Rivulets of time

Rivulets of time

When I first time-traveled, I couldn’t believe it was happening. I was overwhelmed and could barely take everything in. But the more I did it, the more it become a task, and I could appreciate its subtleties.

For instance, time has a water-like quality. It flows. There are differences in the flow. Some are swift, some are sluggish, some stagnant. And when steering the time-machine, you learn to navigate with the varieties.

And the flow is water like, but is not water. It’s like if light were water. Light actually has a density. It’s not just some flashy thing that brightens a room. And in its flow, it can be a highway for going places in time.

The time-travel highway is something you zip on at the speed of light. That’s why it feels almost instantaneous. But like I said, the more you do it, the more you notice the little things.

For instance you’re ripping down the time-travel highway, and then you turn off on a rivulet of time. Just like an exit off the usual kind of freeway. You can actually hear a time-whoosh, which is the sound of starting to apply the breaks on light.

Everything up till them is light rushing by and it’s hard to see any distinctions. But on the rivulet, details begin to appear. For instance, earlier today I ventured out on a time-travel trip to Paris, France, 22 May 1885. On the highway it was the usual rapids of light flushing by the window. And then as I neared the destination date, there was the whooshing sound, along with details of the city of Paris hazily beginning to appear within the light. It was like looking at the city as if it were on fire.

As the whooshing sounds intensified, the light diminished and there I was parked on Avenue d’Eylau in 1885 Paris.

I got out and entered the address I was looking for. I walked up the stairs and then into a bedroom. There on the bed was the author Victor Hugo. He was dying of pneumonia. He was alert and noticed me. I used Google Translate and said that I had come from the future to visit and cheer him up on his difficult day.

Victor Hugo said, (via the translate), “Yes, it is a trying time, but it is also a time of celebration. I’m sloughing off this tiresome old gent to behold what’s next.”

I then took out three balls from my pocket and began to juggle. Hugo clapped his hands and cheered, “All applause to the sphere manipulator!” (I’d learned from Wikipedia that Hugo loved juggling.)

A sleep-walking time-travel trip

A sleep-walking time-travel trip

I went sleep walking and got into the time-machine and somehow finagled the controls and time-traveled to July 17 the year 7428. I know because I woke up when the time-machine crashed into water and I read the destination time on the lighted dashboard as we sank. I got upset with myself and bubble-worded, “Geez, Brooks!”

I tried to reset a new destination. But the water must have gotten into the electronics and the lights shorted out. I hugged the time-machine and tried swim-kicking my feet upwards back to the surface. It managed to get in the flow-stream of a school of minnows that propelled me and the time-machine up to the air and waves.

I floated in the time-machine like a boat. I lay back and tried to collect my thoughts. The sky was dark. Strange shapes flew low over me. One landed in the boat and gripped my right leg in its jaws. I reached down and grabbed my club. Clubs are essential for time-travel trips. Using a heavy club to hit something that is trying to hurt you proves to be a good defense at all times. I hit the creature and it collapsed. I pulled its jaws off my leg and dropped it over the side of the boat. I was bleeding. I talked to my leg and said, “Cut it out,” and my leg said, “I’m sorry,” and it stopped bleeding.

I didn’t want to be future creature chum so I set out to repair the time machine. I opened the hood and fiddled with the electronics. The fwoup wire was soaked through. I sucked out the water. I flipped the start switch. The dashboard lights came back on. I typed in September 12, 2020 and punched the “Go” button.

I was back in my living room of today. Water flowed out of the time-machine and soaked my rug. The water reached the outlet behind my television and sparks and smoke shot out of my TV and the screen busted.

I got out of the time-machine and went into the bathroom and dried myself off with a towel. Exhausted I sat down on the toilet and shivered.

Tea with Wirmp

Tea with Wirmp

I took my rocket ship to the Sun. I arrived to the surface of the Sun and landed. I got out wearing my triple thick asbestos space suit.

I felt around for the door handle. I grabbed it and opened the door. I went in and closed the door behind me. Inside the Sun is cool and dark. It’s actually a little chilly.

I turned on a light. There was a small room with a table and two chairs. There was a note on the table. The note said, “I’m sorry, but I’m running 15 minutes late. Sincerely, Wirmp.”

Wirmp is the foreman of the Sun. He’s responsible for the day-to-day maintenance of the Sun. We have been friends since second grade. We have tea every Tuesday at noon inside the Sun.

