Dear Readers,
Today, one of my time normal friends on Twitter clued me in to a New York Times article covering a neopaleolithic movement. It's not every day you get to write neopaleolithic. I am pretty sure I have never written that phrase before now. And they said that this blog could be a dangerous experiment...
Anyhow, the people in question are trying to live what they would call a "caveman" lifestyle and return to a hunter-gatherer eating pattern, ostensibly for health benefits. It reminded me of the stories of the Dark Age New York that I've dredged up from the depths of Augury, and I thought I'd share an account I wrote as an example of how people could subsist in that environment.
Just as one final note before the jump: I wouldn't advocate the "caveman" lifestyle. Sure, cavemen could run away from mastodons better than any parkour enthusiast I've heard of, but they also had an average life expectancy below 50 years. There are tradeoffs in everything, my time-normal friends.
Always,
Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople
Showing posts with label NYC. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NYC. Show all posts
Monday, January 11, 2010
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Weekend Worlds: Inconvenient Currents (Part II of Riparian)
Dear Readers,
For the second part of this "weekend world," enjoy more of Thomas and Sam's life in New York City, after the Great Flood. One of many time streams that flow out from your own.
Always,
Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople
Thomas flipped the switch next to the wheel, and listened to the low whine as the engine powered up. He had to strain to hear it.
He chuckled, “Well, it’s still no Ferrari, but it’ll do.”
Sam smiled, “Yeah, well, this one doesn’t take any gas, for one thing.”
“True enough. Glad I bought this thing. All my friends thought I was some kind of bleeding heart.” He started to up the throttle and push it off from the High Line.
Sam punched him in the arm, “That’s because you are some kind of bleeding heart, Tommy. But at least now you get to say ‘I told you so’ while you drive your hybrid boat through Manhattan.”
He laughed while he sped up to take them up Ninth Avenue. “If only that made me feel better, Sam. This city is a shadow of what it was before. And with New York, so goes the world.”
She kissed him on the neck, “But we’ve got fish. And each other. Life’s only gotten better, for me at least.”
Thomas grinned, “Well, there is that. Life’s a lot simpler.”
They looked uptown, at the orange-lit remnants of the Meatpacking District. All old nightclubs, long removed from their velvet rope, the buildings reminded everyone of different times. Whenever he thought back to that era of excess, Thomas imagined black coal-smoke clouds lined with gaudy gold and silver. He would skip the gold and silver if it meant no more coal. Nature decided the question for them, anyhow.
This time of day, traffic started to get bad. Never so bad as when cars drove on the streets fathoms below, but nautical traffic is a totally different ballgame. With “brakes” not really an option, it took a lot more effort to avoid collisions. And Manhattan’s avenues were never designed for boat traffic.
“Would you look at that?” Sam pointed.
Thomas probably should have focused on the waterway, but he let his eyes wander for a moment. Just enough to see what made her speak up; what a massive raft! The thing looked like it was thrown together from pieces of many different boats, patched together with tarpaper and pieces of old shipping pallets. Still, she looked beautiful. Painted and clean, a huge black paddle wheel kept the vessel going down the avenue.
Looked like she had a smart designer, too. Though long, the ship’s hull stayed thin and agile throughout. Whoever engineered it kept the concerns of city boating in mind, for sure.
He looked back ahead of him, “She’s a beauty, all right. Someone’s a romantic, though. Looks like one of those Mississippi riverboats.”
Sam smiled, and though Thomas could not see it, he heard it in her voice, “That’s what I like about it. Mixes the old and the new, like everyone’s had to.”
He saw her point, but she always liked that sort of thing a little better. Even before the Flood, she mixed the past, present, and future. His eyebrow raised as he got an idea.
“Why don’t we build one?”
Sam giggled, “Yeah, great idea.”
“No, I’m serious. We could do it. It might not be so practical, and of course we might run into a pirate or two who wants to take it, but if we took our time, we could make a riverboat like that. We’d still have this guy for the short trips.”
She stopped laughing, “You’re serious, huh? Where would we get all the materials we need?”
“Just look around you, Sam. Nobody’s using this city. There’s enough stuff to go around. We’ll loot and trade, like everyone else.”
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try. It’s not like we do much else but catch fish, sleep and hide. Let’s do it.”Thomas smiled. After months trying, he found something he could give her to look forward to. For the rest of their ride towards Columbus Circle, he said only, “It’s good to have more than catching fish in life, for once.”
