[SIZE=5]Billy’s Spaceship Afterworld[/SIZE]
I let you in on a little secret. You think you know Billy’s? The junkyard North of PA, which conveniently has a daily mission board and is one of those forgotten TPs with nothing much around hunting besides mourners to the far west. You wouldn’t be wrong, but you wouldn’t have said it all either. Let me explain.
Billy’s a place of discarded ideas, an old bastion of things not implemented, and alpha versions of things which have. It is a treasure trove of ideas. Sure, it has seen better days and looks so sterile now. Even the skeleton with the “will dance for PED” sign is long gone, but the idea remains.
We all have a place like this, in our mind. A junkyard of ideas. Thoughts that came, were pondered upon and left behind unfinished.
We live in fast times and must be selective. All the data flowing at us. Especially with those flashy devices in our hands, doom scrolling, consuming but not digesting. It hollows us. Malnutrition in a land of abundance.
Hummingbirds, being fed sugar-free syrup. Believing, starving with a full belly of empty calories
I digress however and I came here because I saw the old man.
Staring over the ridge looking at the menacing warrior robots in the distance. He asked if I figured it out yet? I said I thought I was getting close.
Explain then, he said.
The question was how about finance, wasn’t it? Riches, not?
Yes, I want to be financially independent, so that I can “retire” from the life I have now and concentrate my life on writing, painting, music, and other more modern arts. I envision myself having my own atelier, a workplace where I have a desk where I write, check the stock market, and log into Entropia.
I have a painting corner, a standup piano, and a sofa which is comfortable enough to take an afternoon nap.
I live comfortably, but I still sell my art projects, creating a financial buffer – an armor, for when times get rough. The excess I invest, working towards an institute for the arts and the occult. Researching and creating. Helping artists and helping the world.
See, this way I live my dream. I have my home in art, and I have a moving goalpost and ambitions. There are other things which I want in life, but speaking from the financial point of view, this is how I envision it. A well off artist.
The old man had a slight smile on his face and he asked, what I was doing to achieve this.
I am writing each day. I am writing this down. I am writing because I am a writer. If I’m not writing this, or working on my own stories, I write for my wife’s project. She’s been an artist her whole life.
I’m also drawing and painting, a bit of struggle, since I’m a writer at heart. My dear wife is also giving me piano lessons. I want to be her last student. I want her to retire and concentrate on her art. Our art.
In spirit of the teachings of the young man from Barbados, who was mentored by Abdullah, I also envision my atelier. Living in the dream fulfilled. Becoming what I inevitably will become, since I believe.
I’m also getting her visa ready. My atelier is not in this godforsaken country. I’ll bring her back with me, now that I have learned what I could not learn back home.
His blue eyes shimmered. Well done he said. You should not stay at Billy’s. Move on, deeper inland and explore. This place is a junkyard of ideas not executed. Your idea, your vision should be. Will be.
He was gone, dissolved into the air. He left me with a single word. “believe”. I know what it means, I read the books.
The daily terminal was not kind to me, and I spent some time putting things in storage. Then I logged off for the day, thinking about were to go next.