(Written by Hannah Marie Wolfe on April 1st, 2024)

You used a week’s worth of your vacation days to go out of town and attend a music festival. Now you are aimlessly wandering the grounds of the event, killing time before an artist you’ve been listening to on repeat for the past year plays their set on the main stage. You have an hour to kill.

You realize that you have found yourself in the vendor’s alley. A plethora of white 10x10 tents create a small neighborhood of pop-up shops. You continue your stroll, glancing at the variety of products as you walk past each tent.

You receive a notification on your phone, and your feet stop as you take a moment to check to see if it is important. It isn’t. You put your cellular device in your back pocket and then notice that the tent to your right is not white. The walls and roof are instead black. The inside is hidden by two black curtains that touch in the middle. The curtain’s design displays a giant circle in the middle. It is a chaotic splatter-paint blend of white, black, and various shades of gray. Your eyes focus upwards, and you notice a sign on top of the tent that reads “THE INKY PORTAL.” Intrigued, you make your way inside. 

When you enter the tent, you notice something bold on the wall directly in front of you. Written in an unusual wavy font is a question. “WHAT ARE YOU PASSIONATE ABOUT?” The letters are printed largely enough to cover nearly the entire wall. 

To your right you notice a black desk and an empty rolling chair. To your left is a table filled with circular stickers. The stickers are made up of the same strange design that was woven into the curtain you walked through. Behind the table stands a purple-haired woman in her twenties who is wearing a long, black dress. 

Behind her are two large shelves that are standing up against the wall. They display an assortment of forward-facing books.  There is a small book. There is a medium sized book. There is a large book. There is a hardcover book. There is a softcover book. There are many books. Each book, however, has the same design. They are all black, and all of their covers have the chaotic circle in the center. There are words surrounding the circle like a halo this time, but they are too small to read from where you stand. 

“Hello,” the purple-haired woman greets you. “Would you like to time travel?” 

You stare at her blankly for a moment and ponder if you heard her correctly. “What?” you ask. 

“Would you like to time travel?” she asks again with a smile. 

“What do you mean?” you say, expressing your utter confusion. 

The girl grabs the large hardcover version of the book and places it in your hands. You take a closer look and the writing surrounding the circular design becomes legible. 

“A past version of yourself has something to say. A future version of yourself has something to read. The present version of yourself has something to write,” she recites these three sentences aloud as your eyes read the same exact three sentences printed on the cover. 

You notice two words on the spine of the book. “TIME MACHINE.” You then flip the book over to the back cover. Printed in the same wavy font as the question on the wall is the familiar phrase, “THE INKY PORTAL.” You open the book to a random page to find it completely blank, a white rectangle staring back at you. You flip though the pages and realize that each one is a brand new canvas. 

When you look up, the woman’s blue eyes are looking directly into yours. “By writing something down, you are potentially communicating with someone from the future. By reading something, you are most definitely communicating with someone from the past. While this version of yourself only exists in the present moment, it is possible to immortalize it. All you have to do is materialize your thoughts, opinions, or values into the physical realm by picking up a pen and getting it to paper.” 

Out of politeness, you try not to scoff. You gather your thoughts for a moment as you think about how to dismiss her claim in a respectful manner. 

“I honestly just use my phone notes to keep track of my thoughts. Everything is kind of digital now. Under your logic, you can ‘time travel’ using the internet and a keyboard. I can write and read on my laptop or phone easily.” you respond. 

“Sure, you could call the internet a Time Machine, but how do you know which exact version of which exact person you’re communicating with? Or if you’re communicating with a person at all? With the rise of AI-generated content and the ability to edit anything on the internet with ease, it’s impossible to know if the conversation between you and someone else is authentic. There is also nothing physical or real about the interaction when you use a computer. The words expressed don’t actually exist in your world. What does exist are panels of LED pixels that are programmed to light up in a certain combination to produce the illusion of words. Even when we speak aloud, the words we are saying don’t actually exist. We are just producing vibrations that create sound waves, which meet our ear drums, creating the illusion of words. We have assigned correspondences to words. When those correspondences are present, we are either expressing or receiving an illusion. Words only truly exist when they are physically created in this reality. And words always begin as thoughts. Our individual handwriting is like a fingerprint for our thoughts. Everyone’s handwriting is incredibly unique. Turning our thoughts into words by hand is the most authentic and accurate way to communicate. In the era of deepfakes, handwriting is the only way to accurately prove that a specific version of a specific individual expressed a specific thought. And a piece of the consciousness of that specific version of that specific individual has the potential to exist across many different time periods. The life span of it is determined by how long the artifact can be preserved.”