For the second part of this "weekend world," enjoy more of Thomas and Sam's life in New York City, after the Great Flood. One of many time streams that flow out from your own.
Always,
Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople
Thomas flipped the switch next to the wheel, and listened to the low whine as the engine powered up. He had to strain to hear it.
He chuckled, “Well, it’s still no Ferrari, but it’ll do.”
Sam smiled, “Yeah, well, this one doesn’t take any gas, for one thing.”
“True enough. Glad I bought this thing. All my friends thought I was some kind of bleeding heart.” He started to up the throttle and push it off from the High Line.
Sam punched him in the arm, “That’s because you are some kind of bleeding heart, Tommy. But at least now you get to say ‘I told you so’ while you drive your hybrid boat through Manhattan.”
He laughed while he sped up to take them up Ninth Avenue. “If only that made me feel better, Sam. This city is a shadow of what it was before. And with New York, so goes the world.”
She kissed him on the neck, “But we’ve got fish. And each other. Life’s only gotten better, for me at least.”
Thomas grinned, “Well, there is that. Life’s a lot simpler.”
They looked uptown, at the orange-lit remnants of the Meatpacking District. All old nightclubs, long removed from their velvet rope, the buildings reminded everyone of different times. Whenever he thought back to that era of excess, Thomas imagined black coal-smoke clouds lined with gaudy gold and silver. He would skip the gold and silver if it meant no more coal. Nature decided the question for them, anyhow.
This time of day, traffic started to get bad. Never so bad as when cars drove on the streets fathoms below, but nautical traffic is a totally different ballgame. With “brakes” not really an option, it took a lot more effort to avoid collisions. And Manhattan’s avenues were never designed for boat traffic.
“Would you look at that?” Sam pointed.
Thomas probably should have focused on the waterway, but he let his eyes wander for a moment. Just enough to see what made her speak up; what a massive raft! The thing looked like it was thrown together from pieces of many different boats, patched together with tarpaper and pieces of old shipping pallets. Still, she looked beautiful. Painted and clean, a huge black paddle wheel kept the vessel going down the avenue.
Looked like she had a smart designer, too. Though long, the ship’s hull stayed thin and agile throughout. Whoever engineered it kept the concerns of city boating in mind, for sure.
He looked back ahead of him, “She’s a beauty, all right. Someone’s a romantic, though. Looks like one of those Mississippi riverboats.”
Sam smiled, and though Thomas could not see it, he heard it in her voice, “That’s what I like about it. Mixes the old and the new, like everyone’s had to.”
He saw her point, but she always liked that sort of thing a little better. Even before the Flood, she mixed the past, present, and future. His eyebrow raised as he got an idea.
“Why don’t we build one?”
Sam giggled, “Yeah, great idea.”
“No, I’m serious. We could do it. It might not be so practical, and of course we might run into a pirate or two who wants to take it, but if we took our time, we could make a riverboat like that. We’d still have this guy for the short trips.”
She stopped laughing, “You’re serious, huh? Where would we get all the materials we need?”
“Just look around you, Sam. Nobody’s using this city. There’s enough stuff to go around. We’ll loot and trade, like everyone else.”
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try. It’s not like we do much else but catch fish, sleep and hide. Let’s do it.”Thomas smiled. After months trying, he found something he could give her to look forward to. For the rest of their ride towards Columbus Circle, he said only, “It’s good to have more than catching fish in life, for once.”
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Weekend World: River Cities of the 21st Century
Dear Readers,
In an attempt to include more narratives in this blog, I've decided to make my weekend posts more similar to my "Day in the Life" Tuesday posts, with an extended, story-based focus. Each post will be a two-parter: one post for your Saturday, one post for your Sunday, but a connected narrative. This should allow me to develop the narrative a little bit more and give a little bit more world focus, so that you can visit a time stream in greater depth.
For the inaugural installment, inspired by the fact that I've gotten a lot of visits from a reader in Boca Raton, FL lately, I want to write about a society where a lot of travel is by boat. For anyone unfamiliar with Boca, it's famous for its waterways. The society I write about, however, is a little different: a nearly riparian lagoon created by the overflow of Manhattan's East and Hudson Rivers in the mid-21st century.
Always,
Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople
Lap, lap, lap. Sam listened to the water against the side of his boat, anchored in the mild noonday sun. She felt happy and full, for once.
