After my girlfriend left this morning, I went outside and I found this note on my lawn. It said:

Hi, I had to write you this note, even though I find it really difficult to write - a lot harder for me than it is for you. I have had to let a part of myself die to do so, but I think it's important to let you know what I think. You act like you're superior to me, you're always cutting me off, never letting me just grow by myself. You're always trying to contain me somehow. It's funny, because you hardly ever leave your house, but I've been everywhere. I've been up mountains, I've even travelled across deserts. I've been in places you wouldn't even dare to go, but still you treat me terribly, like I'm nothing, like you can just walk all over me. You can be terribly cruel to me too. You always expect me to look the way you want me to look, even if it's not the way I look naturally. You've even turned the hose on me if I didn't get a shower, but I don't need one every day. I admit, I'm not like you, but I don't smell. Well, not in the way you do anyway. Like I said, you treat me so badly, even when you think you're treating me well, but to me you just seem to think I'm fit for a dog to shit on. Anyway, I've said my piece. I hope you're listening, because it took quite a lot out of me to write this. Regards Grass

I felt a little bit sad, because lots of the lawn was now brown and presumably dead, only the letters of the note were still green. I went inside and thought about it. After a while I realised I couldn't just ignore the problem, so I reached for my phone and rang a fellow I knew at the garden centre.

"Hey Jerry, I'm wondering if you've got time to come along to mine this afternoon? Oh you do, excellent. Yeah I want you to lay a new lawn down."

Well, that's that problem solved.

In the past, I would have loved this type of journey. Instead, I'm sat in the passenger seat watching the moths caught in the headlights swirl around like a snow flurry, and getting no pleasure from the sight at all.

I don't know what's worse, the fact that I know that once upon a time I would have felt something good about the type of thinking that produced those comparisons or that I can't seem to even bully myself into enjoying it anymore. Thinking seems to be fast approaching its use-by date and the taint of its soon to be sourness is making it quite unpalatable.

The problem is - what else is there to do with one's mind. I feel like I'm saying goodbye to an old friend in that slow and 'over a period of time' way that friends part when there's nothing left to talk about. Drifting apart until one day you realise you haven't spoken to the other in months and haven't really missed the connection. Its what 'they' mean when they say 'we grew apart'. Me and my thoughts are like that. We wave at each other across the street and promise to catch up soon, but never quite do.

So I'm in a quandary, what do I do, now that I'm not really talking to myself anymore. There seems to be little point in being the receptacle for a mind. Its not like I can get rid of it now I don't have a use for it. 'Mind for sale, one previous owner' has a nice ring to it, but I can't imagine getting many calls from interested buyers...I can't even claim to have been a careful driver. This mind has been terribly abused on occasion by me, its one previous owner.

I can't help but wonder if being one of those moths out there would be easier, especially as it hits or is hit by the window I am peering out through. I believe, though am prepared to concede I could be wrong, that those moths out there have no more sense of self than the snowflakes they resemble. If that is the case, then they cannot preconceive the effect that the car's passage through and into them, will have. Surely this means that they don't mind.

That is a state I would aspire to.

It was four thousand years, give or take a few decades, since a human being had existed on Earth. The first to break that drought woke up to find herself laid on a lounger, next to a pool, in what she could only assume, was the Beverly Wiltshire Hotel in Shanghai...

Fiona assumed that she was wrong, partly because she had no idea what or where a 'Beverly Wiltshire Hotel' or a 'Shanghai' was, and partly because she felt absolutely certain that she would have a large drink in her hand if she was wherever she was sure she was right about being wrong about where she thought she was. She looked around in case she might have mistakenly put it down close by.

I was bullied every single day I was in school.

Every...single...day.

The bullies were always older than me, and they were always bigger than me. I was forced to do everything they told me.

They always got their own way.

Telling my parents about them was no good, they seemed to think I was getting exactly what I deserved!

The bullies in my school even had their own room that they hung out in together when not in class...they called it the Staff Room.

They were waiting for him. In the dark. Their suits gently brushing against each other as they moved, each keeping the cramp from their muscles as best they could within the tight confines of the walk-in cupboard. The thin slats of light slipping through the louver doors, moved up across their faces as the sun sank, being slowly replaced by the soft glow of moonlight on the variously coloured garments - mostly shirts and trousers - they were sharing the space with.

"Which one's this?"

"I think it's number 23"

"You're sure or you just think it is?"

"It doesn't make any difference does it? We've got to see them all and if we don't manage it today then we'll just be continuing again tomorrow, until it's done."

"Ok, but why can't we sit on one of those chairs I can see, or even on his bed? I'm getting a mite uncomfortable in here."

"He's got a web-cam setup covering his room and it's recording..."

"Ok, so why couldn't we have just turned up later, rather than having to stand in here for half the day."

"I don't know, ask the boss when you speak to him."

"Yeah, I might do."

"You won't will you?"

"No, probably not. Also, are you sure there isn't a mic on that computer too?"

"No, just a cam. To answer your question it was on a timer, that's why we had to get in here before it switched on."

"Oh right, I can see you read the notes."

"Yes, well one of us had to."

"I'm still not sure why we don't just appear in front of him though, or any of them for that matter, like in the old days. It is a him this time isn't it?"

"Oh hold on...erm... yes, it's a him. He's 13 and his name is Bradley ok? Don't be forgetting like you did the last one. That was embarrassing!"

"Come on, it wasn't that embarrassing!"

"Really? I was mortified. Probably the most momentous event in her life and you kept calling her by the wrong name. And you think that wasn't embarrassing?"

