86,492 BCE

The Denisovians figured out how to build ranged-weapons first. During the many-moons of the last Big-Ice; their weak homunculus bodies made them prey for the brutes of Europe and the shadow-skin runners of the landmass where the beard-cats roam. They walked toward the land of the stripe-cats and the woolly-ear-forks whose herds trampled our tribe’s attempts to cross their territories.

The Ice-People of the cold-place wear the skins of the forest-beasts. Their brute force was no match for the runners’ arrow; and their sophistication in spite of their brutality amused the swift-footed archers from the Levant.

For a time there was peace… but it wasn’t just violence that brought an end to the earlier humanoid realms. The natural folly of disease and overpopulation befell societies then as it would again and again. Thousands of generations of human-being-like-beings simply getting better at not dying.

The major misstep of the Neanderthal lay in it’s nomadic nature. They simply did not mind picking up and leaving where they were. As the generations of inter-living between the various tribes of humanoid caused a peace; so too did the nature of the neanderthal cause the opposite of peace. Not causing much trouble aside from the individual ostracizing skull-crackings of their enemies that prompted why many left; their families and slaves among them departed in all directions. It happened in waves. Some stayed and blended into the fabric of humanity; just like us.

This really is the cradle of our civilization.

It was too cold in the darkest-North for the one’s who had for many-Grandmothers lived with the Think-Run-People and the Hair-People in the warm place where the long-water meets the big-bowl. From the Indus to the Ivory Coast we had stories of what we are and how to be. Nature is a merciless set of circumstances and the divine theatrics of each corner of each brain of each ancestor lay the most raw and genuine examples of why we are how we are today.

It was necessary at all points in our existence that the use of brute force was the tool of the good and the evil concurrently. He who can knock down a tree with ten swings instead of our forty will surely take the heads of more men than we. It was nearly always only at times of scarcity that the artificial lines we drew between ourselves really mattered. Some bad-ones exist. For most generations trouble-makers were swiftly ended; especially among the brutes.

Death by unexplained illnesses, Ice-deserts, animal, and drought. Misunderstandings between members of some tribes were as life threatening as a Woolly-Fork finding you and your brethren harvesting it’s kin.

Attributable often to one or many of a cast of divine characters and forces taking innumerable shapes and forms. Part of the problem with language is that those of different tribes have large differences in perspective and comprehension. Often this caused violence.

The Large-Ones dispersed; as did all of us. The sicknesses they brought with them from our place would lead to their destruction in the Cold-Place and the High-Place. When they found us again after many Grandmothers; they knew nothing of our former kinship aside from vague signs and symbols scratched on rocks. The ones who could speak the signs brought peace but most others brought harm.

A few reconnected to our human-family but the rest were slaughtered with violence between themselves and the archers and brutes of our civilization that evolved without them. The thinkers think and knowledge waits; crafting better arrows and painting plates; while the civilized brutes protect the gates, and propaganda protects the hate.

Just like now.


The Truth Behind Roswell, New Mexico

He wakes up. The man is lying on a hospital bed in an open-back shirt and lace-less shoes when a nurse walks in and asks him if he knows why he’s there.

The man nods his head to indicate an affirmative ‘yes’.

The nurse, emotionless, writes something down on her clipboard and walks out of the room. A few moments later; two security guards and a policeman escort the man and his bed to an interrogation room where a portly blood technician draws four tubes of the green-stuff to figure out what’s going on.

Back on Earth; the research team haphazardly works through which contingency plan to go with after one of the mapping ships crashed somewhere near what the inhabitants call New Mexico. The team was close-scanning to find the source of the erratic radiation blasts that our sensors keep picking up.

“New pilots…” the commander says as he shakes his head on the bridge of the lead ship, laughing.

“We have to go back!” the captain of the second ship demands through a thought-dream transmitted seamlessly to the commander.

“We did.” glimpses the commander, timeless in his understanding of the dimensions of existence.

“Who’d you send in?!?” inquires the man. “BlorgDamnit!! It had better not be Dennis-Brian! That blorks skill set as a pilot is as well-tuned as his moral compass! Well!!?? Who was emitting such sporadic splashes of aggressive radiation ding dongs on the blue-green one?!”

“Sir… you really need to rest.”

Suddenly the task force general and his adjutant enter the room, “Dennis-Brian-The-Selfish crashed into the blue-green one; forever contaminating their timeline as first-contact.”

“Dennis is such an idiot.”

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aliens