rest is the outcome of his imagination. Not always coherent with the laws of physics or any laws at all. Castles on a floating islands, bugs bigger than humans, pocket-size lions, stars which could be reached with a bare hand... The boy definitely lacked in perception of reality, but it did not make him weaker. It made him far stronger.

It happened when the boy turned 25. The monster came as if it was just another day but it was not. The boy knew exactly what to do. The same second the monster opened the door the boy greeted him with hit into the solar plexus, kicked him forcefully and taking advantage of the situation, for the first time in his life, he went outside. The box he was enclosed within, was surrounded by trees, being apparently a bunker in the woods. However, it was not time to contemplate the view. He sat down on a still conscious monster and strangled him with bare hands.

“ Get up. You will come with us”, the boy turned up his head and saw two men in black suits, black hats and black sunglasses inviting him to take a back seat in their black car.

“ I am not going anywhere”, replied the boy.

“Oh, yes you will”, said the taller of two men.

Two months before - the secret headquarters of the organization so secret that nobody (including its employees) knows how it is called. The conference room.

“ We have to eliminate them all. They are just too dangerous. We need people who can work hard and do exactly what they are told to do without unnecessary questions. And they are not fulfilling such criteria”, said a chief of the organization with a name unknown even to him.

“Excuse me... Isn't it exaggerated to eliminate them all... maybe it would suffice to...”, the woman in black did not manage to finish that sentence.

“Oh, come on. Nobody is talking about physical extermination. We just want to kick them out of our society.”

“ But how we gonna do that?”, stated another woman in black.

“ Did I say that it is time for questions? We have concluded agreement with certain Amazon tribe. Your detailed instructions will be sent to your secret devices. Tommy and Jimmy!!??”

“Yes, Sir?!!”, replied simultaneously two men in black who looked like twins.

“ You will handle the 2 most difficult cases. And you will be responsible for transportation of our secret device right into the heart of the Amazon jungle!”

“ To your service, as always, Sir!!!”.

Back to two months after, vicinity of coal mines in an unknown country

He turned back and saw a black car parked nearby his heap. Inside it, there were two men dressed in black.. “ What or who are they looking for? I'd better check it out myself.” At the same time they both left their car.

“Are you looking for someone?”

“ Yes, just for you. We are more than curious to see how well you can paint.”

“ Ekhmmm, how did you know that...”

“ Man, we don't have time for that. Either you accept our offer or you might forget about you career at this field!” “That sounds like a nonsensical piece of crap”, he thought, but entered the car anyway. “ What the hell are you doing and why is he unconscious?...” He didn't manage to finish what he wanted to finish as two men in black injected a drug into him, which made him also unconscious.

Two men in black along with intoxicated daydreamers headed south-west to the place where flight jet to Ecuador had been already arranged. Throughout the whole journey daydreamers were asleep. Men in black started to worry that drugs they administered were too strong.

Amazon jungle, Ecuador

“Hey, wake up! Both of you I mean”, said a taller man in black. The twenty-five-year-old boy along with daydreaming coal industry worker stood up in amazement realizing that they were surrounded by the most profound vegetation system on the planet Earth. Tall trees growing one beside the other forming the sea of greenery, housing uncountable strains of plants, cicadas, poisonous snakes, scorpios, harmful ants, crocodiles, the king of bush- jaguar and above all mosquitoes. All of it was just in front of them.

“Wow, that's incredible”, said a boy who apparently changed one form of misery into the other.

“ We are not here for a sightseeing. One of you takes this package”, smaller man in black pointed towards tightly wrapped package of the size of certain slot machine. “ The other takes machete and will pave the way for the rest of us. We will secure the back and tell you where to go.” The fact that the man in black possessed a gun made this offer non-negotiable.

They kept walking for 2 days with no food supply what made it pretty hazardous owing to high temperatures and insane humidity.

Village of Jibaro tribe

Just a few moments after shaman said that we were waiting for another guests , the group of four man, two of them dressed like black ants, walked in. One of them was carrying quite a big object, supposedly of ceremonial value. Two black ants men talked to shaman for a while but a tribal boy was too far away from that to overhear anything. The other two men were asked to join the tied people in the circle.

