Soul on ice as I make a home in the night. Plans to prepare for the next rebirth. The relieving calm of darkness. More on ice as I settle in. Viewing nouns of all genders climates and elemental makeup through a window I control. “Isn’t this interesting?” I say, forgetting the reason they invited me to this viewing party. “Look what’s being done here, and I-” Spill. Shit. Clean.
Doubled more on ice as I float towards equilibrium. I can’t get there on foot, out of fear of repeating my missteps. Let’s ford. “Yes, that’ll do just fine.” I say to myself, proud of my accomplishment. A look at the care package I sent to myself. Glistening, dripping, refracting. I almost don’t want to open it. A deeper darkness passes and I question myself. I check my devices and then question you. Are these calculations correct? There’s peace here for me, but danger looms. Where else do you go if this is where you’ve always been? You and me too. And him and her and it and infinite improper nouns.
So I float. I open the bay window (its safe to do that now with no cabin pressure) to smell my new surroundings. Familiar but new. I’ve been here always and never. I can see it up ahead. Not too far from here. This is where we built that thing that one time. Let’s get out and take pictures. We scout the land for the perfect backdrop but none will do. Ahh yes! That’s it! There in the distance. (Something Strange Looms.) We are almost there. (SOMETHING STRANGE LOOMS.) We are within arms reach then- Stop.
Pack it up, stranger. Just come back in the future. Gather your imaginary friends and your telescope and get the fuck out of here. This is not the timeline for that. Plus, you’re all out of ice and there’s simply too much light.
Disclaimer: The above message was retrieved from a journal believed to belong to Tone From The Future. At this point, it is not clear if Tone was the author, or even how the journal came into his possession. As the remaining texts are translated, we will update with more information.