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I Forgot To Remember To Forget - Laz - 10-12-2018
The Burden Of History
It's been two years. I still continue this path, this obsession. I've never stopped thinking about it and I continue to pursue some make believe resolution for my problems. I don't even know what I am doing anymore.
I've nested myself in Freeport 11, and spend most of my time there. My debts to Aaron have been paid off and I'm a free man once more. I pirate traders where I can to get by and seldom return to my stead on Malta. I am in a position to begin again and start anew. Nobody knows me, nobody remembers me. I carry my knowledge and experience onward, but what do I do with it? Talk to people outside the Freeport, some futile attempt to pick up bits of information.
It's got me nowhere. Nowhere at all. The only hint I even have is from a few ships that I've seen. The Eidolon Wraith is the only one that carries any sort of impact within my memories. I am at a crossroads. I can abandon my search, try continue my life and make something of it. Use my knowledge and live out the next century trying to unlock it's secrets. But I can't. I can't let go. The thought of it angers me and makes me shake. I've lost my humanity. Again.
It makes me think. I sat outside that Freeport on many days. Some people fascinated about what I had to say and the knowledge I carried; other's glossing over the fact as if it's something everyone knows. There was one guy, Hans something. He offered me an intellectual conversation, something I've been truly lacking, but I didn't really realise it until recently. It was a nice change. I miss that. Still, it hasn't got me anywhere with my search. My search is as dead in the water as when I started. If only it was as simple as going door to door asking people if they've seen this person - but that's not how you find someone. Not at all.
I tried to rekindle one of my contacts, get someone sympathetic to my own personal cause, someone who had experience and knowledge. I got no response. Perhaps they've disappeared and my communication will be lost to the ages, dead like many people believe me to be. Or perhaps their interests will no longer align to my own, and I'm once again a target.
It's almost ironic. It's a waiting game where all the players can never die. We will both outage any fool from house space. It's a race against the clock where the hand never moves. I am an outcast from the world I was part of, my names and deeds lost to the ever flowing tide it feels. Perhaps it would have been better for us both if I had perished, if my wounds had killed me. I would not have been burdened with this lust for revenge, if that is even the right term to use.
I carried on though. I have all my knowledge, my years of research, still embedded in my brain. Everything I ever felt or knew still floating around in there, but with some emotions clouded and locked away thanks to the unique key being stolen by that thief. That thief I cared so deeply about. I need to consider how I am actually going to find them or if I should. Is it rational to be this focused? This driven? I have all the questions in the world. I want to hurt them. I want to care for them. I want to beat them. I want to hold them. I don't know what is normal anymore. Is it time for me to stop, time for me to walk away?
It's anyone's guess, but I can't let the thought go. It overcomes me like the all familiar sense of paranoia I am permanently branded with. My scars, both mental and physical, might never heal; yet I can't just let it go. I can only imagine everything how it once was, and while I know I can never get that back, I still have this internal hope and drive to make it a reality.
But it won't happen. That time has passed. Leere is dead to the universe.
But he lives on.
I live on.
I've nested myself in Freeport 11, and spend most of my time there. My debts to Aaron have been paid off and I'm a free man once more. I pirate traders where I can to get by and seldom return to my stead on Malta. I am in a position to begin again and start anew. Nobody knows me, nobody remembers me. I carry my knowledge and experience onward, but what do I do with it? Talk to people outside the Freeport, some futile attempt to pick up bits of information.
It's got me nowhere. Nowhere at all. The only hint I even have is from a few ships that I've seen. The Eidolon Wraith is the only one that carries any sort of impact within my memories. I am at a crossroads. I can abandon my search, try continue my life and make something of it. Use my knowledge and live out the next century trying to unlock it's secrets. But I can't. I can't let go. The thought of it angers me and makes me shake. I've lost my humanity. Again.
It makes me think. I sat outside that Freeport on many days. Some people fascinated about what I had to say and the knowledge I carried; other's glossing over the fact as if it's something everyone knows. There was one guy, Hans something. He offered me an intellectual conversation, something I've been truly lacking, but I didn't really realise it until recently. It was a nice change. I miss that. Still, it hasn't got me anywhere with my search. My search is as dead in the water as when I started. If only it was as simple as going door to door asking people if they've seen this person - but that's not how you find someone. Not at all.