The tribal dance took three consecutive days and nights. During that process the record breaking amount of ayahuasca was produced as there was around one hundred daydreamers caught. The shaman made weird gestures which tribal boy perceived as overly excessive. After that however, something strange started to happen. Tribal boy observed that all around him and his fellow, yet unknown daydreamers, formed real, tangible bubbles. People were trapped inside them and tried to escape but it was futile. The shaman carried on his, so called songs, so painful to ears; he shook his rattle and danced all around them again. That time it caused all the bubbles to reduce their sizes to a ping-pong ball.

The giant, mysterious package brought by black men was finally unwrapped. It turned out that it hit the pinball machine...

“ It seems that all the things worked perfectly”, said two men in black at the same time.

“It's high time we played it!” After saying so they took all the balls from the ground.

“ Ha ha. Do you hear that? They are protesting!” laughed one of them.

“ Hell, yeah. They wish they could.”

“ Put the balls and one coin. I will play first and then we will take turns.” The pinball machine was loaded with 100 hundred balls, instead of just one. It required from a man in black much more skills than from causal players. The balls moved crazily and people inside them screamed heavily . The flipper were at constant move, bumpers were permanently being hit by one ball or the other and the control lamps made a disco by turning on and off on a perpetual loop. It was such a fascinating game that even the shaman begged to let him play this.

“We should speed it up”, he said. As insane as it was before, when they switched to level 2 , it became literally unbearable. The human eye couldn't have caught the balls moving so fast and if it hadn't been for shaman who took over it, the whole effort might have been lost. Using his magical eye, the shaman saw it all perfectly and even accelerated it by turning on level 3. Hardly after he did it, all the balls shot itself into the space one after the other till the machine became empty. They travelled at velocity exceeding the speed of light what made them all reach another galaxies and perhaps another planets sooner than anyone else could using more popular methods.

“ Ok, mission is complete” said as always simultaneously men in black.

The secret headquarters of the organization so secret that nobody (including its employees) knows how it is called, the chief's room, 2 years later

Knock, knock.

“ Yes, please come in.”

“ We have a recent development report, Sir.”, said familiar men in black, talking as usually altogether.

“ And what's up with it?”

“ It is not good, Sir. We are at standstill in almost all critical branches of human activity. New technologies, economy, art, literature, music, science... There was no notable progress since the last two years...”

“ Why is it so?”

“ Humanity is suffering from the shortage of creativity. No new, brave ideas are being proposed. We only repeat what has been already invented...”

“That's too bad, boys. Too bad. What are your suggestions?”

“ Well, actually we shot the most remarkable representatives of creative elements up into the space just two years ago and it appears that the only way to move forward for the mankind is to bring them all back.”

“Oh, no”, replied the boss.

“ Oh, yes”,concluded the author.

Meeting at the railway track, winter story for depressed.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 26 Jan 2017 08:29:00 -0800

Meeting of forgotten, lost souls.

The second week of my blog's presents results in second story being offered, same way as previously in audio and written form. Thoug same way does not mean the same way. Railway track is not the chair of Mr.Dot what you will quickly notice :)

Curious what is to happen when people of different age and life experience meet at the same time and place ( though some of them might be from totally different time-space than the others ;) )

Check it out :)

Copyright © 2017 Inersh Leybrad. All rights reserved.

Audio form :

Written form:

Meeting at the railway track

That was a gale unseen in a decades. Raindrops, snowflakes and heavy ice balls formed violent air raid forcing the majority of living creatures to stay in a safe and warm shelter. He, however had never been among majority. Skinny, young men in his 20-ties was just 5 meters away from his goal. He didn't care neither about bruises resulting from ice balls nor about his clothes being soaked. “ This is definitely not a clothing suitable for this kind of weather,” he smiled looking at his T-shirt, shorts and trainers. But he was not in a good mood and that was the point where he and the weather were well-synchronized.”. The train moved at high speed and he was so close to it. 4 meters remained.

