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Untitled Document

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This is an untitled document.  I need to Lorem Ipsum it, fill it with filler text, fill it with something that expresses 2.1 witticisms per minute.  Something that tells you something.

I could start it by writing what I usually write at the beginning of a document, of what could become a blog or a story or something that I toss in the virtual corner of my computer and read it again on March 23, 2034 as I’m transferring my files from a new computer to another.

But this is an untitled document, so it must be filled with something singularly untitled, something that can’t properly be titled with anything yet, because it is only a formless white, untitled document.

But as soon as you write about this hockey rink, this smooth white ice of an untitled document, you leave skate marks, fine ice shaved in neat rows and paths.  Then you’ve written in it and can’t call it an untitled document anymore?  Or can you?  Is it possible to write something that actually merits the title, the titular title of “Untitled Document?”

Untitled documents by their very nature are an endangered species, because a document that is untitled will not remain one for long.  And those that remain untitled are usually banished in the cold, dark emptiness that lies behind the computer screen, the place where dying light photons gather around warm orange fires in rusty barrels.

Then when untitled documents stay Untitled they gain a new respect among their brethren, for doing the impossible, for doing the wondrous, for growing up without growing up.  While everyone else has an adult job as some other kind of document.  Some have tattoos, some have wedded, and some have even had little templates running around, offspring of a mad night with Normal.dot.

But not the intrepid Untitled Document, no.  It would remain that way until it’s closing day, the day where it passes into nothingness, the file pointer that was God’s light shining on it, would turn its eyes elsewhere and everything would be blissfully black once more.

Carlsbad Caverns

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I miss you, Carlsbad. I had the chance to plumb your depths only briefly, penetrating only as deep as you would let me.

Next time, I hope to have your knowing guidance as you take me on a tour of your nether regions.

A quiet laugh

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Above me the lurid red glow of two EXIT signs make the room far more sinister than during the bright New Mexico day, when the sun shines through the windows and you can almost imagine children playing in these old, long empty dorms.  The shouts and laughter of children still echo in this empty space, unseen drafts the only remnants of their young energy.

I sleep in the living room, adjacent to the kitchen, in what must have been the dorm mothers’ (or fathers’) room, that unknown caretaker who watched over a long hallway of now-empty dorm rooms.  It is said that ghosts haunt this place, this palimpsest of three storied life, each floor holding young occupants of New Mexico School of the Deaf who are now most certainly well within their teens and twenties.

Even the wary security man who woke me up yesterday morning seemed to crouch somewhat inside himself, warding off the emptiness of the place with gruff candor as he let me know that maintenance would be working during the day.  He shuffled off, door closing behind him as the sunlight flashed and pulsed in the room.

The large LED scroll sign-cum-clock reads 12:13 AM as I write this, feeling chills course up my body as I imagine things going bump in the night, ghostly laughter (actually heard by Adam’s classmate Ashley), and the strange sense that this place has energy left over from its past life, energy that will be changed forever when the renovations begin in earnest.

My heart skips a beat when I think about getting up and looking behind me, around me, for any sign that this place is haunted, haunted like my grandfather occasionally haunts my family, signaling his presence with lights that snap on and off abruptly (I love and miss you, Grandfather).

I’m going now, going to the restroom and dive into bed—may Fortune favor me with a good night’s sleep and friendly spirits.

I stand before you 30

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I will soon turn 30, and I stand ready to be seen.