Postcards from H.A.L. 2o12

::::::::incoming transmission from H.A.L. 2o12; November 3, 2012


It's 3:07am; I'm awake with a visitor. I am to man a ship much larger than my own in the coming hours. It's strange where I find myself whenever I've been floating around up here.

I have no real purpose; I'm just observing.

It seems I've landed on the shores of Neptune. I saw picture of it in a magazine; it stuck my fancy, and I saw it as prime real estate for a personal holiday.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;it's strange the people you meet here, the sound you hear & the sounds you make, but most of all--the people.

"Exiled," comes to mind.

We're all bound to Egypt, despite my German heritage. I'm native Pagan, and have never escaped the flags of Acadiana.

As if I had more today, there have been no transmissions, however, I have been listening to the memoirs of Mister Bird. He is a lovely bow glazed in rosin.

My invader on the other hand--this illegal alien--is not as soft as I would have imagined him to be. I would suppose someone would think that finding life out here would prompt more ferocity in these words, but the truth is that the life that has been discover has only been rediscovered by since a journey I took five years ago.

Nothing new to report.