Stunned, you look back down at the empty book and focus on it for a moment before giving your attention back to the young woman. “How much is this journal?”

“We don’t call them journals here, we call them time machines,” she reminds you. “The one you’re holding is the largest hardcover version. Those are priced at $40.”

You nod and pick up one of the many circular stickers on table. “And how much for a sticker?”

The girl grins in response to your question. “I’m glad you asked. We actually use those stickers as a currency of sorts. See, we at The Inky Portal are in the process of creating a series of Collective Time Machines. We are collecting thoughts that have been turned into words from the various willing individuals who wander into this tent. You can’t buy these stickers with money, but you can make an energetic trade. If you decide you’d like to make the exchange, I will hand you two sheets of paper and a black ink pen. The first sheet of paper serves as both an agreement and method of collecting necessary information. You’ll fill that out, sign, and date it. The second sheet of paper is completely blank. Do you see the question written on the wall?”

You are reminded of the first thing you noticed about the inside of the tent. You turn your head and read the question again in your head silently. “WHAT ARE YOU PASSIONATE ABOUT?”

The girl doesn’t wait for an answer from you before continuing her speech. “You’ll think about, organize, and express your thoughts on that question while sitting in that desk behind you. You’ll write down whatever combination of words come to mind. Make sure you condense your creation enough that it fits on only one side of the paper. If you mess up and want another sheet of paper, come ask. Don’t be afraid to make mistakes and mark over them, as the imperfections of our handwriting is something that makes it unique to us. Once you’re finished, hand me both completed sheets, and I will hand you a sticker. Yours to keep.” 

She hands you a form, a blank sheet of paper, and a pen. You glance at these objects skeptically. “What are you going to do with this stuff when I give it back?”

“The first thing I’m going to do is place your agreement and your manifested thoughts together inside a sheet protector. I’m going to put that sheet protector inside of an accordion folder where it will remain safe with the other Time Traveler’s papers.  Once the festival is over, I’m going to pack up my supplies and drive my bus back to headquarters. Once I’m unpacked and at my desk, I will take the time to personally read not only your words, but the words of every single Time Traveller I made this agreement with. I’ll separate the works into two piles: ‘publish’ and ‘preserve’. If the information provided on your agreement sheet was not written out how I requested, your words will immediately go to the ‘preserve’ pile. If the information looks alright, I’ll read what you wrote in response to the question. If I believe what you wrote has the potential to massively inspire or entertain the future consumers of the Collective Time Machines, I’ll put your work into the ‘publish’ pile. At headquarters, I have a quality copy machine. Regardless of which pile your words end up in, I will create a digital photo copy of your work. The physical copy will forever remain safe at our headquarters in our Vault. The digital photo copy will be uploaded to my website, theinkyportal.com. You can search for not only your contribution using our search engine, but other Time Travelers’ as well. You can search by name, age range, event, question, theme, language, or date. I do not have an option to search by keyword available because attempting to translate your unique handwriting into digital symbols would be doing you a disservice. The website will always be there for you whenever you feel like communicating with the past, whether it’s yours, a friend’s, or a complete strangers’s. If your work winds up in the ‘publish’ pile, your digital photo copy will be intentionally arranged with other similar works selected to be published as a themed Collective Time Machine. I will publish each unique CTM as not only an e-book, but we will print multiple copies as physical anthologies and sell them on my website and at other events. Collective Time Machines contain multiple works which showcase a certain theme. Before it is published, I will contact you personally to congratulate you on being selected to appear in a themed Collective Time Machine.”

“You say ‘I’ pretty often when talking about this process. It sounds like a lot of work to do alone. Do you not have a team of people working with you on this?” you ask with slight concern in your voice. 

“You know,” she says, sighing. “The next time we have this conversation, I hope I’ll be saying ‘we’. Because collaboration, community, creativity, connection, and conversation are the foundations of The Inky Portal.”

You seem a bit puzzled by the insinuation that this moment will happen again, yet, something deep down tells you that this isn’t the first time you’ve talked to this girl. 

“Yeah, I’ll, um. I’ll go fill this out. Because that sticker is really cool,” you decide. 

You slowly walk over to the desk and sit down as an overwhelming feeling of deja vu overcomes you. You ignore it. You stare at the question on the wall for a whole ninety seconds before picking up your pen and touching its tip to the plain white sheet of paper. As you write, you experience what it’s like to time travel. But this time, you’re aware of it. 

