Nobody Reads This Page – “Future Days”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-24)

 

 

For this writer, the vastness of outer space has always been appealing. Growing up in a time when America and the world had a keen interest in the possibility of extraterrestrial visits meant that the thought of such fantastic events happening in real time did not seem ridiculous to ponder. I used to stand in our back yard at night, in Virginia, and gaze upward toward the heavens with a sense of longing. It seemed oddly logical to believe that somewhere on that canvas of darkness and light was evidence of sentient beings looking back, in our direction.

 

I watched Star Trek and later UFO, the Gerry Anderson series. Both of these programs instilled my consciousness with a wanderlust that our technology at that distant moment could not satisfy. I read novels by Edgar Rice Burroughs, Isaac Asimov, Phillip K. Dick, and Ray Bradbury. And I believed, like Agent Mulder in ‘The X Files.’

 

“THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE!”

 

Many years afterward, I began to see stories by the upstart network NewsNation, about UAP whistleblower David Grush providing testimony to a subcommittee on Capitol Hill. His calm demeanor and straightforward delivery of information had me literally spellbound, in front of my television. I had to blink repeatedly to be certain that this surreal episode was not some sort of Netflix production, or a movie trailer. Yet as details filtered outward, the serious nature of his candid observations became clear.

 

The spectacle made me ponder magazine issues that landed in our mailbox during my formative years. Wild, rebellious journals and books published by Ray Palmer, a diminutive giant of pre-internet controversies. His iconic contributions spoke of mysterious worlds and unfamiliar civilizations. He promoted ‘Oahspe: A New Bible,’ and the ‘Shaver Mystery’ stories. The man was not shy about freely offering zesty prose and conspiratorial excess, with abandon. This tilt toward insane theories seemed to entertain my father, as a creative scribbler. But it electrified my own sense of reality, while coming of age.

 

I never forgot that hopeful vibe. Somewhere, somehow, I reckoned that mankind would indeed travel to nearby planets and stars, and beyond.

 

A familiar philosophical foundation for those interested in such things has always been the notion that voyagers from afar must possess tools and trickery of a kind never imagined here at home. Printed tales, films and shows from the golden age have frequently depicted aliens as big-eyed wizards, armed with advanced gizmos and breathtaking abilities. Yet when I tried to channel my own passion for futurism to spark writing projects, a different inclination took hold. One rooted in my own humble experiences. I reckoned that the modernist blaze of tomorrow would be very much like what we possess, today. People were certain to fight each other over petty details. Things would break down constantly. Safety systems might fail. Institutions could collapse under the weight of their own corruption and inefficiency. And those citizens of tomorrow were assured of becoming grouchy, and very bored.

 

If we did make contact with extraterrestrial explorers, I figured it would be through our own crude, scientific missions. Flung into the skies with naked arrogance, and a blast of rocket propulsion. Interstellar vehicles sent out randomly, to poke around in the cosmic mess and see what might result in the aftermath.

 

My sober, minimalist view of our destined path helped to shape various manuscripts penned in the 1990’s. I wrote stories in the genre of Science Fiction as a nod to my mentor and sire, hoping for his endorsement. One addressed the breakdown of our society along cultural lines in Appalachia. The State of West Virginia declared itself to be a separate, citizen territory and seceded from the United States. A resulting military blockade meant that traveling in and out of this mountain region required passing through checkpoints set up by federal authorities. I pecked at my keyboard while imagining a young researcher who wanted to rediscover his family lineage in that rowdy new republic. Genetic testing confirmed his bond, and he was granted access on the basis of that evidence.

 

My father smiled over the idea. He encouraged me to keep busy imagining where our journey as a nation might lead. I felt glad to inherit his blessing.

 

Eventually, the passionate connection of our brood to religious themes made me conjure up a vision of relevant discoveries, many light years away. I wrote about astronauts who traveled to a rocky orb in space, where a figure very much akin to our own Christian prophet had appeared in the flesh. ‘Jesas Kirst’ was born of a mother who had been sterilized in a concentration camp. She was from a race considered to be lower class and undesirable. The native foliage was predominantly blue in color, instead of green. This provided a backdrop very foreign for those who had traveled from our solar system. Earth pilots were astounded to learn of this revolutionary figure and his uncommon heritage. Finally, one of the crew was moved to proclaim that the truism of a creator’s love must be universal in scope. If salvation had been offered once, then indeed it was offered many times over, on a thousand worlds throughout the stars. No other explanation could serve to unite the heavens.

 

This wordsmithing line of thought stunned my family enough that no clear assessment was ever offered. Some were aghast at my bold leap into oblivion. In seeking validation, I had stepped off of a literary cliff. With a tumble into caverns below, as my reward. Yet it satisfied the craving to explore. If not in a physical sense, then within the unlimited boundaries of imagination.

 

Ray Palmer understood this natural predisposition of human minds. To wonder and wander, and hunger to surreptitiously peek behind the veil that separates us from pure enlightenment. Our curiosity as a race has never been quenched by history, or circumstance. Only intensified many times over, like light through a magnifying glass. An energy stream that burns with the glare of a billion suns on fire.

 

We are vagabond pioneers. It is coded in our DNA as a species. To embrace that reality is to be at peace with ourselves.