They were already approaching the roadblock when the overhead image was displayed.
It was difficult not to get sucked in so he kept repeating his mantra: this is propaganda, this is propaganda.
But the overhead image could not be avoided by a simple mantra.
For in this epoch, unlike the past, outliers have nothing to hold onto and his very breath was used against him. Inevitably, he joined the burly men and women in the drab state issued clothing beside the roadblock. They gathered with solemn expressions. They performed the elaborate rituals appropriate for every social occasion. The value of the social rituals reduced inherent social friction. Such was the nature of the well ordered society. But it was hard to keep up with the ever changing rules. So he occasionally lost his way. The night smelled of jasmine and stale urine.
Most often, there was "rule by consensus." But in an age of homogeneity, consensus was an oxymoron.
His skin tingled as the probe interfaced with his cranial port. "You know the punishment for desertion." It was to be haunted not by one ghost, nor even a tribe of ghosts, but by an entire city.
But he must try to be himself, he said through clenched teeth. He didn't know if he could do that. Isn't solitude a kind of joke? He tried as the humming noise increased. And there's this girl. I must get back to her. Her name is Kitten and you can find her at the support group I used to belong to, the one on Monday nights.
The background noise became unbearable:
"You don't need solitude. Solitude is the prime evil which led to the calamitous conflicts of the 22nd century. Each citizen has special talents to serve the collective. Find out what makes you better. Build on that. And once you do, you'll be able to contribute to the up-link."
The probe from the Over-soul gradually retracted. The helicopter was making its final approach to the landing pad to collect the prisoner. This human would need complete reprogramming at the processing center.
Saturday, June 28, 2014
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Up to the Gritty Knitty
If you could inscribe anything deep in your bones, what would it be?
I'm talking about your own personal imprint on life.
Sure, you can put a tattoo on your skin. But what is the root of your life that will be unearthed a thousand years from now when a neo-archaeologist sifts though your skeletal remains with a translator protocol which summarizes the essence of fossilized bone she discovers?
Will the inscription on your bones reveal loves found and lost? Children raised? Successes or failures at work? All the places you have visited? All the cool bars you have been to? What is the secret of you?
Or will the fossil reveal nothing? Or specifically, that the owner of this bone once was on a path to discover something profound about life, and then at some point gave up any quest under the pernicious belief that there was nothing more to discover.
And will, finding nothing, that future archaeologist from the incalculable future discard your bones into the vast heap of similarly uninteresting artifacts?
"Hans, Hans." You wake from your revere as your co-worker taps you on your shoulder. "I found something your group may find interesting in a nineteenth century excavation near zone 671, section A in what was previously known as the territory of Denmark. Check out the summation readout from my translator on this femur:
Do not interrupt the flight of your soul
Do not enfeeble your spirit with half wishes and half thoughts
Ask yourself and keep asking yourself until you find the answer
"I suppose its a step in the right direction," you tell your colleague. "But I don't think it will quite fit into our cohort. Perhaps we should go back to the remains located in the find in zone 670."
But it will be late in the evening by now, and will be time for you to return to your cubicle. "Li," you tell your co-worker, "do you and Suya have any plans for the weekend?"
And will, finding nothing, that future archaeologist from the incalculable future discard your bones into the vast heap of similarly uninteresting artifacts?
"Hans, Hans." You wake from your revere as your co-worker taps you on your shoulder. "I found something your group may find interesting in a nineteenth century excavation near zone 671, section A in what was previously known as the territory of Denmark. Check out the summation readout from my translator on this femur:
Do not interrupt the flight of your soul
Do not enfeeble your spirit with half wishes and half thoughts
Ask yourself and keep asking yourself until you find the answer
"I suppose its a step in the right direction," you tell your colleague. "But I don't think it will quite fit into our cohort. Perhaps we should go back to the remains located in the find in zone 670."
But it will be late in the evening by now, and will be time for you to return to your cubicle. "Li," you tell your co-worker, "do you and Suya have any plans for the weekend?"
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Not the Year's Best
Capitalism supports the enlargement of profit at the expense of the public good.
There are many occupied storage containers in the basement.