She felt the boat rock as Thomas shifted next to her.
He yawned, then piped up, “Hey Sam, what day do you figure it is?”
She blinked her eyes open into the sun above the high rises. Her blonde hair filtered the worst of it. She spoke, “I reckon it’s maybe July 15th, Tommy.”
He scrunched up his face, skeptical, “Think so? Thought it was closer to August.”
“Well how should I know? It’s not like my cell works anymore. You have a copy of the Times?” Sam laughed at her own joke.
“S’pose not. It’s only a couple weeks different, anyhow. Just curious how long it’s gonna be before fall starts to come, when we’ll need to start stocking up on the fish.”
She closed her eyes again and smiled, “See, that’s what I like about ya, Tom. Always thinking ahead.”
“Well, I was an accountant before all this.”
And he looked it. Balding, dark haired, beady eyes…but wicked smart, and that mattered more to her after the Flood than anything else.
“Yeah yeah, Mr. Numbers Man. Doesn’t do much for you when there’s no office left to go to, though.”
“At least I know how fast we’ll run out of food with you sitting around all the time not catching anything.”
She jerked up, fast, to trick him into thinking she would push him off the boat for that comment. He always fell for that one. Maybe because sometimes, she actually did push him off the boat. At least the river got a lot cleaner after the Flood.
Thomas flinched back, and she laughed, “Just kidding—this time.”
He smiled, “All right. Guess I’ll have to find some other way to get a bath, then. Where to today, boss?”
“Well, like you mentioned, we’d best start stocking up on fish for the fall. Gotta catch a few, make jerky, the works. Hear any good rumors about where they’re biting?”
“Well how should I know, I’ve been on this boat with you all day.”
She laughed again, “Yes, but you’ve been awake, loverboy.”
He smiled, “All right, all right. Word on the water’s that there’s a bunch of salmon grouper and other rockfish at the base of the Columbus Circle statue.”
She rolled her eyes, “Uch it’s such a pain to get there from here. Nothing else? Astor, maybe?”
“Nothing, but you know the old familiar haunts.”
“Nah, you’re right. It’ll be slim anywhere else. In a couple more hours we’ll have enough juice from the solar collector, so we’ll leave then. It’ll be rush hour, but whatever. That’s when they bite.”
And that's all for now! Look for Part II on Sunday.
In an attempt to include more narratives in this blog, I've decided to make my weekend posts more similar to my "Day in the Life" Tuesday posts, with an extended, story-based focus. Each post will be a two-parter: one post for your Saturday, one post for your Sunday, but a connected narrative. This should allow me to develop the narrative a little bit more and give a little bit more world focus, so that you can visit a time stream in greater depth.
For the inaugural installment, inspired by the fact that I've gotten a lot of visits from a reader in Boca Raton, FL lately, I want to write about a society where a lot of travel is by boat. For anyone unfamiliar with Boca, it's famous for its waterways. The society I write about, however, is a little different: a nearly riparian lagoon created by the overflow of Manhattan's East and Hudson Rivers in the mid-21st century.
Always,
Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople
Lap, lap, lap. Sam listened to the water against the side of his boat, anchored in the mild noonday sun. She felt happy and full, for once.
She felt the boat rock as Thomas shifted next to her.
He yawned, then piped up, “Hey Sam, what day do you figure it is?”
She blinked her eyes open into the sun above the high rises. Her blonde hair filtered the worst of it. She spoke, “I reckon it’s maybe July 15th, Tommy.”
He scrunched up his face, skeptical, “Think so? Thought it was closer to August.”
“Well how should I know? It’s not like my cell works anymore. You have a copy of the Times?” Sam laughed at her own joke.
“S’pose not. It’s only a couple weeks different, anyhow. Just curious how long it’s gonna be before fall starts to come, when we’ll need to start stocking up on the fish.”
She closed her eyes again and smiled, “See, that’s what I like about ya, Tom. Always thinking ahead.”
“Well, I was an accountant before all this.”
And he looked it. Balding, dark haired, beady eyes…but wicked smart, and that mattered more to her after the Flood than anything else.
“Yeah yeah, Mr. Numbers Man. Doesn’t do much for you when there’s no office left to go to, though.”
“At least I know how fast we’ll run out of food with you sitting around all the time not catching anything.”