I sat down on a chair. I like sitting by myself. It’s soothing. I don’t need a magazine, book, or a television. I enjoy my company.

Wirmp arrived as he’d indicated, fifteen minutes later. He’s honest with time. He asked how I was doing. I said that my foot was feeling better. He said that was good news.

Wirmp was holding two saucers which held two cups of tea. He set them on the table and sat in the other chair.

Wirmp told me about work. I didn’t understand much of what he said. But I like Wirmp and it makes me happy to hear him talk.



I went to bed very excited. The next day was the Anaheim Cake Convention. I’d bought an all-day all-you-can-eat pass. I was going to get to the convention hall before 7am when they opened up.

I woke up early the next morning literally split in two. Two halves. Right down the middle. I had no idea how it happened. I tried to push myself back together but it didn’t work. I tried to get out of bed but both halves of me fell on the floor. I saw the value of having two legs in order to balance and support myself.

I was frustrated because I had an hour-and-a-half to get to the big event and things weren’t looking good.

Both halves of me managed to drag to the closet. One half propped up the other half high enough to reach and pull down a belt from a hanger. It took some haranguing but I managed to loop the belt tightly around both halves of myself. It took a struggle, but I was able to stand. Walking was difficult. I was terribly uncoordinated and weaved and fell five or six times.

Finally I figured out the proper walking rhythm. I grabbed my wallet and ticket and left my apartment and took the elevator downstairs. I walked out to the street and hailed a cab. I was so thrilled that I’d made it to the convention center by 6:45 and I was first in line!

At 7 the doors opened. The ticket taker told me that I couldn’t be allowed in with one ticket. I would need a second ticket since there were two of me. I explained what had happened. He called his supervisor. She said that she was sorry for my situation, but I would need to purchase a second ticket. I was upset but purchased the extra ticket and I was allowed in.

There were hundreds of booths featuring many varieties of cake. There was birthday cake, pound cake, fruit cake, carrot cake, angel food cake, marble cake, coconut cake, Bundt cake, coffee cake, ice cream cake, Swiss roll, upside down pineapple cake, banana cake, wedding cake, sponge cake, rum cake, devil’s food cake, Yule log, just to name a few.

I went to a booth, showed the person my all-you-can eat pass and asked for a slice of German-chocolate cake. The put a slice on a plate with a fork and handed it to me. I gobbled down the cake. It was delicious.

Because of my being split in two pieces, my stomach was in two halves, and the cake popped out of my open stomachs and plopped on the ground. I was embarrassed for a moment. But then glad because this meant I couldn’t get full. At last year’s convention, I could only each 19 slices of cake.

I love being underwater!

I love being underwater!

I can breathe underwater. I’m not a fish. I don’t have gills. I can swallow water and absorb the oxygen without drowning. I went to a doctor once and asked her how this was possible. She said she didn’t know.

Sometimes I swim underwater. Sometimes I walk. Swimming is easier. But sometimes I get tired of flapping my arms and legs and prefer the walk. I can’t walk fast underwater. There’s some resistance. But still it’s nice.

The longest I’ve stayed underwater was 18 weeks. I didn’t plan to stay there that long. I lost track of time because it was dark down there. I’m taking way down there. Spending time under a lake, you can only go so far down. You end up seeing the sun reflecting through the surface of the water, and you know how long it’s been. But I prefer spending time in the depths of the ocean. I bring an underwater flashlight with me because it’s pitch black at all times. Without the flashlight, I’d end up standing on some fish, or eel, or shark, and have to apologize.

While I’m down there, I do a lot of thinking. I think best under water. Originally I recognized this quality when I was taking a bath and my mind was filled with a bunch of ideas. I wondered if I would think of more ideas if my head was submerged. So I went under and had so many thoughts that five hours went by before I realized I hadn’t surfaced.

I tried this a few other times, but found he tub is restricting, so I drove to the beach, got out and walked underwater till I’d gone a few miles. Like I said, time passes when you’re on the bottom of the ocean and I came back to discover my car had been towed since I’d been away for a couple of months.

After a bunch of times traveling back and forth from home to ocean, and almost clearing out my bank account with towing fees, I sold my house and live primarily underwater.

I sleep under a forest of coral when I get tired. I eat minnows and strands of kelp when I’m hungry. I read underwater from plastic books. And I write on my computer which is safely encased in a transparent plastic bag.

Why do I come up out of the water? It’s a nice occasional contrast. Plus it allows me to get batteries for my flashlight and computer.