I want to be a writer one day, and so, I must practice. I realize its possible to conclude myself a writer given this blog. That won’t suffice though, dear reader– its not True. I’d like to be someone who writes well. No, that too is not an entirely True way to explain my goal, dear reader. I must strike True with this, so that you know what being True is all about. What I want to be… is the story-teller.

You know the story-teller; the story-teller speaks clearly but often parenthetically. He motions at times with a scarred or wrinkled hand, reaching for a pocket full of magic or to separate himself from his nicotian and billow smoke — in his mind, the history of the world swims beset aside the long lost decades. Perhaps still  though, admist the madness, a few pearls of wisdom exist to share, if only you’ll listen.

He always begins, by clearing his throat, dear reader– and that is what this is. So, without further self-indulgence, I offer…

The Book of Jordan

“The First Page”

Whoever you are that you find this, know, Jordan was my name. This book nor this pen were mine to start, I found them along my travels. They are mine now. I am orphan to everything in this place. I awoke uncounted suns ago, in a dying field, in these rough clothes, and in this place. I knew these words and could reason as any man. But, here, I am lost, with no memory or landmark; no friend and and no provision. Know of me, that I had hope. Know of me, that I did not quit. But know of me, most: I sought the truth.

00:02:37

Upon the sky were two red-yellow stars that spun around the darkness undeniable, stealing all attention from the night. I followed the twin lights that even remained visible in the day. I traveled the long hot sky and twice it found darkness. Then, only did I reach some place where I could walk no more. That is where I found this book. Now, I realize, it was dumb luck to have found it at all.

Inside that place was my first signs of hope. I found a wrist-watch with a six digit read out; it still worked somehow. The odd device went on with a slick, sweaty connection; the rubber band on my skin felt all wrong in the heat. After that, I found a much more important leaky faucet jutting out of the remainder of a wall. From it, sprung free more than mouthful of water, at first. This, frankly, was like heaven; once you spit out the mud and stones, of course.

Whatever the place was I had found, walking aimlessly this way, it was no more; just remains. Maybe some place where others lived. Other people– I can only reason that this place had to have been a dwelling. The pipes–plumbing–the wrist-watch–the broken desk–the book and the pen. I stumbled inside the place after the long walk. I had been barely able to hold myself up (How long had it been since I had water then?).

Too long. I chased the stars hoping they’d lead me to water. Crazed, you could say, certainly. And so, I walked against the sun as it did not exist. When I got there, as the sun ended the second day, dry as drum and at my last step, I found a structure made of walls all too loose and bowing inward on themselves. The whole place was set to go at any moment. Know, I went inside anyway. Know, in that heat-madness I considered only that perhaps other people were inside, maybe water. Maybe both.  In the end though, no. Instead this book and the other few shreds of civilization.

So, I will mark this time, write this record, and live — for in this place are all stranger things than I.

00:06:16

I have found a way to store some of the lasts of the leaky faucet’s water in a plastic container.  The container has no holes or creases, so it ought to survive as I travel.  When the dark falls again, I’ll move on. This place has little left to salvage, and the awful quiet worries me.

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Stay tuned for more from the Book of Jordan