She jerked up, fast, to trick him into thinking she would push him off the boat for that comment. He always fell for that one. Maybe because sometimes, she actually did push him off the boat. At least the river got a lot cleaner after the Flood.
Thomas flinched back, and she laughed, “Just kidding—this time.”
He smiled, “All right. Guess I’ll have to find some other way to get a bath, then. Where to today, boss?”
“Well, like you mentioned, we’d best start stocking up on fish for the fall. Gotta catch a few, make jerky, the works. Hear any good rumors about where they’re biting?”
“Well how should I know, I’ve been on this boat with you all day.”
She laughed again, “Yes, but you’ve been awake, loverboy.”
He smiled, “All right, all right. Word on the water’s that there’s a bunch of salmon grouper and other rockfish at the base of the Columbus Circle statue.”
She rolled her eyes, “Uch it’s such a pain to get there from here. Nothing else? Astor, maybe?”
“Nothing, but you know the old familiar haunts.”
“Nah, you’re right. It’ll be slim anywhere else. In a couple more hours we’ll have enough juice from the solar collector, so we’ll leave then. It’ll be rush hour, but whatever. That’s when they bite.”
And that's all for now! Look for Part II on Sunday.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
A Day in the Life: Tunnel Rats
Dear Readers,
I've decided to begin a new feature here, called "A Day in the Life," where I give you a taste of life in one of the many time streams our department studies. Essentially, each of these posts will be a short story, a creative piece of microhistorical fiction, where I focus on one fictional individual who I think is a good example of his or her contemporaries.
While the stories will be what you would call "fiction," it's hard for me to say that the people I write do not exist. The places, of course, are based on my research, and so to me are very real.
For the first piece, I've chosen to continue my themes on the New York Subway, and write about one of the many time streams where a unique culture develops there. Enjoy!
Always,
Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople
The shimmery threads of Eno's makeshift confetti net dipped into the water, glitter lost in the dark brown muck. Like usual, he and Tom thought they might catch something interesting.
"Can we move down the platform a little, Eno? There's that drafty spot, and it's so hot in here." Tom's voice neared its too-frequent whine.
"Tom, you're ten years old now," Eno sighed, "You can't take it easy like that no more." He looked at his sandy-haired, younger friend. At thirteen, Eno knew that if anyone else in the subway saw Tom's weakness, they would take advantage.
"It's just some air, Eno," Tom squealed.
"I said no. Now pipe down 'fore somebody hears you."
"But Eeeeno-"
"Wait! I think I got something!" He yanked the net up from the water as soon as he felt the tug. The flooded six train tunnel carried a lot of things down from what remained of the Bronx. This time, he hauled in a live fish, a dead rat, and something else.
Once they took care of the fish, Tom asked, "Eno! What's inside that?"
"I don't believe it...it's...there's a note in this jar!" He rushed to open it. This could be big. If someone with access to paper needed their help, it could mean a big payoff.
Eno's dirty hands broke the tape that kept the note rolled up, and spread out the paper on the subway platform. They looked at the paper together.
"Benfi...beni...huh?" Tom struggled with the words.
"Beneficence," Eno corrected him, "It means he's a nice guy."
"He's got medicine and food."
Eno grinned, "He sure does! Sounds a lot better than most of these other 'lords' running around. If he's for real."
Tom shook his head, "Why would he lie, Eno?"
The older, darker-haired boy laughed. "Why, to catch," he paused to put Tom in a playful headlock, "Poor suckas like you!"
"Hey! Stoppit!" Tom laughed anyway. Eno let him go.
Now serious, he instructed, "Get the boat."
"Why?"
"We'll check it out. If it smells bad, we'll bug out. It's too good to ignore."
"Sure is."
The two boys scrambled down a rope ladder on the grimy platform and clambered into a waiting motor-raft. The faded words "Boston Whaler" peeked out from the waterline. Eno started the engine and they sped away, down the tunnel, into darkness.
I've decided to begin a new feature here, called "A Day in the Life," where I give you a taste of life in one of the many time streams our department studies. Essentially, each of these posts will be a short story, a creative piece of microhistorical fiction, where I focus on one fictional individual who I think is a good example of his or her contemporaries.
While the stories will be what you would call "fiction," it's hard for me to say that the people I write do not exist. The places, of course, are based on my research, and so to me are very real.
For the first piece, I've chosen to continue my themes on the New York Subway, and write about one of the many time streams where a unique culture develops there. Enjoy!
