Rivers of the Mind Season 1.5--Why John Broke Up With Janet

A little bit different than most new episodes in that probably half the narration in the beginning and the entire ending of the episode was cut, so this blog post actually gives you insight that wouldn't otherwise be available in the one that was broadcast. This episode does a few things. Janet appears as sort of mysterious figure in Season 1 who John is emotional about, but in a way he doesn't always acknowledge. She becomes a more important character later, for a variety of reasons, especially in the Toloatzin episode where Janet is used by the Fisherman to try and manipulate John. It also establishes two pretty important character traits about John--he's asexual, for one (Because probably 80% of the characters I've written from the POV of are on the ace spectrum), and he also has a tendency to run away from confrontation.

Hello! You're listening to season 1.5 of Rivers of the Mind. “But Timmy”, I can hear you saying, “Why is it season 1.5 and not season 2?” Well Mr. Rhetorical Strawman, Season 1.5 is made up of shorter vignettes explaining background events of the series, or details of characters lives that either came into play in the last season, or that might come into play in seasons far, far into the future. It's also strategically placed between Season 1 and Season 2 so you don't decide to use the 18-35 demographic doesn't choose to use their valuable podcast listening hours listening to something that isn't related to drugs, as part of our commitment to polluting the minds of the young and establishing a New World Order. Anyway, before we begin, I just wanted to say that Rivers of the Mind is not meant to condone or encourage the study of geology or participation in human relationships. All events in Rivers of the Mind are completely fictional, and any resemblance to other persons, real or imagined, is COMPLETELY NOT ABOUT YOU AND ME JANICE. GET A GRIP AND STOP MESSAGING ME. With all of that said, please enjoy episode A of Rivers of the Mind Season 1.5, entitled “Why John Broke Up With Janice.” Fuck. I mean. “Why John Broke Up With Janet.”

[Footsteps walk across sandy ground, the sounds of a busy road or highway behind them. Eventually they come with a stop]

"[sighs] I guess I don't get it.", Janet looked back down and rapidly clawed out another text message into her phone. I ignored her, or tried to, and instead turned my attention back to the desert, something I missed deeply going to college in Irvine—my eyes flowed over the rolling scrublands, punctuated with ancient intrusive rocks that peered from beneath whispering sands, humming secret conversations between cacti and snakes and birds and our intruding feet. The components of the landscape, though seemingly barren, interlocked like a great jigsaw puzzle, so that they pulsed with color and with life. "It's not for everyone.", I conceded. "Don't worry, maybe some day you'll convert me to the dark side.", she rolled her eyes and reached for my hand. The dark side. Well Janet, that's one way to describe geology, I thought but wisely did not say. I reached back for hers awkwardly, and uncomfortably. Both of us came from the same town but seemed to live in separate worlds. She seemed to get frustrated when I headed off on the weekends, but when I invited her along, she'd act like this. Distant. Annoyed. Impatient.

"Hey! I see something."
"What?", she glanced up from her phone.
"Over in that ravine."
I pulled her up and we carefully made our way down a short trail. A small ravine had been eroded into a decomposing layer of granite, making it the perfect place to find gems and minerals. I guess I know deep down that Janet didn't give a fuck about gems and minerals, but maybe she just hadn't seen the right ones yet. Her hand started trembling, and she eyed the ground with suspicion, looking for rattlesnakes. She had never been hiking before she met me, or camping, or even set foot in a national park, so I felt like I needed to go easy on her, but it was hard to find somewhere to take her that wasn't tame enough for her sensibilities.
"Look at that, more rocks.", she smiled, looking over her shoulder to see that we were out of sight of the road. I nodded, gulping, and she pulled out her phone again as I noticed a crevice. Kneeling down to look inside, I carefully overturned a few rocks until I found a piece of tiny green piece of marble, colored with red and yellow pastel like colors. I pulled it from the shadows and held it out to her. "It's marble.", I said, "Like your parents have on your counters." She looked at it with a mix of interest, and fear, afraid, I imagined, of getting too much dirt on her hands. Setting her phone down on a boulder, she grabbed it. "Wow! That's pretty.", she said, looking back at me, and expecting for me to take the stone away from her. "Yeah, it's a metamorphic rock. Like...right here, you have granite, right? That comes from volcanoes. If you put heat and pressure on that rock, for millions of years, eventually it transforms into that."
"You're such a nerd.", she laughed, handing it back to me "It's cute."
Smiling weakly, I nodded, and set the rock back where I'd found it. "Aren't you going to keep it?"
"No, this is federal land."
"Oh, okay."
"Plus I already have...uhm. I think...three rocks like that one."