A long, white gown called Thobe covered him from his face down to the ankles. Over it he was wearing long sleeve coat- Kibber. He was totally disoriented with what was going all around him. From the Sky above God was sending not only rain which he hadn't seen for at least 5 years but also certain white balls, some of them were soft but the other were really painful. He ensured his curved Khanja dagger was still in his belt and said to himself “ That's for sure a place where dark magic dwells...”. He looked to his right and saw a strange, slender boy in a weird clothing in a short distance from him. “ Hmm. The boy apparently doesn't see me. Good, I am not here to fight him. Wherever I am, I will fulfill my mission.” The monstrous evil thing was running at enormous speed just four meters away from him using strange, metal road. “ Great coincidence,” he thought.

“That's not the weather for the man of my age,” said an 70-years old gentleman holding his favorite palm-sized rectangular clock with hand-drawn parrot in the background. “ Thanks God I have this warm scarf, otherwise I would not be able even to get there. I think that at least one plan of mine deserves to be completed,” when he said so the huge ice ball fell from the sky in a such unfortunate manner that it destroyed the glass cover of the clock. Enraged by this fact he threw it at the running train. “ It was only a crap after all,” he sighed looking all around him. “ I've got a strange feeling that I am not alone... bullshit”, he said. He was 3 meters away from railway track.

Small, a little bit chubby, freckled 12-years old girl was shaking with fear and shivering from cold. She did not know how did she get there. She just walked away from her home pledging never to return. “ A little pig,” that's how they called her. Her peers from school. Yesterday they gathered around her. “ A pig should be in pigsty, don't you know that,” said the mockery leader of her class. Then he started to crawl on the floor and exhale oinking sound. The rest of her classmates laughed at it heavily. Teachers never helped and were actually never interested in doing so. When they saw that she always tries to stay away from the others they said she is unsociable and called her parents who joined in the criticism of her. And now she is where she is. Just 2 meters away from the railway track. She already took a decision.

“I shouldn't have entered that cave,” stated a Bedouin man. “But it didn't begin right there. It all started when I was sent as a trade representative to make a new deal with a tribe living 5 miles to the south-west from our camp. I was really satisfied with the new agreement. When I returned after 10 days I was ready to announce a good news. But I saw that something happened. Something wrong. They told me that he came here alone under the cover of the darkness and took the honor away from my beloved wife - Elmira. He managed to ride away at dawn. It was Ali from neighbor tribe, located just one mile away from us. He was obsessed with her even before the split of our tribes occurred. Right then everything was in the hands of the elders. I begged them four days and four nights not to punish Elmira. That night beside the fireplace the judgement was passed. “ The sacrifice has to be made,” they said. “ Her ird is gone. It's either you or her.” Next day I took the old camel and without saying farewell to my wife left the village. I knew what I had to do in accordance with Sharaf, man's honor code.”

“ That's unbelievable” thought old man. “ I am just one step away from the end of it. So much effort... So many memories...”. He closed his eyes and saw his workshop in the basement. He really loved all those devices. Each cogwheel, each hand, each dial he made was unique. And obviously his favorite part- hand-made pictures in the background. There were people, buildings, animals... just like his favorite one with the parrot which was now shattered. The amount of passion he put into this throughout last 30 years was immeasurable. He was never brave enough to try to sell it. His wife and his acquaintances told him to quit with this” childish nonsense” as they named it. One week ago he thought he gathered enough strength to finally capitalise on his artworks. He even invited his wife to his workshop (before that he never let anyone in) but she just told him : “ Dear Harold. You never made anything valuable and you never will. Don't make a fool of yourself”. That was just too much for him.

He is a very successful young information technology scientist working for a giant firm. He speaks fluently 5 languages, finished with flying colours one of the top of the notch university and already accumulated a few dollars. There is one wrong thing which doesn't let him live normally. Demons of the past. He might work for a long hours without any problems but then it happens. He can hear their whisper coming from all around. The maths teacher saying that he is too stupid. The colleagues pointing at him and saying “ Slow Faggot, Slow Faggot!”. The girlfriend saying that she had to betray him because his is an utter idiot. The father telling him that he is not a real man and can't do nothing. Ultimately his workmates who tried to mock him again thus he requested to work from home. From the childhood to the present times. The whirlwind of trauma spreads open and drags him in. He tries not to relive it too much. He tries to combat them all. Anyway he debunked all those lies. He turned out to be intelligent man with bright prospect. But those demons are too much a burden for him.

