The Search for Spock.. revised
The "Bonen" travel camper was now exposed, like a unsavory large watermelon through the snow tundra, and now it made sense to Kirk why this interesting creature wagon was here.
“Where had they gone,” the boy wondered, "Spock, you tell me that they are still here in some distant form?" Faint and barely discernable like the great Mount Fuji Mari on a clear day. Here in the winter mist, before the fire of canon, things were much easier to discern.
Copper toned bark and metallic leaves stood like pennants on an ancient Roman standard — this was the undiscovered country, dreamt of by the Vulcan legionnaires, but yet not trodden. A conspicuous patch of feathers littered the ground close to the entrance of the empty Student administration tower. It offered some signs of life, but what also appeared to be a very spectacular moment of death.
"These were University buildings once," the young Kirk thought still fascinated. The doomed feathers seemed to be a metaphor for the present look of these buildings, buildings that must have once served a life purpose, but they were now hauntingly deserted.
A hawk dived down from its lofty perch, looping around the boy as he looked up at its silent circling maneuver, its head pivoted on its still body as if resembling an advanced mechanical device. Its grace and quick ease in flight could have given the impression of a falcon, one that Kirk remembered from the many books he remembered as a youth. He was walking over a kill spot, a freshly killed pigeon, and the hawk was curious and cautiously aware of the strange wanderer in its zone.
"This was Kirkland," the boy thought, if Kirk would have only had the balls to make it this far. Old maroon brick fortifications stood in complete austerity in the snow wilderness—they were survivors of a lost doomed age of reason.
It started to snow again, first small flakes that didn’t appear to threaten anything significant, but soon enough the rest of them joined in together, coming down in a large fashion across the already snowed under landscape.
“Ok,” the young boy thought looking up, “I think I am near the right place, buut… this might not be the right year.
“Spock, do you hear me,”
——————————————-
“If I were an Ugly caterpillar,” the boy thought, “I would have to be a green one. Or perhaps bluish green, and I would drink lots of Coca cola, and fast energy drinks.” Ah, the symptoms of this caffeine world. When science planetary revisionists come out with their new solar system, earth should change its name to the ‘Caffeine planet.’ The boy didn’t even know how caffeine was produced, if it was a natural commodity or what, but its presence was everywhere and it was always a very tolerable craving. The white snowmen here in the town loved it. Pictures of snowmen today had a different look about them than back from the earlier times. The Snowmen here were all caffeine addicts. They couldn’t get enough of their Coke, Dr. Pepper, and double caffeine espressos. The ugly caterpillars really have their steep mountain to climb on this planet, with all the starving algae latté heads in constant existence.
The wind was howling and intensifying, creating faces and figures of the Titans and other strange non-human creatures bubbling against the thin glass panes. "Where was the Enterprise," the young Kirk inquired, “Where in this universe of billboards and dead broken shoelaces?” On earth here as a human, living out a dire dreary collapsing world. All the old battle cries were worn out. Everything seemed to be a failed concept, except for old-fashioned moral intelligence. However that did not stand a chance against this new age “progress.” And so this was where the fight was—the blogs were dead, the stores were going out of business left and right and everything becoming exhausted and distant. Like those cloven hoof-prints in the snow.
Ah, this sanity was like a slow seeping toxin and corrosion. "Logic, I know Spock that you understand what I mean. This world of micro computer chips and digital cards, these things that had no real intrinsic value other than the memories and emotions that we placed inside of them. It was so cold outside, but the boy wished that he could be out there. Somewhere, perhaps even outside in the cold, in the numbing frostbite temperatures. He was thinking about that white Karate uniform he saw at the thrift store, and that Tai Chi video that his friend Ron let him borrow. He was thinking about practicing some Tai Chi or yoga out there in the numbing sub-zero temperatures. Out there until his bare feet turned purple, black and frozen.
And so the search for Spock continued. With the pale squalid disk sun, glazed over by a veil mist smoke-screen of winter clouds. This orb, a perfectly round disk held up in artificial suspension above the ruined vacant buildings. At least there were no crummy billboards here, and no Doctors poking and needle prodding you with sticks, telling you that you can’t afford their arcane methods of "helping you.” The wolf pack was this new Kirk’s friend, its paw prints stealth fully hidden beneath the blue frozen snow.
ard —this was the undiscovered country, dreamt of by the Vulcan legionnaires, but yet not trodden. A conspicious patch of feathers litered the ground close to the entrance of the empty Student administration tower. "These were University buildings once," the young Kirk thought, but now hauntingly deserted. A hawk dived down from its perch, looping around Kirk as he looked up at its silent circling maneuver, it’s head pivoted on its still body, as if resembling an advanced mechanical device. It’s grace and quick ease in flight could have given the impression of a falcon, one that Kirk remembered from many books he remembered as a youth. He was walking over a kill spot, a freshly killed pigeon, and the hawk was curious and cautiously aware of an intruder trespassing in its zone.
"This was Kirkland," the boy thought, if Kirk would have only had the balls to make it this far. Old maroon brick fortifications stood in complete austerity in the snow wilderness—they were survivors of a lost doomed age of reason.
“Perhaps this is why Kirk did not make it this far,” the boy wondered. He was miles from the laser show being put on at the Falls rock park in the south. The great Titans whose faces were carved on the mountain were now entertainers to new spectacled audiences, clueless themselves to this changed world. Technology had now become the substitute for the great deeds of lost heroes. Everything was changed now, this world had definitely changed.
“The man in the stonewall,” the young boy remembered, Was he one of the last titans of the (japanese word) . He remembered the green and blue lasers that had penetrated the void and filled the air with a dazzling array of spectrum light. And here in the vacant wilderness lands of the North, he knew that the real Kirk was not around. But the boy was not alone, and guided by wolf instincts he felt the copper memories of those wanderers who had trekked these frozen lands centuries ago. Like hawks roaming through the wilderness, searching for an unrecognizable prey and held together with hearts made from fire-weathered bronze. “This — This is where they made their final stand. This is where the Titans…” The Boy could not finish. He could feel their presence now in the silent he ruins of the old Bunker Hill, in solid courageous formation, but weathered from the strong arctic winds of the North.