The two of us made our way back to the car, both somewhat disappointed, agreeing to head back to a diner that we'd spotted on our way out to the park. "This drive is so boring. I don't know why you do it." She had me stop on the way there, to go to the bathroom at a rest stop. She slammed the door and ran in, as I waited in the car, tracking the hills on the horizon with my eyes. This was the first relationship I'd had. I was shitty at it. I didn't know why. Or I knew why. It was just hard to pin down the primary reason. Was it that we didn't have anything in common? Was it that her church friends all awkwardly tried to minister to me whenever we hung out? Was it that I'd caught her littering? I didn't know for sure. I wanted to say it was the literring, but I mean, I've littered before to, so, I don't know.

In my own way, though, I loved her for everything that made the relationship shitty. I liked awkwardly trying to get to know someone so different from me. I liked holding hands with her while her friends uncomfortably asked how old I thought the earth was. I like how she'd started recycling to impress me. We were going to spend Thanksgiving together, at each others houses, and she'd meet my parents, and I'd meet hers. I liked having a companion of some kind that I could (ding) trust. I mean, I had friends. But not a (ding) person that I was this close to. I--(ding). Well now I was curious. I knew I shouldn't have been. But, I mean. Janet was still in the bathroom, and...what could it hurt if I just like...looked at whatever she was talking about. You don't do that though. You don't look at someones (ding)...um. Phone. Fuck. What was she talking about? Did she mean to leave this in the car or something? I--hmm. I peeked down at it. It's camera stared back up at me, my reflection barely visible in the surface of its bright pink case.

Shaking, and already guilty, I turned it over. Her friend from her college bible group, Alicia. "I think you might be right about him being gay. Most guys have at least some interest in sex, plus it seems like he...", her first text. The next, "Sorry, meant rocks lol" And then "I'm sorry your date was so lame, though. You're right it does seem kind of suspicious. You should definitely talk to him about it." The last one, "On second thought, maybe you could invite him to our party on the 2nd. Get him a little bit loose and see what happens..." Janet emerged from the bathroom. I quickly placed the phone back down where I'd found it, and started the car. "Hey baby!", she kissed me on the cheek as she climbed in. "Hey.", I kissed her back, weakly, and pulled out of the parking lot, "Have fun?"
"Oh yeah. Best truck stop ever."
Janet took her phone from the center console, and opened her texts, looking over at me intermittently as she read them.
"How about you?"
"Yeah, I mean, great truck stop."
"Thanks for taking me out here, at least.", she said, with what I now recognized to be a fake brand of kindness. I gripped the steering wheel tightly faking a smile, and pressing the accelerator as hard as I could to merge on the highway, almost as if I could run away from her, even if I couldn't really hope to escape. I wished for a moment that I could read her mind. "Yeah, definitely. It was a lot of fun. I'm glad you went along with it." Weakly, she smiled, starting a reply to Alicia.

