Journal Entry: 42300

By NukeAbe | Verbal Diarrhea | 2 May 2023

Journal Entry. 42300.

It's been roughly 115 solar rotations on this Terra. The locals have come to accept my presence in their habitat but the gestures to chase me and my company away are still ongoing.  Naturally, they are suspicious of our activities that are beyond their comprehension. And for those with such a short lifespan, our undying and lacking may visible ageing does put fears in their superstitious hearts. Maybe they are right but they are also blinded from seeing the works we have done here. 


Your planet was dying. We came to teach you how to care for and rejuvenate the soils for greater biodiversity of life to thrive. Educating you on the consciousness of your Mother Earth.  Giving you the tools that you would need to progress into a civilisation of your own. We are not here forever. We won't be able to. We too are sons and daughters of Time. We too shall return to the source. 

Our mission was simple. Though it might take longer than they would like it to. I have grown fond of this place as well. Their beasts have been tamed and are now loyal companions to us. Would be a shame to leave them now. Besides it was our fault as to why this world is so messed up and in need of a repair. 

Once upon a time, this world was our world too. But the hubris of our ancestors brought its own demise. Those who are chosen like me were sent to space as the backup to reset the planet. We helped to repopulate with clone copies made in our image. Not all but most of those natives are our descendants. Mixed with the survivors that crawled out of the ruins. To some of them, we have become gods. Worshipped. In fact, some of the other teams have played along and even embraced their newfound deity hood. I find that repulsive but to each their own, I suppose. 


My mission however is not to let them be ignorant slaves for our bidding but rather help to cultivate rational thinking in the population. I am designated to the centre of the old world. Hidden beneath their feet. Underneath the wild growth of floras. Lies the evidence of our past. I am trying to ensure that they will come to uncover and rediscover them on their own accord. Who knows what wonders they will invent? What new creative ways of living. The knowledge that they will gather.  Incomplete.  Most likely.  But the grace is in the efforts. Their trials and errors. Maybe they will fix our mistakes.  Maybe they'll repeat it. Or make their own. Maybe this has happened before. Maybe that's how my civilization began. Maybe that's how their civilization will end. An endless cycle of death and rebirth. On a tiny little planet on the outer spiral arm of the galaxy. 


The only witness is the Earth. She sees it all. Our epochs are written in the rocks. For aeons that have been and to come. The stories told by Time. The Father and The Mother. Carries us in our troubles. Doing all they can to help. Doing all we can to not fail.  That's all there is to it.  Do all that is necessary.  By all means. Try. Nothing more.

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Nazreen Abraham Stein

Verbal Diarrhea
Verbal Diarrhea

The shit that comes out of my mouth.

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