I tried to rekindle one of my contacts, get someone sympathetic to my own personal cause, someone who had experience and knowledge. I got no response. Perhaps they've disappeared and my communication will be lost to the ages, dead like many people believe me to be. Or perhaps their interests will no longer align to my own, and I'm once again a target.
It's almost ironic. It's a waiting game where all the players can never die. We will both outage any fool from house space. It's a race against the clock where the hand never moves. I am an outcast from the world I was part of, my names and deeds lost to the ever flowing tide it feels. Perhaps it would have been better for us both if I had perished, if my wounds had killed me. I would not have been burdened with this lust for revenge, if that is even the right term to use.
I carried on though. I have all my knowledge, my years of research, still embedded in my brain. Everything I ever felt or knew still floating around in there, but with some emotions clouded and locked away thanks to the unique key being stolen by that thief. That thief I cared so deeply about. I need to consider how I am actually going to find them or if I should. Is it rational to be this focused? This driven? I have all the questions in the world. I want to hurt them. I want to care for them. I want to beat them. I want to hold them. I don't know what is normal anymore. Is it time for me to stop, time for me to walk away?
It's anyone's guess, but I can't let the thought go. It overcomes me like the all familiar sense of paranoia I am permanently branded with. My scars, both mental and physical, might never heal; yet I can't just let it go. I can only imagine everything how it once was, and while I know I can never get that back, I still have this internal hope and drive to make it a reality.
But it won't happen. That time has passed. Leere is dead to the universe.
But he lives on.
I live on.
RE: I Forgot To Remember To Forget - Laz - 12-19-2018
The Dangers Of Friends
The longer I stay at the Freeport over my stead on Malta, the more I see people from all different walks of life. Some crazy and worth nary a thought, others offering humorous exchanges and jokes that I'll continue to laugh at, hours after they were told. It's nice to talk to people this much, though I don't think I'd have agreed with that statement only mere months ago. That being said, it's dangerous.
I don't want to risk getting close to anyone, I don't want a repeat of what happened. Ever. I have trouble looking between the blurred lines of friendship and just people looking to pass the time with a quick conversation. When you speak to the same people many times, however, the lines become even harder to see and almost blend into one.
I still think and reflect on my few encounters with that Hans fellow. What was the name? Hans Von Goeben? Something like that. He was probably one of the first people to actually listen to what I had to say and treated me like a fellow intellectual. It's not something I even realised I missed from my Cryer days, but being treated like an expert again was a wonderful feeling. Shame the stigma for Cardamine wont disappear any time soon. Understandable, considering half the degenerates that use it.
*Sigh*
Who were the people from yesterday? Dreamer, Anton? The other one. Holt? I think those were the names. Holt had a pretty dry sense of humour, and I liked that. I needed a a good laugh. That Zoner guy though... the lord and saviour of Omicron Delta. Heh. That guy got blown the fuck up. Fun times. Shame it wasn't me that did it though.
I should head back to Malta some time. My searches here haven't really gotten me anywhere, perhaps it is a sign this time; if I am moving on, I'm doing so at my own pace. Perhaps I should stay at the Freeport a while longer before heading back, actually. I am actually enjoying the company here at the moment, though I really didn't expect I'd be saying that... ever.
I don't want to risk getting close to anyone, I don't want a repeat of what happened. Ever. I have trouble looking between the blurred lines of friendship and just people looking to pass the time with a quick conversation. When you speak to the same people many times, however, the lines become even harder to see and almost blend into one.
I still think and reflect on my few encounters with that Hans fellow. What was the name? Hans Von Goeben? Something like that. He was probably one of the first people to actually listen to what I had to say and treated me like a fellow intellectual. It's not something I even realised I missed from my Cryer days, but being treated like an expert again was a wonderful feeling. Shame the stigma for Cardamine wont disappear any time soon. Understandable, considering half the degenerates that use it.