We drove fourty minutes to get to the diner. They were tedious, uncomfortable minutes--Janet quietly formulated her plan, just out of my sight, while I gripped the steering wheel, both of us sliding into a total silence. Awkward, but not really a noticeable departure from what had become normal for us. She'd felt this way all along, I became certain; she'd been wondering why I didn't ever want to go further than kissing her, why I spent so much time alone. I seemed uptight, dull, and unattracted to her. I wanted to fix it. To fix myself. We pulled into the diner parking lot, and I put the car in park, before reaching over and grabbing her shoulder to turn her in my direction. Awkwardly, I tried smashing my mouth against hers--a test kiss, so to speak, and sure enough, I felt love for her, but no desire for anything more than what we were doing in that exact moment. But knowing that it somehow wasn't enough for her, that she wanted more, something I didn't feel capable of giving made my heart crumble more and more with each beat. I tried to force myself to reach out with my hand, to touch her leg, down by her knee--my hands slowly drifted upwards. She smiled brightly. "You want to go back to my dorm?", she asked. My stomach sank. "Sure.", I smiled, weakly, and kissed her on her cheek.

The two of us headed in to the diner. The hostess quickly showed us to a booth, uncertain if she recognized us, but vaguely remember that we, or someone who looked like us, had tipped well. The booth was vaguely sticky to the touch, with faint specks of white cotton erupting from its cracked leather like geysers. Barely perceptible crumbs of sweet and low mixed with crumbled biscuit collected on the sides of the table, having escaped the recent onslaught of wiping delivered by a hastily deployed white rag probably five or ten seconds before we sat down. A waitress came by and handed us menus. I ordered a cup of coffee. She ordered a shirley temple. Faint odors of burgers and fry oil wafted from over the counter. Janet smirked at me, sending a quick message to Alicia. My fraught imagination wondered what she might be telling her--my spine bent forward over my stomach with guilt.

Shortly after our drinks arrived and we ordered our food, Janet excused herself again to go to the bathroom. My stomach lurched as I watched her walk away. Whatever this was, it was wrong. Whatever it was, I had to stop it. Something had gone sour, almost immediately, when I read those texts. The facade had been stripped away. Nothing about this was right. But I didn't want to have to face her. I didn't want to have to explain it to her. If I left, she'd probably decide that Alicia was right anyway. Guzzling the last of my coffee, I pulled a fifty dollar bill out of my wallet and set it on the table underneath my mug, before charging for the door and heading across the parking lot to my car. While backing out of the parking spot, I awkwardly fumbled with my phone to dial the number of the local cab company. "Hello--Hi. Yes. I am calling for a pickup in ten minutes at the diner off of Plaza?--Address--Uhm. It's Larry's Diner. Yeah. Harry's. No. Not the one next to the cactus farm, the one by the Trader Joe's—Uh-huh. Sure. Well, it's not for me, it's for my friend. Yeah.--her name is Janet. She'll be out there waiting--thanks. Yeah. I had an emergency."

I turned out of the parking lot and hit the first stoplight. Feeling even more guilty, I pulled out my phone, sending a text to Janet. "Hey. I had an emergency and I needed to run--" a car loudly honked behind me. Flooring it, I sped forward, fumbling out a partially mispelled text, "bit I csllrd u a cab. sorry." I threw my phone to the side. "I probably could have handled that better.", I thought to myself as I merged onto the highway, "I wonder if she'll...yup. She's calling me. I probably should pick...no." I kept driving. And driving. Eventually the feelings of disgust that I felt for myself gave way to anger, and those feelings gave way to a freedom, as finally, I was once again alone with the desert and the open sky with no feelings of shame for not dedicating that time to Janet, no feelings of self-consciousness about being too boring or too different.

Janet figured out that I'd broken up with her when I sent her another text message to clarify after about a week or so. She sent me a long text right after telling me that I broke her heart, asking for an explanation. "I saw what Alicia said to you.", I said, "I realized you weren't happy with who I was." She never responded. The two of us graduated on opposite sides of the alphabet in the different years and avoided each other through the whole ceremony. Later, I looked her up. She had married someone in the army right after graduating. We hadn't spoken in years. As much as I wanted to say I didn't care, somehow I did.

