Tuesday, January 10, 2012

The long road home

Again, I found myself standing outside the door of my suite at the Hotel Richmond. This time pounding on it for access to the room. No matter how many times I knocked upon that door my uncle John Carter would not answer to let me in. Somehow, I knew in my heart of hearts that he was no longer on the other side of the entrance way. That somehow he had transported himself back to the Red Planet and to the family that he loved more than life itself. Paradoxically, that realization made me happy. For though I would miss him terribly the thought of a relative finally finding peace and happiness after many years of struggle filled me with a serene calm. Fare you well, Uncle. Fare you well.

Resigned to the fact that my mission in Richmond was ended I turned and made my way to the lobby of the hotel. As I passed a trash receptacle I contemptuously threw the worthless plastic card the concierge gave me into it.

I made my way to the front desk and told Sergei that I had changed my mind and that I would not be spending the night and asked for the bill. Sergei, good man that he was, said there was no charge for thirty minutes stay and that he hoped I would visit the Hotel Richmond again. I promised him that I would look him up the next time I was in Richmond.

I exited the hotel and boarded the next available train back to New York. This time, however, my fellow passengers did not afford any distraction from the tedium of long-distance travel. It was as if I was seeing them with new eyes. They seemed as alien to me I seemed as alien to them as the surface of the moon. I felt old, out of touch and unsure of what I was doing.

None too soon did we settle into Penn Station. And I expedited the return to my dwelling with an outrageously priced taxi ride. The wee hours of the morning found me nestled in my favorite chair, a glass of  brandy in hand and wondering what I was going to do.
-ERB

Next: OROBUS

Saturday, January 7, 2012

A Formal Reunion

I stood frozen in the doorway of my suite at the Hotel Richmond staring at the source of my astonishment: my long lost uncle, John Carter, sitting in the foyer as if he was the cleaning lady pausing for a spot of tea. I had never been so flabbergasted and so delighted at the same time. I rushed up to hug him. My uncle stood up to meet me and returned my hug, but without the enthusiasm of past encounters. I was too excited to question it at the time. Instead, I asked how he came to be here right as I had need to speak with him. His only reply was that he was here because I willed it and I could pry no more explanation from his articulate lips.

In due time he motioned me to sit and then asked what he could do for me. Still in shock I began "As you know, uncle I've made my living as a writer for some time now and I am embarking on a new project. I am going to start writing a "blog" but have no inkling as how to build it or how to make it available to an audience. As in days past I have sought out your counsel in this. For though I've never heard you mention anything about "blogs" or "URLs" in your journals you have proven yourself time and again to be a man possessed of all manner of knowledge and hope that this will be no exception.
Uncle Jack, how does one blog"?

For long moments my uncle looked at me while, ostensibly, considering my question. The uncustomary silence did not put me at ease and just as it became interminable Uncle Jack did something I have never seen him do in all the years of my long, long life.
He put his hand out to me, turned upward in a seeming gesture of benevolent offering. And then immediately thereafter his face careened into his upturned palm with such force that I could scarce hold onto the arms of my wing back chair. His face remained in the palm of his hand when he next spoke.

"Nephew, if you would care to leave the protective confines of your home, walk out onto the pavement outside your door, stand among your fellow man and cry out 'I need help with a blog' I'm sure some child over the age of 12 will present himself and give you the assistance you desire. Does that answer your question?"

I didn't know what to say and merely nodded, silently.

"Good," said Captain Carter and rose from his chair. I took that as a signal that our audience was over and also stood up.

"I must leave now, Nephew. It was good seeing you again, but you know that Earth is no longer my home."

I tried to answer the good Captain, but the words caught in my throat. So, once more, I nodded.

"And if I may say so, Edgar, please resist the urge in the future of calling on me for a conference. I believe you have gone to that well one time too many, don't you?"

"I . . . suppose?" was all I could muster.