(Written by Hannah Marie Wolfe on April 1st, 2024)

You used a week’s worth of your vacation days to go out of town and attend a music festival. Now you are aimlessly wandering the grounds of the event, killing time before an artist you’ve been listening to on repeat for the past year plays their set on the main stage. You have an hour to kill.

You realize that you have found yourself in the vendor’s alley. A plethora of white 10x10 tents create a small neighborhood of pop-up shops. You continue your stroll, glancing at the variety of products as you walk past each tent.

You receive a notification on your phone, and your feet stop as you take a moment to check to see if it is important. It isn’t. You put your cellular device in your back pocket and then notice that the tent to your right is not white. The walls and roof are instead black. The inside is hidden by two black curtains that touch in the middle. The curtain’s design displays a giant circle in the middle. It is a chaotic splatter-paint blend of white, black, and various shades of gray. Your eyes focus upwards, and you notice a sign on top of the tent that reads “THE INKY PORTAL.” Intrigued, you make your way inside. 

When you enter the tent, you notice something bold on the wall directly in front of you. Written in an unusual wavy font is a question. “WHAT ARE YOU PASSIONATE ABOUT?” The letters are printed largely enough to cover nearly the entire wall. 

To your right you notice a black desk and an empty rolling chair. To your left is a table filled with circular stickers. The stickers are made up of the same strange design that was woven into the curtain you walked through. Behind the table stands a purple-haired woman in her twenties who is wearing a long, black dress. 

Behind her are two large shelves that are standing up against the wall. They display an assortment of forward-facing books.  There is a small book. There is a medium sized book. There is a large book. There is a hardcover book. There is a softcover book. There are many books. Each book, however, has the same design. They are all black, and all of their covers have the chaotic circle in the center. There are words surrounding the circle like a halo this time, but they are too small to read from where you stand. 

“Hello,” the purple-haired woman greets you. “Would you like to time travel?” 

You stare at her blankly for a moment and ponder if you heard her correctly. “What?” you ask. 

“Would you like to time travel?” she asks again with a smile. 

“What do you mean?” you say, expressing your utter confusion. 

The girl grabs the large hardcover version of the book and places it in your hands. You take a closer look and the writing surrounding the circular design becomes legible. 

“A past version of yourself has something to say. A future version of yourself has something to read. The present version of yourself has something to write,” she recites these three sentences aloud as your eyes read the same exact three sentences printed on the cover. 

You notice two words on the spine of the book. “TIME MACHINE.” You then flip the book over to the back cover. Printed in the same wavy font as the question on the wall is the familiar phrase, “THE INKY PORTAL.” You open the book to a random page to find it completely blank, a white rectangle staring back at you. You flip though the pages and realize that each one is a brand new canvas. 

When you look up, the woman’s blue eyes are looking directly into yours. “By writing something down, you are potentially communicating with someone from the future. By reading something, you are most definitely communicating with someone from the past. While this version of yourself only exists in the present moment, it is possible to immortalize it. All you have to do is materialize your thoughts, opinions, or values into the physical realm by picking up a pen and getting it to paper.” 

Out of politeness, you try not to scoff. You gather your thoughts for a moment as you think about how to dismiss her claim in a respectful manner. 

“I honestly just use my phone notes to keep track of my thoughts. Everything is kind of digital now. Under your logic, you can ‘time travel’ using the internet and a keyboard. I can write and read on my laptop or phone easily.” you respond. 

“Sure, you could call the internet a Time Machine, but how do you know which exact version of which exact person you’re communicating with? Or if you’re communicating with a person at all? With the rise of AI-generated content and the ability to edit anything on the internet with ease, it’s impossible to know if the conversation between you and someone else is authentic. There is also nothing physical or real about the interaction when you use a computer. The words expressed don’t actually exist in your world. What does exist are panels of LED pixels that are programmed to light up in a certain combination to produce the illusion of words. Even when we speak aloud, the words we are saying don’t actually exist. We are just producing vibrations that create sound waves, which meet our ear drums, creating the illusion of words. We have assigned correspondences to words. When those correspondences are present, we are either expressing or receiving an illusion. Words only truly exist when they are physically created in this reality. And words always begin as thoughts. Our individual handwriting is like a fingerprint for our thoughts. Everyone’s handwriting is incredibly unique. Turning our thoughts into words by hand is the most authentic and accurate way to communicate. In the era of deepfakes, handwriting is the only way to accurately prove that a specific version of a specific individual expressed a specific thought. And a piece of the consciousness of that specific version of that specific individual has the potential to exist across many different time periods. The life span of it is determined by how long the artifact can be preserved.”