Rivers of the Mind Season 1.5--How John's Face Ended Up At The Center of a Massive Internet Conspiracy Theory

Where to Listen:
iTunes https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/rivers-of-the-mind/id1278391177

YouTube.com https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BeYjgM3dOQk

Google Play: https://play.google.com/music/m/Dn5vuu4txtzhtjggj6r277tjlay?t=Season_15_How_Johns_Face_Ended_Up_At_The_Center_of_a_Massive_Internet_Conspiracy_Theory-Rivers_of_th

Hello and thank you for listening to Rivers of the Mind Season 1.5. If you really hate listening to these introductions, just go ahead and skip forward about a minute fifteen seconds. Rivers of the Mind Season 1.5 is like the DVD bonus content where I can include information that doesn't fit in Seasons 1 or 2, but that still might interest people who have enjoyed the series so far. But just to be clear, before we begin, Rivers of the Mind is not meant to promote or encourage knowing the truth behind the deep state's insidious lies, or uncovering said truth in any way, shape, or form. Rivers of the Mind is also not intended to encourage listeners to eat at either Carl's J.r. Or Arby's, and does not mean to suggest that either of these companies are front organizations for the deep state. All events portrayed in this series are strictly fictional, and any resemblence to [interference] is completely coincidental. Now with all of that said, please enjoy episode D of Rivers of the Mind Season 1.5 “How John's face ended up at the center of a massive internet conspiracy theory.”

            Dusty knew the truth. He had seen the alien spaceships being towed in inconspicuous looking white semitrucks down the highway, he had seen the men in suits claiming to be from some vague company entering the local Arby's or the H. E. B. in Fredericksburg, he had seen the mysterious cave outside of Mason, pouring out carbon dioxide from some unknown source—a ventilation shaft for the massive underground military base he was confident existed  deep under his town. And they knew he was onto him. Every night, when he got off work managing his Carl's Jr., he would inspect the underside of his car for bombs. They were, after all, less than a block away from the foul Arby's. At home, he made sure all of his phones were unplugged, and that his blinds were drawn shut whenever he was home. He accessed the internet through a virtual machine called Tails, only on the deep web, which he used to maintain his anonymous column, dedicated to exposing the truth. Only a handful of people ever read it. Six this week. But his work was important—he knew that. He didn't need recognition. After spending a few hours on reddit, Above Top Secret, and commenting on other blogs, he would turn in for the night, downing a handful of flouride detoxification tablets. He'd taken measures to soundproof his house so that the high-frequency-mind control waves could not penetrate the windows.

            That afternoon, sometime around four o'clock, he sighted a manager from the Arby's crossing the parking lot, his head down, eyes filled with a sinister gaze. Dusty pushed aside the high school kid who'd just clocked in on the register. “I'll handle this.”, he muttered.
            “Ugh, whatever.”
A deep suspicion overcame him as the rival manager entered—staring at him—an intimidation tactic no doubt. They knew that he knew the truth. It was all a plot, a psywar tactic, to make him feel insane, to make him look crazy as he grew ever more paranoid—after all, any of the ordinary sheep in this town wouldn't see anything wrong—clearly the manager from the Arby's was stopping in for his dinner break, and he was just staring at the menu. But Dusty knew the truth.
            “What do you want?”, he asked.
The manager from the Arby's flinched, surprised that he'd dared to challenge him. “Oh, I'm just looking.”