That last exchange seemed to at last meet with the good Captain's approval. For he let a hint of a smile play across his handsome, manly face and shot me that old wink that marked me as his favorite in the Burroughs clan. He then gave me a strong and loving farewell hug and my spirit was buoyed by the gesture. When he released me from his embrace he turned me toward the suite's door. And I found myself involuntarily walking out of the room. As if I was a marionette following the command of a master puppeteer. I regained my senses only after I had cleared the doorway. As my mind cleared I remembered I had something else to say to my dear old uncle, but I turned to see the suite's door shut locked behind me. And I with no key to open it. Only a useless plastic card.
-ERB

Next: The Long Road Home

Thursday, January 5, 2012

A Leap of Faith

From: New York, NY To: Richmond, VA
It seemed an age since I last ventured below the Mason-Dixon line. Or go beyond the borders of New York state. Or even emerge from my Manhattan brownstone. But if the answers to my questions weren't coming to me then I would have no recourse but to travel to them. And so, Monday morning found me waiting for my train to depart Penn Station. You really haven't seen America until you've seen it from a train.

It isn't just the scenery speeding by the cabin windows. It's also the changing aspects of the passengers. Their faces, attire and accents transform organically with each stop and truly represent the flavor of their community. I can think of no better entertainment to pass the time on a long journey than watching this passing parade of humanity.

By 5 PM we arrived at the the capitol of Virginia. And by 6 PM I was standing outside the Hotel Richmond. The site of what could be my greatest act of desperation to date. I knew I needed to speak to my long-lost uncle John Carter, but had no way of contacting him. He was a warlord of a distant planet. Or dead. Or both. I could never quite grasp the situation. The last time I did meet with him was in a room at the Hotel Richmond. My sole option was to return to that room to look for clues as to Captain Jack Carter's current location. A desperate leap of faith, to say the least, but my only lead.

I entered the hotel and approached the concierge. A genial chap by the name of Sergei. Sergei was expecting me, but he persisted in trying to hand me a plastic card when I asked for my room key. In Sergei's defense he was foreign-born, so his command of English may not have been equal to the task. Finally, I surrendered and took the plastic card offered and made my way to the room. Perhaps it would be unlocked.

I found the door to my lodgings ajar. As I stepped into it's dimly lit recesses I met a sight that caused me to halt in mid-step. My Uncle John Carter, waiting for me in the sitting room of the suite.
-ERB

Next: An unexpected reunion.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Dawn of a New Era

As with every morn I rose with the dawn. But this particular morning found me giddy as a school boy as I donned the fuzzy fluffy bunny slippers my houseboy provided and fairly bounded into my long unused study. It was my customary ritual to start the day by enjoying the latest Jane Austen or the frankly  humorous adventures of "The Yellow Kid" in the morning paper over breakfast. But not today! I set to work immediately at my old journal,  writing furiously in it's yellowing embrace. My hands racing with the speed of Hermes, whom the Romans called Mercury. Ah, Mercury. What thrilling and exotic adventures transpire on that distant planet, I wondered aloud?

Days passed and the room's confines filled with the fruits of my labors. Despite my progress, however, I could not escape a mounting dread. An obstacle seemed to loom in the distance and grew large with each stroke of the pen: How did one get these paper missiles of the mind into the cannon of the world wide web? The gulf between myself and the blogosphere was too vast to breach. At last, I succumbed to the undeniable. That there was only one solution to my bloggy problem. I would seek an audience with my long lost uncle.
-ERB

Next: The Dixieland Express.

Sunday, January 1, 2012

An Unexpected Calling

On this day, the 26th day of December in the year of our lord 2011 I was seized by a complete and overwhelming compulsion to write something called a "blog". I have no explanation as to why I would abruptly be gripped by the desire to once more take on the mantle of writer. Nor as to why I would do it in a manner so unacustom or so public. For I have been dead to the world at large for the past three-score years and have been quite content to let it labor under that false assumption like some elderly Tom Sawyer. Enjoying the solitude and privacy that death allows. 

Surely, writing this "blog" would only expose my deceptions and invite unwanted attention by the uncouth portion of polite society.

Regardless, no matter how I argued with myself I was totally committed to the act. Driven by my own inner demons not unlike the Furies of myth that would hound guilty men to their dooms.

And so, with caution spread to the four winds, I drank to the venture with my finest brandy and retired for the night. Confident in the fact that I would lie down a literal lamb, but awaken a paper tiger!