Broken passion, past traumas, imposed complexes and victim of honor all met beside the railway track at snowy, cold afternoon. They were standing just 1 meter away from the doom. What they did?

Another train passed by just before the faces. What caught their attention was the long spray-written sentence on it - “ Society isn't always right. Be right. Solve it right way. Solve it your way”.

“Maybe it is indeed one of those cliché things but there's something in it. I think I have to get a divorce. I know I produce something of quality. I just have to succeed. I earned it, ” he thought spotting at the same time a lonely, small girl. “ What such a lovely, little cutie is doing in such a stormy weather? I see you're lost. Don't worry, we will call the police and await your parents”, stated calmly old gentleman. The young girl for the first time in her life heard that she was cute. It hit her that she is not ugly, it's just her peers complexes which they dispose of via humiliating her. “ I will tell candidly my parents about my situation and I will ask them to take me to a different school,” she stated.

The Bedouin man was standing at the railway track holding his Khanja dagger ready to stab himself before that evil machine came up. After he told his story aloud he felt relief. Right then he was ready. He saw that heavy, metal monster in a horizon. It got closer and closer... When he already adjusted the position of dagger, someone's hands pushed him away from the railway track and he landed on a snow pile. What a strange feeling it was for him... Who was that? Who saved his life? Maybe it was that strangely-dressed boy he saw? No, it must have been God. He decided that it would be unfair to let the rapist live and to end the lifetime of the Bedouin who always served him well and was not accountable for Elmira suffering. “ I have to go back, kill Ali, take his head along with me and beg the elders for restoration of my sharaf. I have a great chances especially when I will tell them that God saved me from the obvious death from furious metal devil. The most difficult part would be however to return to that cave in the desert... I just entered it and saw a lake inside. I slipped on a rock, fell off into the lake and when I woke up I was in that devilish land... but if I couldn't return then who could?”

The one step separated the slender boy from the railway track. He saw however a man with a long robe. He was already standing there and pointing certain kind of knife towards his stomach. In spite of so much harm the society did to him he always wanted to spare the others the pain. “ Maybe that's only the hallucination?” he asked himself. Due to the snow, rain and ice balls the vision was not particularly too clear but he was just too close to him to be mistaken. He started to run towards him and violently pushed him away, seconds before train passed. ” What was the sense of stabbing oneself with knife and at the same time let the train crush you? Double death?” he always scrutinized every detail. Nonetheless he was done with the idea of committing suicide. “ That's what my enemies would want to hear.” he said “ I won't satisfy them.”. He quickly turned back and went home. He knew he would manage to overcome those traumas sooner or later. Maybe someone will help him, even if it meant paid specialist.

I am more than happy that at that afternoon no final dot was put.

Mr. Dot story about life and death. Audio story + traditional version.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 18 Jan 2017 13:46:00 -0800

Dear ALL!

Here is my first story, treating about life and death.

Is every and single dot the one which ends something up totally and irrevocably?

Listen to it, read through it, think about it and share your thought with me :)

AUDIO STORY:

https://youtu.be/ooGQknfR8Ho

WRITTEN FORM:

Copyright © 2017 Inersh Leybrad

MR. DOT

I was leaning against old, leather chair. I totally sank into it. I like its touch and I like its antique character. I was at the attic of wretched, abandoned flat in a city with too many names to be named properly. My nostrils were invaded by musty smell of that house but I was wondering whether my smell was even mustier.

I took off my favourite, worn-off bowler hat with two tiny holes in it and began to do what I always did when I was tired of myself – I started talking to myself. That is, to my image reflecting in a dirty, covered with pigeon droppings window.

“Who am I?” I asked myself. I know it is cliché. I know that all the freaks talk to themselves. And all the freaks ask such a question. Maybe that's the answer? Maybe no further search is needed? I am just a freak and I always have been?"

I undid four giant golden buttons of my long, black coat and withdrew Springfield Model 1817 Flintlock. I rotated it slowly in my hands looking at it from all possible angles.

“Yes, that is definitely abnormal. It is also cruel and inhuman. Not to distinguish in between blade of grass and five years old innocent girl who walks upon it and a ray of sunshine invigorating both of them as well as cold-blooded serial killer who is planning his next attack 1.000.000 mile away from them all !!! ” I shouted and had to stop for a while in order to take a deep breath in.