            “Sure you are, buddy. Just keeeeeeeeeeeeeeep looking. Take your time. All the time in the world. I see what you're doing. Just...looooking. Surrrreeee buddy. Surrre.”, he muttered under his breath, jotting down notes with one hand, taking note of the managers facial features to see if he could identify any scars from past brain surgery. None. They'd done a good job covering it up. Admirable. “So your ½ pound guacamole bacon thick burger, what does that come with exactly?”
            “Well. You've got a half pound, grass-fed beef patty, pepper jack cheese, two strips of bacon, lettuce, tomatoes, and onions. And guacamole, of course.”
“Huh. Well which one do you like?”, he asked. Dusty squinted at him, trying to figure out exactly what he wanted. “Listen buddy. I know what you're up to.” The manager smirked. “Trying to order a burger, is what, Dusty.”
            “No, no, I see you over there. I see your little so-called “Arby's” with its so-called “King's Hawaiian Fish sandwich” and its “limited time offers.” I know you're a front for the deep state. I know who you work for.”
The manager grimaced, and clearly feigned amusement. It threatened him, it clearly threatened him, that Dusty knew so much. “Listen”, whispered the manager, “If you really knew...what we did...in the Arby's...it would blow your mind...I'm gonna let you in on a secret...We have...and you have to promise not to tell anyone. We have the meats.”
            “What?”
            “Shh. Don't tell anyone. Now I'll take a half pound guacamole bacon thick burger.”
He slid money over the table, urging Dusty again to keep quiet. Dusty stared at him, trying to assess his motives, to decrypt his underlying message. They have the meats. He thought to himself Maybe I was right. This whole time, I've been onto them. Hand shaking, he keyed in the order placed by the mysterious stranger from the “Arby's.”
            “Did you want fries and a drink with that?”
“Oh, yeah, sure.”, he winked.
            “Alright.”
Dusty slid back change to the suspicious interloper from the Arby's, and turned around to help assemble another customer's order. Behind him, the manager of the Arby's turned to his girlfriend, who'd come out of her uniform, and was silently filming her boyfriend's interaction with Dusty. All of the employees at the Arby's, basically, thought Dusty was super weird, and from time to time, they liked to go into the Carl's Jr. to see how he'd react to them. Incidentally, this was one of the main drivers for business at the Carl's Jr. between four and six pm; Dusty's labor costs were always relatively low and his sales higher than the other managers mainly because his extreme paranoia provided the staff of the neighboring Arby's with unending amusement.

            As Dusty got to his car and started inspecting it for explosives, he caught the manager of the Arby's staring out the window at him with a mop in his hands, almost like he was taking notes. A handful of employees joined him, forming a line to watch him—surveilling him—seeming to take note of his routines. His heart started pounding. They have the meats, he mumbled to himself, But what does that mean? What does that mean? He got into his car, and plugged his aux cable into the phone so he could listen to Alex Jones. But he hardly paid attention to the words—all that he could focus on was the mysterious message from the manager. It was obviously a psychological warfare ploy, a decoy statement. But what message did it conceal? Was this the closest he could come to getting a confession? No one would believe it would they? Or perhaps the Arby's was an alien slaughterhouse—yes—they had the meats alright. Alien meat. Perhaps the experiments who did not cooperate were sent there for termination. It would explain the men in suits who entered, but did not leave. It would explain...many things.

            When he got to his house, a little ways off the highway, the gate was swinging open—the chains that normally bound it to the fence post dangled absently from the chainlink fence, the combination locks all rotated to display an odd sequence of numbers—02-11-2017--a date, seemingly—this coming Saturday. Shaking, Dusty reached for his handgun, and enterred the premises. A rattling came from the nearby dumpster. He moved closer to inspect it. Seemingly, though, nothing was there—just pale splotches of unevenly trimmed grass, littered with bottles and cans. But something was there. Something was present. He pulled out his phone and started recording a video. “Hello—my name is...Dean Heyerdahl—some of you may have read my blog Hill Country Secrets Uncovered, where I discuss what I believe to be a secret underground base created as part of project MKUltra in the 1950s, still operating to this day. I'm filming this right now because—well--I just got home from work and—I want to document this so that people know I'm not crazy. I just looked at my fence—at the locks—all of the chains have been cut. Now, earlier today, I noticed a...a strange person, who I believe to be connected with the deep state, come into my place of business. I am in sales, now, and this wasn't all that...remarkable, I guess you could say, not that remarkable at all, except that he seemed to be studying me. And when he came to talk to me, he whispered something I couldn't quite understand. When I left the office, he was watching me. So I—Phew. I don't know what exactly is going on, but I'm about to go into my house. Anyway, as you can see, these combos are all spelling out the date February 11, 2017—seems like it was done intentionally. Maybe they are trying to send me a message. I haven't entered the house yet but...”, a strange crashing noise came from the backyard.

