Per 
Broken records.
Eternal Glory!
Everlasting fame!
The book of records has it all. Learn all about your favourite record-holders and about their
unfathomable deeds. Get to know their innermost secrets and find your true calling.
You will always be unsurpassed. You will never be forgotten. You will always be revered.
Be more than your mortal coil. Go beyond your temporal, frail, disease-ridden, fleshy vessel.
You too can stand at the apex. Become the epitome you were always fated to be.
You too can obtain immortality by following your dreams.
We believe in you.
" We believe in you"
The statement seems so hollow to me now. I never put any faith into a higher form of power nor did I believe that there exists an entity we could grant the title of God.
I had believed in you.
The you that walked the path of logic and reason.
The you that was my role model.
The you that made me to the human that I am.
Yet, I am standing here disillusioned, having lost the person I held dear. Was that part of your dream?
Receiving that kind of recognition and to be remembered for… this? Was this truly what you desired from the bottom of your heart? Was all of this worth it, just for This?
Did your paranoia of being forgotten make you stoop so low? You lost sight of yourself, in a blind and greedy endeavour, seeking something that not a single thing is destined to have. You lost every last bit of trust and respect and, in the end, even yourself.
The man I had looked up to, had died a long time ago. Left was a callous monster, a distorted version of what once was, something which did not even share the slightest resemblance anymore. I could never believe in the one that did something so horrifying.
The one that had abandoned logic and reason for their own selfish gain.
The one that lost all his ideals in pursuit of a purposeless ambition.
The one that had become a human I would never want to be.
That was you, father, you do not deserve to have your name spoken here.
But rest assured, Dad, If you seek that kind of acknowledgement, then I shall gladly do my part. It is only necessary for the son, to fulfil your long-cherished wish.
Believe you me.
Audiolog 12/12/2016
Just why am I doing this to myself?
I am not my father, who could speak to himself for hours on end. He should have known better, and yet he is asking something utterly ridiculous of me.
Any form of normalcy was washed away by the sudden appearance of a certain cursed paper that entered my life and made itself right at home in my mind. It was an unruly tenant that required me to pay it in attention, even if I did not want to.
Receiving a letter from my deceased father should have been a joyous occasion and not a harbinger of dire times. Had I known, what awaited me at the end of this message I would have burned it on the spot.
And to think I felt happy when I first opened it. But my face was quick to deform and turned into an ugly grimace as soon as the realisation dawned upon me. The loving embrace of my late father became a reenactment of "Julius Caesar's" emotional climax.
But this time Caesar himself was wielding a knife called "obligatory assignment".
I was given the task of reading through an anomaly, that mirrors a Guinness world record book and was to note every irregularity I found. In theory, a harmless assignment which should not cause any kind of concern.
To my dismay behind it stood a man not nearly as simple. Lauded by many as a genius without compare, famous for being unparalleled in his field of study, it was someone who could not be any further from the term simple. That was my Dad
My dear Son,
how have you been?
I should have become suspicious after reading that snippet. He had never been the type to use any time and words on superfluous feelings. Alas, I realized it was too late and now here I am trying to make sense out of all of it.
So, this Dad is how I am…
This is my third attempt and it still invokes a feeling of absolute lunacy in me. Talking to myself out loud and rambling about whatever might be on my mind is beyond repulsive. What benefits could such a record even bring to me?
It eludes me.
A fleeting moment does not need permanence if its very existence makes me appreciate the transience of mine. Especially, when my voice of reason is quite vocal about the contempt it harbours.
But as my Pa has always told me, this is a lonely job, nothing one can talk about sitting at the dinner table. Which is why, at the very least, I should talk to myself about everything life throws at me.
It will take quite some time until I have become accustomed to this procedure. May that period of time, for the sake of my sanity and I, be ever so swift. Else, I might end up losing far more than just my time.
I had given up on many things in this life, whether it happened due to negligence or the choices that I made was of minor importance. Those that did remain were far more precious and worth keeping.
Becoming a researcher for the foundation led to a life of utmost secrecy, and with death being a common occupational risk, solitude was welcomed by many with their arms open wide. Although this did not imply that those people did not enjoy the company of others, quite the contrary, a lot of them had learned to cherish promiscuity.
My father was a passionate advocate of this type of physical exchange.
Judging by the constant stream of people coming for a nightly visit, it was easy to deduce, just how normalized that activity had become. Many familiar faces had faded into obscurity with the passing of time.