"Oh, ok. Maybe a little bit."

"Well, it didn't exactly provide the gravitas that I personally would like to exude on these occasions. It's so much easier when they're impressed."

"Ok, ok, stop going on. I'm beginning to forget this one's name with all your whining. It's Bartley isn't it?"

"NO, it's ... oh ok, you almost had me there."

"Almost! Sorry, I'm getting a bit bored."

"I know, I'm the same. It's not like the old days is

I'm dying, every day a little more. I sit in front of this screen for hours every day, not knowing what else to do with my life. Each day, this screen sucks a little more of the humanity out of me, the will to live, and reason to live disappearing apace. I have no 'social life', neither on or offline, to speak of, and this portal is possibly my only connection to the 'society' I exist in. Except, I don't. Exist in it. Oh, there are short stretches of time within I sometimes 'fit' but it takes effort. Not a small amount, but a bone-wearying amount of effort. I hear the cry of "but everybody...", but you are wrong. Not everybody has to concentrate or focus every fibre of their being into fitting the patterns that define your social interactions. I do not have the 'gene' or the 'natural' instinct' that somehow 'tunes your radio' to the correct frequency so you can 'hear' one another. Fine-tuning for me takes effort to perform, and effort to maintain. My 'natural' instincts lead me to something more akin with a James Joyce character's ramblinigs, in my 'connection' with the world. I have a tremendous difficulty in moving along one line of thought, and in a consistent enough manner to enable me to partake in what is 'normal' conversation in 'normal' circles. So, going out into society at large scares me, because of the exhaustion I will feel afterwards, but also because of the waste. The waste of time on frivolities, like weather or sport or religion (aethist and theist both) feels like a little bit of my life is thrown away, and for no good reason that I can fathom.

Yet! I crave company. I crave love. But I feel like a jigsaw piece from the wrong jigsaw. I can be squeezed in, but the picture is still wrong. The trouble is, the more times that jigsaw piece is pushed into the wrong place, the more it is going to get mishapen, until eventually it won't fit any jigsaw. That's the end of that piece, cast away to rubbish. I feel like I am heading towards the same place. I don't feel that I fit into any jigsaw anymore. Even the one I originally came from. Too damaged to ever fit properly again. That is death, and I am dying.

I am the master

of the ill phrase

the taarring brush

the narrowing of view

intended trickery

all to beguile you

why, know not I

not malice nor

hurt belief do I

plummet the depth

of every topic

bring fear to

focus to find

a circle's worst side

sharing negativity

I am in charge of naught but

wayward anger

intent on little more

than a life to squander

remorse and of course

regret to be my companions constant

why am i

so destitute of mind

so scornful

of your kind

do i hate thee and by

inference myself that much

why

i do not want

to 

be

this

way

When we came to Earth, we adopted the form of one of the more common species, as is the practice of our xenopology department. The problem was, some of the crew began to get listless. Our guise depended on our fitting in, but the daily repetition of a combination of having to perform menial tasks to provide the necessities of life - like regular nourishment, and an endless search for something new to captivate the senses, was having a detrimental effect on their health, and also on their ability to pass themselves off as normal members of their host society. They couldn't understand the hierarchy, which to them seemed illogical to the extreme. Though, you should bear in mind that our species is very old, older than the Earth itself, and the barbarism we found here is an anathema to any species longevity. We had seen many pass, but the careless waste of self-awareness did not yet leave us unaffected. Though many of us were, and still are, deeply shocked to see such squandering, for the most part, the overriding feelings were of pity and a great sadness. Some of our members, though all experienced in these missions, suffered such low feelings that they found themselves unable to keep their social masks in place. In most cases, this resulted in them being the victim of some form of direct and/or indirect abuse from some of the host species' members. Exhibiting pity or sadness resulted in castigation or denouncement for some others.

There is a mutation, and the vector is growing, but partly due to the solipsistic nature of their major social hierarchies, those carrying it are unlikely to be able to effect any form of change required to save the 'standard variations' or their own from extinction. Many of them fall prey to the same issues as many of our own members did. Unlike us, they had little chance of escape. It is a cruel irony. Not only are some of their skills and perspectives exactly what their whole species should learn from in order to survive even another century, but that those same skills and perspectives, when harnessed by the "standard variations" to maintain their own society's trajectory will hasten their extinction timeframe. 

In the end, we had to make the decision to leave. My greatest regret was that we couldn't take those imbued with the 'alternate variation' with us.

I used to think the U.S. of A. deserved a chance,

to show us it's gaudy, salesman's dance,

but now I'm really not so sure,

cos you take, and take and always want more

Your tech companies have stolen people's power,

the President does diplomacy with an evil glower,

but what's worse are people who continue to watch this,

as your American 'warriors' kill foreigner's kids

Visiting countries like you have some inbuilt right,

but you're always there looking to show you can fight,

your greed hurts our world as it exceeds your needs,

but your ego convinces you, you're doing good deeds

Many of your worst people claim that in God they believe,

yet kill, steal, covet and rape with the greatest of ease

Daily hype shores up the delusion that you're the greatest,

but the reality is, is that the U.S. of A. is a rapist.

Pushing your violent, bullying, sexually-abusing TV as fun

and then wonder why you're kids solve issues with a  gun!

Do us all a favour, take your madness to another planet,

we don't need any more of your attitude or violence, damn it!

Why say, you're going on tour,

when you mean, we are sending you to war,

you're not sending them on a holiday,

there'll be no holiday snaps with the family

Kandahar,

i'm