            Dusty ran around—not seeing anything but a trash can that had been suddenly turned over, “I—I'll have to play this back, but I am assuming I'm not crazy and you all heard that. Well there's no wind around here. There's nothing that would have knocked that down. Sure it could be an animal, I know that's what a lot of people will say, but anyway. I'm going to enter the house now and see what's going on...”, as he opened the door, he revealed that all of the drawers in the house had been opened, all of the files in the file cabinets had been spread over the floor, and all of the furniture overturned. “Shit. Holy shit. Someone definitely broke in...but...” he pointed across the room, “Didn't take the safe—look over there, they left my wallet on the table, left my television—computer equipment—although it looks like—look at that. Somebody tried to log in, and now its frozen against any attempts for the next few hours. I think this is definitely not your run of the mill--” Suddenly, the house began to shake. Dusty clutched his ears and dropped his phone to the ground—it landed against the side of the computer desk and pointed upwards, leaving the manager barely in the shot.

            Dusty's mind began to spin, almost dissociating from his body—the ground shook and the light fixture flickered on and off. He backed up against the wall and reached for his pistol, trembling. “I don't know what the hell is going on—but--” The door suddenly sprang open, interrupting him. A shadowy figure entered the house, pacing away from Dusty down the hall with its back to the camera. It looked...almost like a homeless person, wearing camoflauge pants, disheveled clothing, and heavy camping gear on a large pack. Dusty stood up, pointing the gun at whoever it was. “Hey! Stop right there buddy.” The figure turned, revealing a pair of glowing white eyes—its face was dark, and indifferent, it's hair shaggy and covering up part of its eyes. Cocking its head at Dusty, it leaned in. Dusty's mind became filled with a vision of a vast underground government laboratory, connected by tunnels to others just like it across Texas. A wormhole opened up over a tiny brick ranch house—a sinkhole spread through the earth.“What—what are you trying to—to tell me?” It came closer to him, projecting the same image into his mind, speaking in booming and omnipresent telepathic voices that sounded like disjointed alien languages. The creature held out its hand and telekinetically forced Dusty to drop his weapon. Dusty began floating off the ground. “What do you want?”, he begged, “What do you want?”, slowly, Dusty lost consciousness, enterring a foreign world of the strange entity's own making.

            The creature crept closer to the cellphone, still running on the floor, and picked it up. It studied its own image in the camera feed, marveling at itself, pointing the camera at different objects in the room—the computer, the files on Dusty's floor, the bathroom—before it set the cellphone back where it had found it. The creature then vanished—a few second passed before Dusty, in a half-sleeping trance, started to speak, muttering under his breath in a strange, alien language—before choking out the words “Horizon. February 11. 2017. Watch the skies. Watch the skies. Watch the--”

            The cell phone ran out of recording space... Waking up in the morning with a pounding headache, and no memory of the night before, Dusty trembled as he watched the video, none of which he remembered. He'd already called the police—little as he knew they could help—just to have some kind of record of his break in. He knew what he had to do. He knew the truth. He knew that they would think he was crazy, he knew they'd think it was a lie, but he had to do it—he had to post the video. Once the police left, he spent a few hours of figuring out how to set up an account on the fascist illuminati spy service known amongst the sheeple as “Google”, he posted the video to youtube, and then shared it to all of the communities he could think of. At first, the story was lambasted as faked—although even they conceded an interesting video—but then, someone connected the dots to another story, almost a throwaway. Monday night of that same week, a kidnapper reportedly turned himself in after spotting “an angel”, at a gas station in the hill country—only a few days remained until the eleventh, they noted—over the course of Dusty's shift that night, dozens of those in the know, especially around Austin, began clearing their schedules on that Saturday to make time to watch the sky out in the hill country.