*Sigh*
Who were the people from yesterday? Dreamer, Anton? The other one. Holt? I think those were the names. Holt had a pretty dry sense of humour, and I liked that. I needed a a good laugh. That Zoner guy though... the lord and saviour of Omicron Delta. Heh. That guy got blown the fuck up. Fun times. Shame it wasn't me that did it though.
I should head back to Malta some time. My searches here haven't really gotten me anywhere, perhaps it is a sign this time; if I am moving on, I'm doing so at my own pace. Perhaps I should stay at the Freeport a while longer before heading back, actually. I am actually enjoying the company here at the moment, though I really didn't expect I'd be saying that... ever.
RE: I Forgot To Remember To Forget - Laz - 01-07-2019
The Price Of Remembering
I thought my decision was made. I thought I was ready to move on. I thought. A few things happened today, some fun, others... costly. As I normally do, I was sat outside Freeport 11. A bunch more random stuff. Zoner Colony Ships, Order idiots, and Nomads. Before the conflict arose, I actually had a nice little exchange with one of the individuals there, never gave me a name though.
Before long Nomads and Order clashed, the same old same old. Nothing new. It was a decisive victory for the Nomads, which was a nice change. I... was a bit put off by all the background noise in my mind, so I headed to one of my memory spots, Omicron Minor. I took up position by the Isis wreck, just like I used to do; the only major change was that I wasn't expecting someone to meet me here this time. I was to be alone with my thoughts. How I liked things.
But that's not what happened. I was there for a few minutes, then the Nomad from Delta resurfaced. It sat there for a few moments, silent, before I heard its songs again. It talked to me, like before. I cannot say whether I missed the sound of them in my head or not. It's inherently not an enjoyable sound, but it just feels... natural. The songs are not alike the ones I am familiar with, but I can still sense the old mixing with new.
This Nomad did not bestow me with a name to identify it with, but it did name me a duskling for shooting the Order. So there is that. I followed it while it's words lingered in my head, sounding around the empty space with an echo. It read my head, knows who I am, who I was; who I seek.
It claimed to want to assist me, which is odd given how the exchanges tend to go in reverse. When it looked inside my head and read my thoughts and memories, it resurfaced some more of the unpleasant ones. Munich. Murder. Mistakes. Maren. Things I tried to bury in the dirt. Discard and remove the nightmares and terrors that plague my sleep. Perhaps it was genuine and wanted to assist, as it was a youngling, this is almost believable. That being said, I find it more likely that it was just trying to train its own abilities, and I was the unfortunate test subject.
Was it worth it? I don't know.
...
Why do I even make these logs?
Before long Nomads and Order clashed, the same old same old. Nothing new. It was a decisive victory for the Nomads, which was a nice change. I... was a bit put off by all the background noise in my mind, so I headed to one of my memory spots, Omicron Minor. I took up position by the Isis wreck, just like I used to do; the only major change was that I wasn't expecting someone to meet me here this time. I was to be alone with my thoughts. How I liked things.
But that's not what happened. I was there for a few minutes, then the Nomad from Delta resurfaced. It sat there for a few moments, silent, before I heard its songs again. It talked to me, like before. I cannot say whether I missed the sound of them in my head or not. It's inherently not an enjoyable sound, but it just feels... natural. The songs are not alike the ones I am familiar with, but I can still sense the old mixing with new.
This Nomad did not bestow me with a name to identify it with, but it did name me a duskling for shooting the Order. So there is that. I followed it while it's words lingered in my head, sounding around the empty space with an echo. It read my head, knows who I am, who I was; who I seek.
It claimed to want to assist me, which is odd given how the exchanges tend to go in reverse. When it looked inside my head and read my thoughts and memories, it resurfaced some more of the unpleasant ones. Munich. Murder. Mistakes. Maren. Things I tried to bury in the dirt. Discard and remove the nightmares and terrors that plague my sleep. Perhaps it was genuine and wanted to assist, as it was a youngling, this is almost believable. That being said, I find it more likely that it was just trying to train its own abilities, and I was the unfortunate test subject.
Was it worth it? I don't know.
...
Why do I even make these logs?