Always,
Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople
The shimmery threads of Eno's makeshift confetti net dipped into the water, glitter lost in the dark brown muck. Like usual, he and Tom thought they might catch something interesting.
"Can we move down the platform a little, Eno? There's that drafty spot, and it's so hot in here." Tom's voice neared its too-frequent whine.
"Tom, you're ten years old now," Eno sighed, "You can't take it easy like that no more." He looked at his sandy-haired, younger friend. At thirteen, Eno knew that if anyone else in the subway saw Tom's weakness, they would take advantage.
"It's just some air, Eno," Tom squealed.
"I said no. Now pipe down 'fore somebody hears you."
"But Eeeeno-"
"Wait! I think I got something!" He yanked the net up from the water as soon as he felt the tug. The flooded six train tunnel carried a lot of things down from what remained of the Bronx. This time, he hauled in a live fish, a dead rat, and something else.
Once they took care of the fish, Tom asked, "Eno! What's inside that?"
"I don't believe it...it's...there's a note in this jar!" He rushed to open it. This could be big. If someone with access to paper needed their help, it could mean a big payoff.
Eno's dirty hands broke the tape that kept the note rolled up, and spread out the paper on the subway platform. They looked at the paper together.
SURVIVORS IN NEW YORK:
His Benificience, LORD JAMES STRONGMAN, Calls you to arms!
For a place in his Army, come to HARLEM-125th ST & LEXINGTON
There you will be tested! If worthy, you will get:
- Food
- Water
- Antibiotics
- Weapons
COME ONE COME ALL
"Benfi...beni...huh?" Tom struggled with the words.
"Beneficence," Eno corrected him, "It means he's a nice guy."
"He's got medicine and food."
Eno grinned, "He sure does! Sounds a lot better than most of these other 'lords' running around. If he's for real."
Tom shook his head, "Why would he lie, Eno?"
The older, darker-haired boy laughed. "Why, to catch," he paused to put Tom in a playful headlock, "Poor suckas like you!"
"Hey! Stoppit!" Tom laughed anyway. Eno let him go.
Now serious, he instructed, "Get the boat."
"Why?"
"We'll check it out. If it smells bad, we'll bug out. It's too good to ignore."
"Sure is."
The two boys scrambled down a rope ladder on the grimy platform and clambered into a waiting motor-raft. The faded words "Boston Whaler" peeked out from the waterline. Eno started the engine and they sped away, down the tunnel, into darkness.
Post Thirty: New York City
Dear Readers,
This is my thirtieth post to your time stream, and I am rather proud of that. This means of communication survived several glitches, the frustrations of not being able to use the Internet fully, and an attempt at suppression by our Provost. Incidentally, Notaras now says he sees eye to eye with me. We shall see.
For this thirtieth post, I have decided to highlight a city that I was rather fond of when I was time-normal, New York City. The reason for this choice is that during your day today, someone from that city visited this blog from that city a large number of times, which of course made me happy.
Earlier today I had Augury try to pull some information from your time stream about New York City, in the days around when this post will go live. Since I have the advantage of you, temporally, I can write many posts at once, of course. I make some effort to appear as if I'm time-normal, though, so that this blog is not utterly befuddling.
What I got from Augury related to a recent roofing collapse on the "1" train line, or at least what I got from your specific time stream. The article they gave me, they believe came from the New York Times. It's quite interesting, and explains how the subway system developed in your time stream.
That's really what I want to write about. You see, in anachronistic studies of New York, one thing leaps out: the subway is remarkably stable. When I say "stable," I mean that it is present in many different time streams. It is not necessarily the same in these time streams, but most version of New York City have a subway in some way. In some it was abandoned for a variety of reasons, and in one its forsaken tunnels play host to a kingdom of outcast technocrats, scheming in dark alleys to regain their lost power. In others it becomes a safe haven when the surface is no longer inhabitable. In some, all the lines run diagonally across Manhattan Island.
I think the ones that most amuse me are the time streams where the subway freed itself from government control. In these wholly libertarian New Yorks, all sorts of dark, unbelievable projects take place. The records are truly astounding! Executives of corporations conduct clandestine research, living products of forgotten research wander tunnels, and enterprising private citizens build customized vehicles to carry them through the labyrinth. Perhaps I shall write you a story that gives a slice of life from such a time stream. Yes, I think I will.