Stunned, you look back down at the empty book and focus on it for a moment before giving your attention back to the young woman. “How much is this journal?”

“We don’t call them journals here, we call them time machines,” she reminds you. “The one you’re holding is the largest hardcover version. Those are priced at $40.”

You nod and pick up one of the many circular stickers on table. “And how much for a sticker?”

The girl grins in response to your question. “I’m glad you asked. We actually use those stickers as a currency of sorts. See, we at The Inky Portal are in the process of creating a series of Collective Time Machines. We are collecting thoughts that have been turned into words from the various willing individuals who wander into this tent. You can’t buy these stickers with money, but you can make an energetic trade. If you decide you’d like to make the exchange, I will hand you two sheets of paper and a black ink pen. The first sheet of paper serves as both an agreement and method of collecting necessary information. You’ll fill that out, sign, and date it. The second sheet of paper is completely blank. Do you see the question written on the wall?”

You are reminded of the first thing you noticed about the inside of the tent. You turn your head and read the question again in your head silently. “WHAT ARE YOU PASSIONATE ABOUT?”

The girl doesn’t wait for an answer from you before continuing her speech. “You’ll think about, organize, and express your thoughts on that question while sitting in that desk behind you. You’ll write down whatever combination of words come to mind. Make sure you condense your creation enough that it fits on only one side of the paper. If you mess up and want another sheet of paper, come ask. Don’t be afraid to make mistakes and mark over them, as the imperfections of our handwriting is something that makes it unique to us. Once you’re finished, hand me both completed sheets, and I will hand you a sticker. Yours to keep.” 

She hands you a form, a blank sheet of paper, and a pen. You glance at these objects skeptically. “What are you going to do with this stuff when I give it back?”

“The first thing I’m going to do is place your agreement and your manifested thoughts together inside a sheet protector. I’m going to put that sheet protector inside of an accordion folder where it will remain safe with the other Time Traveler’s papers.  Once the festival is over, I’m going to pack up my supplies and drive my bus back to headquarters. Once I’m unpacked and at my desk, I will take the time to personally read not only your words, but the words of every single Time Traveller I made this agreement with. I’ll separate the works into two piles: ‘publish’ and ‘preserve’. If the information provided on your agreement sheet was not written out how I requested, your words will immediately go to the ‘preserve’ pile. If the information looks alright, I’ll read what you wrote in response to the question. If I believe what you wrote has the potential to massively inspire or entertain the future consumers of the Collective Time Machines, I’ll put your work into the ‘publish’ pile. At headquarters, I have a quality copy machine. Regardless of which pile your words end up in, I will create a digital photo copy of your work. The physical copy will forever remain safe at our headquarters in our Vault. The digital photo copy will be uploaded to my website, theinkyportal.com. You can search for not only your contribution using our search engine, but other Time Travelers’ as well. You can search by name, age range, event, question, theme, language, or date. I do not have an option to search by keyword available because attempting to translate your unique handwriting into digital symbols would be doing you a disservice. The website will always be there for you whenever you feel like communicating with the past, whether it’s yours, a friend’s, or a complete strangers’s. If your work winds up in the ‘publish’ pile, your digital photo copy will be intentionally arranged with other similar works selected to be published as a themed Collective Time Machine. I will publish each unique CTM as not only an e-book, but we will print multiple copies as physical anthologies and sell them on my website and at other events. Collective Time Machines contain multiple works which showcase a certain theme. Before it is published, I will contact you personally to congratulate you on being selected to appear in a themed Collective Time Machine.”

“You say ‘I’ pretty often when talking about this process. It sounds like a lot of work to do alone. Do you not have a team of people working with you on this?” you ask with slight concern in your voice. 

“You know,” she says, sighing. “The next time we have this conversation, I hope I’ll be saying ‘we’. Because collaboration, community, creativity, connection, and conversation are the foundations of The Inky Portal.”

You seem a bit puzzled by the insinuation that this moment will happen again, yet, something deep down tells you that this isn’t the first time you’ve talked to this girl. 

“Yeah, I’ll, um. I’ll go fill this out. Because that sticker is really cool,” you decide. 

You slowly walk over to the desk and sit down as an overwhelming feeling of deja vu overcomes you. You ignore it. You stare at the question on the wall for a whole ninety seconds before picking up your pen and touching its tip to the plain white sheet of paper. As you write, you experience what it’s like to time travel. But this time, you’re aware of it.