“What are you looking at?” I said to my image. “You know it is all true! Don't even pretend otherwise! You are freak, that's all! Only a freak could be at all of those places and much more at the same time lurking in the shadows, loading slowly one's anachronous weapon and just waiting for a best moment to pull a trigger! Only a freak! Did you hear that!?? “

“But it's only my job. I had to just do something...”

“Don't even think it exonerates your deeds!” I replied to myself

“I do not. But if it is a job then there is a certain pattern involved, right? If I were real freak then my actions would be rather random,” I said.

“They are random. You act without any plan! One cell organism, 100- years old man, weather phenomena...”

“You already made a similar list, OK?!! Everybody understood what you mean, don't repeat yourself! If I fulfill orders then I have a pattern and that's it. A pattern of order's fulfillment.”

“And who is placing that orders?”

“Well, I am self-employed.,” I stated.

“You place orders for yourself? That's a pure nonsense!”

“Self-employment is also employment...”

“Right, right, right. I don't want to engage in such kind of conversation. If you prefer to be called a hitman then here you are.”

“ Objection! I am not a...” I didn't manage to finish cause my image interrupted

“... a hitman. You are saying you are not a hitman?!! You who have so many victims on your list! Who enlarges that list each day, each hour each second, because you have this insane ability to be omnipresent... Even during this conversation you are at uncountable other places just ready to put an end to something new. You, unscrupulous... Everything breathes, spreads into new variations, sets up new colours... How could you!“

“Easy. I've already said something about repetition. Moreover I am not a hitman cause a I can not be a hitman.”

“ I beg your pardon?!!”

“ That would be against the meaning of hitman. Hitman has to receive financial reward for one's malicious deeds and I do not.”

“ Oh, come on! You can't transfer money from you to yourself?!!”

“Exactly. As you see it is technically and legally excluded.”

“Even if it were you would invent another excuse.”

“I would not. It's just a fact. What's more I don't have money what is another argument...” my image interfered and said:

“Right!!!!” it screamed. “ But you can't deny the fact that you are a thief! You take something which previously did not belong to you and after your action was taken it ceased to be owned by a due, legitimate owner of it... Why is it so complicated?!!

“I wouldn't agree either.”

“What?!! You are not serious.”

“I am. If I were a thieve I would have to appropriate the goods belonging to someone else. That means, as a result of my illicit action, the goods of the legitimate owner would be in my possession what does not happen. In my case what's lost is lost and I don't have any benefits from that.”

“ I can't believe it happens. Right, then you are a destroyer. Ha, here we are. The destroyer!” said triumphantly mirror image and I couldn't have found a good answer to that. Thankfully we were joined by a serious guest.

Who are you referring to?” I turned back and saw a tall, handsome man in a black business suit who was holding a silver metal suitcase in his right hand.

“ Who's asking?”

“Right, it is not so obvious as it previously was... in the old, good times... Here you are.” He gave me a white business card with a big name on it- Mr. Death. He knelled down and opened his suitcase displaying large collection of modern weapons: pistols, grenades, machine guns, knives and scythe. He saw my confusion due to the presence of the last one and said:

“ What? I am a little bit sentimental.” I became more and more pale. He noticed it and stated:

“Don't worry. I just have a lunch break and overheard an interesting conversation, cousin. I just want to talk.” He put away his scythe and took a sandwich which was hidden beneath the layer of weaponry.

“ We are not cousins! We are totally different!”

“Yes, really? I am more than curious to hear why?” said Mr Death munching his sandwich.

“It was you who protested when my image.. That is when I said that I am a destroyer!”

“Of course. That's my sphere of monopoly. I am a little bit touchy about it. But we are partners, cousin,” he smirked wearily.

“No, we are not. I am Mr. Dot. Mr. Dot, can you hear that? Not Mr. Death!! I just mark the completion of certain process.”

“And I finish with what you mark.”

“No! That is, I label as completed also wrong things. The end of earthquake, the end of war, the end of marriage argument, the end of dog's barking...”

“Yes, but previously you mark the end of normal relationships in between states, couples, the end of dog's peacefulness....”