I can not fault that kind of behaviour, because my dad had quite a lot of those "adventures" as well. If not for his lacking safety procedures, I might not even have been born.
Despite the list of potential mothers being longer than my curriculum vitae, I could not have wished for a better father figure. He was a grumpy madman but it takes that kind of crazy to raise a child that was found waiting in a present basket at his doorstep.
At least, that was the story he had insisted on regardless of how much I asked about it. When I had finally mustered the courage and asked what kind of clearance level I needed to find out the truth, I was simply laughed at and he went on his merry way.
I knew better than to press onwards, it was a useless endeavour to do so. Once those lips were sealed, nothing would ever escape them. But as they do say, ignorance truly might be bliss.
I miss that grouchy old man. I had always expected him to get a heart attack during one of those trysts. Instead, he was taken out by a tumour in his brain that had remained unnoticed until it had been too late.
Later on, he was found sitting peacefully in his chair, looking as annoyed as he always had been.
Given this line of this work, a rather amicable ending.
Knowing him, he would have scolded me by now for wasting so many words on someone who was not even part of the living anymore. "The dead are dead for a reason" was his to-go mantra.
To me, that sentiment served as a warning. It reminded me, that I was still alive because my cause had yet to be determined. That was a problem, even the expendable D-class personal could not solve.
Life's fragility fell on indifferent eyes. The pursuit of knowledge demanded it so.
Yet, only much later did I come to realize that this version was incomplete.
Dad, your sudden passing laid bare the cruel undertone, which was hidden from plain sight. Your absence taught me, that those reasons are beyond our reasoning.
A most bitter realisation delivered on an involuntary basis.
It seems so ironic to suddenly lament your departure, when before, as a so-called man of science I have taken so much pride in my rationality. I would call it questionable, hypocritical even, for simply pretending that I am not biased.
If it was me who held such prejudices, then how many other lies have I been telling myself? To what an extent was my perception of reality fabricated? Who was the reflection that stared back at me in the mirror?
Those questions remain unanswered to this very day. Self-doubt, it truly is a vicious cycle; its embrace still lingers on my mind from time to time.
My entire self was subject to change and for the very first time in my life, I felt lost. Caught in an endless tide slowly eroding me, I was afraid of what lurked beneath.
The walls I had built around me, had crumbled in front of my own eyes and turned into sand that ran through powerless fingers.
My shallow view of this world had been upsurged by an uncaring nature. I wondered whether I truly was doing research or just appeasing my weak and frail self. I sought comfort in an environment devoid of any.
But as painful seconds changed into painful days, and as those turned into painful months, I began to understand. Rather than learning who I was, I noticed who I was not.
Learning through the process of elimination, instilled into me from early on, had become the method I placed all my hope in. Although the conclusions I did arrive at, were not nearly as promising I had hoped them to be.
A man, who held neither high aspirations nor ambitions. Someone content with being at a standstill as the whole world just spun around without him. A ghost, shape and formless, that was the outcome I was left with.
With no purpose or meaning attached to my existence, I struggled to see the importance of my being. There was no need for something, which was of no use to others.
A self-destructive perspective, an absolute evaluation solely based on merit.
It was a prison of my own design. Yet, I felt at ease inside it. The shackles that tied me down, connected me to the same ground I was treading on. Freedom was found through constraints of my own volition.
In the end, nothing had changed.
Now, I was merely conscious about the captivity I found myself in. At the very core of myself, I was still depending on the conception that gave me a sense of self. My former character was still present.
The idea of who I ought to be found itself in a state of freefall, a limbo of treacherous thoughts doused in utter confusion. My ideals were shallow at best and discarded at a moments notice for the sake of convenience.
Despite all of this, the outlook I had on my life was not nearly as bleak and horrifying.
There was one slight distinction that signified the change I had undergone. I had taken my first step.
The direction itself did not matter to me, faced with stagnation, I was content with any kind of movement. Wherever my unsteady feet carried me, it was bound to be a path I had never taken before. My development was not limited by everything I was surrounded by.
It was a small step in the right direction.
It has been 2 years since your body has been laid to rest. As my mind began to slowly heal and return to something that resembled normalcy, a strange paper suddenly appeared in my life.
My surprise could be imagined as I suddenly held your letter in my hands. Directly addressed at me it told of a task for me alone. Which raises the question, how could the man that I have buried with my own two hands send me a message like that?
I have countless questions, however, I am well aware just how futile hoping for any answer is. Any possible explanation is long gone, they are rotting in the grave with you, Dad.
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