Always,
Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople
This is my thirtieth post to your time stream, and I am rather proud of that. This means of communication survived several glitches, the frustrations of not being able to use the Internet fully, and an attempt at suppression by our Provost. Incidentally, Notaras now says he sees eye to eye with me. We shall see.
For this thirtieth post, I have decided to highlight a city that I was rather fond of when I was time-normal, New York City. The reason for this choice is that during your day today, someone from that city visited this blog from that city a large number of times, which of course made me happy.
Earlier today I had Augury try to pull some information from your time stream about New York City, in the days around when this post will go live. Since I have the advantage of you, temporally, I can write many posts at once, of course. I make some effort to appear as if I'm time-normal, though, so that this blog is not utterly befuddling.
What I got from Augury related to a recent roofing collapse on the "1" train line, or at least what I got from your specific time stream. The article they gave me, they believe came from the New York Times. It's quite interesting, and explains how the subway system developed in your time stream.
That's really what I want to write about. You see, in anachronistic studies of New York, one thing leaps out: the subway is remarkably stable. When I say "stable," I mean that it is present in many different time streams. It is not necessarily the same in these time streams, but most version of New York City have a subway in some way. In some it was abandoned for a variety of reasons, and in one its forsaken tunnels play host to a kingdom of outcast technocrats, scheming in dark alleys to regain their lost power. In others it becomes a safe haven when the surface is no longer inhabitable. In some, all the lines run diagonally across Manhattan Island.
I think the ones that most amuse me are the time streams where the subway freed itself from government control. In these wholly libertarian New Yorks, all sorts of dark, unbelievable projects take place. The records are truly astounding! Executives of corporations conduct clandestine research, living products of forgotten research wander tunnels, and enterprising private citizens build customized vehicles to carry them through the labyrinth. Perhaps I shall write you a story that gives a slice of life from such a time stream. Yes, I think I will.
Always,
Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople
Sunday, July 19, 2009
My Work of Late
Dear Readers,
I thought it might interest you to have an idea of the two projects I have going right now. They are exciting, and you are bound to see some fragments of them appear here over the next couple of weeks.
The first relates to a civilization you will not be familiar with: the neo-Aegeans. Our knowledge of their culture is very limited, but it seems they are a future offshoot of your timeline. Their culture will be rich and vibrant, as will their technology. Still, their understanding of that technology will be quite a bit more limited than the brief oasis of enlightened thought that you and your contemporaries enjoy. From their time, the augurs collected a wide variety of stories and myths meant as entertainment. The first of these, in translation, should appear here soon. Professor Petrarch, who is an expert on Dark Ages, is collaborating with me on this project.
My second major research area relates to a timeline that soon diverges from yours, and so to provide too many details would be untoward. Suffice it to say that it is a diary from a 21st century New York City in severe disarray. The diary follows an investment banker as he struggles to survive in a world that changes every moment. I may show you snippets of it from time to time, but I must be careful not to divulge too much. This project is more limited, and so it is a solo effort.
I hope this brings you a deeper understanding of the complexities of our work. It is an exciting thing, to look from my point of view and see what has been, could have been, and yet might be. I endeavor to impart this feeling onto you.
Always,
Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople
I thought it might interest you to have an idea of the two projects I have going right now. They are exciting, and you are bound to see some fragments of them appear here over the next couple of weeks.
The first relates to a civilization you will not be familiar with: the neo-Aegeans. Our knowledge of their culture is very limited, but it seems they are a future offshoot of your timeline. Their culture will be rich and vibrant, as will their technology. Still, their understanding of that technology will be quite a bit more limited than the brief oasis of enlightened thought that you and your contemporaries enjoy. From their time, the augurs collected a wide variety of stories and myths meant as entertainment. The first of these, in translation, should appear here soon. Professor Petrarch, who is an expert on Dark Ages, is collaborating with me on this project.
My second major research area relates to a timeline that soon diverges from yours, and so to provide too many details would be untoward. Suffice it to say that it is a diary from a 21st century New York City in severe disarray. The diary follows an investment banker as he struggles to survive in a world that changes every moment. I may show you snippets of it from time to time, but I must be careful not to divulge too much. This project is more limited, and so it is a solo effort.
I hope this brings you a deeper understanding of the complexities of our work. It is an exciting thing, to look from my point of view and see what has been, could have been, and yet might be. I endeavor to impart this feeling onto you.
Always,
Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople
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