Olde Farts

excerpts

Alone, philosophical, and exposed to the galactic emotions of the known universe rendering from the parallel universe, the owner and operator of the North Cascade Inn took some of their immortal time to peruse the meaning and origin of loneliness. Solitude garbed itself in the environment of wilderness, mountains, and forgotten rivers. Any part of this landscape buzzed and transmitted both metaphorical and literal meanings at once. That is if one so desires to be alone, they need no physical barricades between themselves and others. Instead they develop psychic waypoints to travel one thought into another and so on and so on until a shelter is built in the fashion that no intelligent life form would ever want to wear, look at, enter, or leave. These stations in our most base form, as thoughts, transcended from one form of energy to another, these stations were symptomatic of the individual amongst the crowd. We all want to fit in somewhere, somehow, very few do. Ebachaneezer Feathers surmised, tooted, and smirked when they visualized the North Cascade Inn as one such way station. Travelers on their way to or from Hell were accelerated in this transformative process.

Close enough to the big fireball to call it a sauna, Ebachaneezer Feathers felt closer to home than they expected. The Planet Quip was not considered far nor close to Hell, but it was closer than any other planet inhabited by intelligent life forms. Of course, studies from one corner to the other of the known universe had been conducted like an opera on the relation between the quips, Hell, and their immortal life. And all evidence collected and cross referenced proved there was a connection between the quips and Hell. That it was one of smell than say that god awful idea that a god gene existed was a let down, but it was knowledge all the same. If the god gene was in the plunger of possibility, Ebachaneezer Feathers failed to manufacture the connection between divinity and immortality or shit and piss.