“ I protest...”

“You might protest but things are as they are. We are both self-employed individuals who do what has to be done. And we do almost the same thing. Sorry about that.” Mr Death came closer to my chair and patted me on the shoulder.

“No, you are wrong! Not each completion means death! I can mark the completion of house building, song, theater performance or a treaty signature what doesn't render it dead. On the contrary they live and are reusable! They can be enjoyed as completed!”

“Oh, dear cousin, sooner or later, sooner or later happens what has to happen...”

“No, not necessarily! The end of something might mean just the end of certain step to something else... bigger and better. Frequently I shot in the air not at somebody! And without your presence!” I shed off his hand and stood up.

“I beg your pardon, but I, Mr. Dot have an important message to convey to people” I ran off the staircase, opened a heavy door and got into the street. I blended well with surroundings. All those gentleman were wearing similar to my outfit, ladies had small but nice-looking umbrellas and there were as well a few antique coaches with white horses. But I was on lookout for someone who would like to listen to me. Here he was - a paperboy! I got the opposite side of the street.

“Only with daily news : Death of the president of Paraguay. Unknown assassin takes lives of three innocent young girls in London! The storm on Atlantic Ocean caused biggest catastrophe in human history with 160 people dead!”

“Boy, Boy look at me! My name is Mr. Dot and my job is to mark the end of each process. I have to put a dot at the end of each sentence. But it's up to you to decide whether you write a new sentence or not!!! Do you hear me! You have to write more and more. You can't stop! Please!!! Don't make any dot the final dot! Always make a new one, always expand on it ! “ I heard the whistle of a policeman who was running towards me. I didn't even notice that I kept shaking the poor boy. He must have been frightened to death. I took a quick look at the attic's window of the house which I left just a few minutes ago. Mr. Death was in the window observing everything from above and holding a cup of tea or coffee. He smiled. The policeman used force to take me away from a boy and handcuffed me. The crowd of passers-by gathered around me.

“ Always write a new sentence and never let a dot to be a final one! “

“ Keep moving,” commanded a policeman. I did as he said being accompanied by a whisper from the crowd:

“ He is a freak. Just another freak.”

Welcome to my blog! Does life or this blog make any sense?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 18 Jan 2017 13:37:00 -0800

WELCOME TO MY BLOG!

Does life make any sense? Does this blog make any sense? Aforementioned questions are and will be unanswered. What might be answered is your ability to continuously negate the world around you without accepting the reality as it is. Since when you accept it totally, you soak up ever atom of it. And not every atom is healthy, isn't it ( not to confuse with atomic bo... never mind). You would have to use good filter to let only the good one pass. The problem is that it is not that simple. Some atoms are both good an bad in various proportions.

Was the above paragraph the surreal trash talking? Or maybe that's the definition of life? Whatever you think about it you would have to admit that life necessitates constant change of analytical angles. Rethink, reanalyze, doubt, put into other perspective, never take for granted, never take as normal. That's what life probably wants. That's what I would want to share with you in my stories. Different perspectives on life.

Every week I am to share with you the story which aims at providing new angle. Old-new perspectives ,old- new ideas but above all old-new confusion :) Stories are offered both in written and audio form, the latter via my Youtube channel. Aside from a weekly story, I might be prompted to post any freely roaming thoughts that might be produced by me during my insane and frequent tendency to look at all the things present and absent in a strange, surreal way.

You would rather not encounter too much information about me, the author of this blog. Firstly this blog is to provide you with surreal, maybe philosophical stories about life and not about me. Secondly, in case this blog becomes more widespread than being read by few lost souls, I will still have peace of the mind.(And I like it too much to sacrifice it.)

Stories, but what kind of stories? Various. Mostly wrapped in surreal form, at times in surreal sci-fi(I like this genre), surreal fantasy, surreal suspense.... As you see it would be hard to classify those stories.

Where those stories come from? From the author of this blog :)

Below you will find the promotional video of my channel( by this word I define both blog and You Tube channel. They are mutually orchestrating and complementing each other). By the way: Thank you dear visitor for coming to my humble, little space(even if you accidentally got here).

Best of luck and see you soon. I hope I am not talking to myself :P