The pharmaceutical industry will pump billions of dollars into researching drugs with high profit margins treating dubious chronic conditions while treatments for less "profitable" diseases receive little funding for research.
Capitalism needs an upgrade.
Tired as he was, it was a very tempting invitation.
Only in America will the government spend millions hiring a consulting firm to more effectively spend more millions in advertising so that the citizens will sign up for the government sponsored healthcare program.
If he went to the bar now, he'd hardly have time to enjoy himself before he became tired. But if instead he chose to go to sleep early, he would earn four Good Choice Health point on his cell phone app.
Before the invasion, she thought that if a totalitarian strongman conquered their country, it would strip away the decadent bourgeoisie and provide a much needed breath of fresh air.
WARNING! Endorphin levels below recommended settings. Body exhaustion likely to commence within the next 10 minutes. Recommend sleep or psycho-pharmaceutical intervention immediately.
Like many good French who hauled themselves up from humble beginnings, she had what they call "a chip on her shoulder." It was certainly a "class" thing which manifested into a resentment toward those who had been born into better circumstances.
His pulse quickened as he saw the unaccompanied woman at the bar.
You can buy me a drink if you don't mock me for the next two minutes, she said while sipping her Bordeaux.
Sentences exchanged about places visited, people seen.
I have the most wonderful idea for solving the world's problems.
What a wonderful coincidence, so do I. Lets compare.
Here. Now. This is enough. I only wonder: Can we make it last?
He lacks conviction. She is weird.
He spends fathers day with his wonderful children. The above doors are not purchased--at least for now. The gypsy band from Fort Collins is really neither. Fire and Ale and too much loud noise. He spends a lot of time of his bike these days. The eastern European judge has a change of heart at the expense of a vacant space. The riverboat casino instead of Aaron Kamm. Its all too beautiful.
There are many occupied storage containers in the basement.
The pharmaceutical industry will pump billions of dollars into researching drugs with high profit margins treating dubious chronic conditions while treatments for less "profitable" diseases receive little funding for research.
Capitalism needs an upgrade.
Tired as he was, it was a very tempting invitation.
Only in America will the government spend millions hiring a consulting firm to more effectively spend more millions in advertising so that the citizens will sign up for the government sponsored healthcare program.
If he went to the bar now, he'd hardly have time to enjoy himself before he became tired. But if instead he chose to go to sleep early, he would earn four Good Choice Health point on his cell phone app.
Before the invasion, she thought that if a totalitarian strongman conquered their country, it would strip away the decadent bourgeoisie and provide a much needed breath of fresh air.
WARNING! Endorphin levels below recommended settings. Body exhaustion likely to commence within the next 10 minutes. Recommend sleep or psycho-pharmaceutical intervention immediately.
Like many good French who hauled themselves up from humble beginnings, she had what they call "a chip on her shoulder." It was certainly a "class" thing which manifested into a resentment toward those who had been born into better circumstances.
His pulse quickened as he saw the unaccompanied woman at the bar.
You can buy me a drink if you don't mock me for the next two minutes, she said while sipping her Bordeaux.
Sentences exchanged about places visited, people seen.
I have the most wonderful idea for solving the world's problems.
What a wonderful coincidence, so do I. Lets compare.
Here. Now. This is enough. I only wonder: Can we make it last?
He lacks conviction. She is weird.
He spends fathers day with his wonderful children. The above doors are not purchased--at least for now. The gypsy band from Fort Collins is really neither. Fire and Ale and too much loud noise. He spends a lot of time of his bike these days. The eastern European judge has a change of heart at the expense of a vacant space. The riverboat casino instead of Aaron Kamm. Its all too beautiful.
Sunday, June 1, 2014
End of Coincidence
I've always been into herbal remedies with the intent to increase my cognitive function or induce mystical states. The Chinese have an entire cultural tradition of alternative medicines ranging from qi gong to ginseng. So naturally, when I went to China one summer while I was in college, I sought out a Chinese herbalist so that I could do better on my engineering classes during my senior year.
