Bright sun rays pierce the dense mesh of
trees and vines entangling the heart of a flourishing rain forest.
Chirping birds and bugs provide busy upper
voices in the mad counterpoint of animals crying for love.
A rustle of leaves, a snapping of
branches, and in the clearing stands an ape, imposing in stature and dark brown
in color. His body is hairy but groomed,
with flesh evenly distributed for his great size. He searches with wonder the moist world swarming with life, then
turns to ask, "What has brought us to this?"
The startled wildlife pause briefly at
this stray sound, discordant with their own, then resume their music, heedless
that he has spoken words.
Foreword
"Change and transition," he
explains, "patterned and unpatterned, mark our every day. Though some of us actively prefer
stagnation, I go with the flow because I have faith and trust in nature. All that nature has produced, I accept as
best. I am here; this is now, so this
is my world defined by my size and speed.
It is space, ever-changing, which I presently, being the ever-changing
time, displace. My world expands in
time by information, perceived by my senses, and filtered and shaped by my
state of mind during perception. My
state of mind is the result of present and prior perceptions, and it is
influenced by my physical condition which, at this moment," he pounds his
smooth breast-plates with pride, "is exceptional."
A double-dotted ladybug settles upon one
of his knuckles and scrapes into a deep crevice of his thick skin in search of
food. He lifts his hanging hand,
locates the cause of the tingling sensation, and gently fingers it to death.
Continuing, he says, "I am fully
aware, as that insect was not, that my being here can be drastically altered
for the worse at any given moment, though, foreseeably, only in the
far-reaching future. While my body will
still displace space, my power to make this world my world will vanish with my
ability to recognize time and space as I now know them. Nonetheless, I feel reasonably satisfied and
content despite my mortality.
"By linking present observation with
past perceptions and recollections of water and plants, I ascertain that only a
marvelous volume of rain could produce the shiny green vegetation that
surrounds me. And yet, the following
story makes no attempt to explain the rain.
Rather, it seeks to document the events sustained by an isolated group
of characters living through the climactic of the several storms of the past.
"I feel chosen, for I introduce the
pages that follow. They have been
filled with words assembled by another being (-- certainly not myself. I simply have no time for this.) who would
be classified by others of his kind as homo sapien. This being wants to write a story and, for reasons flattering to
me, to begin it as it has begun, with me introducing." He humbly bows and promptly raises his head.
"This being is male so I'll call it
he. As he writes, he exists in time and
space and feels conscious of this. Thus
does he differ from the product before you.
This book is an inert outgrowth of his living consciousness. It is an item that may exist after his
death, but lives only if read by other conscious beings with the ability,
interest and curiosity to experience what its words seek to clarify.
"This book recreates his attempt to
critique and glorify his perceptions of the world. These perceptions are based on memory, free speculation, and his
own condition, all of which, even to him, seem faulty. However, they were his creative tools and,
as such, were not shunned.
"I get no specific rewards from this book, but then, I am not
interested in inert outgrowths, but rather in conscious offspring whom I hope
and expect will feel likewise. To me,
this book is premeditated fooling around.
Its author could have gone out and affected his world in a more direct
manner but was determined to redirect his energy into words, at most to
mystically alter his consciousness and existence, and at least, to
entertain. He hopes to add something to
the mountains of passive and semi-passive mental stimulants available to the reader."
The lush colors of the forest drain and
fade as the sun sucks them away with itself.
The ape becomes more grey/black, than brown.
"Finally, with time running short, I
wish to say I think his redirection of energy is forced and its result,
ludicrous. Nevertheless, since it is in
my philosophy not to be adverse to any vision of life, I have open-heartedly
embraced the role I play in the foreword and epilogue of
STORM
CLOUD,
by
Peter Dizozza."
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storm
cloud -- dizozza