I located the master herbalist quite by accident--or so it seemed at the time. Soon after arriving in Tianjin, I found myself exploring one of the myriad of side streets off the main downtown square. It was blistering hot outside and I ducked inside a small shop to catch a breather from the sun. While inside, I stood next to the a small electric fan on the counter and quite absentmindedly raised my hands up to grasp the frame of the fan to tilt it in my direction. A careful inspection of the fan would have revealed that unlike its American counterparts, this fan had a limited protective frame which permitted objects the size of fingers to penetrate and contact the moving fan blade. Taking advantage of this alternative design, my negligent finger seized the opportunity and proceeded through the metal frame contacting the moving rotor which caused me immediate pain and unleashed a small amount of blood. The proprietor, horrified that a foreigner became injured in his shop, immediately ran to the nearest medical practitioner--which in this case happened to be a Chinese herbalist--and I came under the protective care of one Jin Ku Ming, a gnarled old man who spoke only a smattering of English. Combined with my smattering of Chinese, we had a great time in the summer of 1988. Indeed, one of my most treasured photographs of my Chinese adventure is a photo or me sitting next to Jin while his wife Suya was pouring us tea out of an ornate gold colored dragon shaped tea server in Jin's small apothecary.
Decades later, I sought to retrieve my old photographs of China out from storage. One of the visitors to my apartment complex (I have so many visitors these days--I can't seem to keep them all straight) had a son--or someone that looked a lot like him-- who had just returned from China after spending the summer. I learned that the son had also visited Tianjin, so I was curious to see how the City had changed through the years. The son was kind enough to record his trip by holographic video, so I was excited to see in three dimensions how my old stomping grounds had metamorphosed during my absence. However, to my surprise, one of the first scenes in the son's video was the son walking into the same small apothecary in downtown Tianjin that I visited all those years ago, and greeting the same gnarled old Jin Ku Ming who looked the same as in my photographs.
How could this be? I asked the son who the Chinese herbalist was and he told me that it was Jin Ku Ming and that Jin and his wife Suya used to entertain him while he was in Tianjin. What? Impossible! Jin must have been at least 70 or 80 sixty years ago when I was in China. He would be 150 years old! No one lives that long. Or do they?
"Grandpa, what are you saying? You never went to China," the son told me.
But the kid had to be wrong. I remember going to China as clear as day. I can prove it with my old photographs. I still can't seem to find them. They must have been lost in my last move. I think it was not my imagination. Its the singularity. Every since the computers took over I've been noticing that there are glitches in the program. Like we are all living in a simulation except that the computers keep recycling the programs for new generations hoping that they don't notice. But I do. I've still got my wits about me--and that's no coincidence.
I located the master herbalist quite by accident--or so it seemed at the time. Soon after arriving in Tianjin, I found myself exploring one of the myriad of side streets off the main downtown square. It was blistering hot outside and I ducked inside a small shop to catch a breather from the sun. While inside, I stood next to the a small electric fan on the counter and quite absentmindedly raised my hands up to grasp the frame of the fan to tilt it in my direction. A careful inspection of the fan would have revealed that unlike its American counterparts, this fan had a limited protective frame which permitted objects the size of fingers to penetrate and contact the moving fan blade. Taking advantage of this alternative design, my negligent finger seized the opportunity and proceeded through the metal frame contacting the moving rotor which caused me immediate pain and unleashed a small amount of blood. The proprietor, horrified that a foreigner became injured in his shop, immediately ran to the nearest medical practitioner--which in this case happened to be a Chinese herbalist--and I came under the protective care of one Jin Ku Ming, a gnarled old man who spoke only a smattering of English. Combined with my smattering of Chinese, we had a great time in the summer of 1988. Indeed, one of my most treasured photographs of my Chinese adventure is a photo or me sitting next to Jin while his wife Suya was pouring us tea out of an ornate gold colored dragon shaped tea server in Jin's small apothecary.
Decades later, I sought to retrieve my old photographs of China out from storage. One of the visitors to my apartment complex (I have so many visitors these days--I can't seem to keep them all straight) had a son--or someone that looked a lot like him-- who had just returned from China after spending the summer. I learned that the son had also visited Tianjin, so I was curious to see how the City had changed through the years. The son was kind enough to record his trip by holographic video, so I was excited to see in three dimensions how my old stomping grounds had metamorphosed during my absence. However, to my surprise, one of the first scenes in the son's video was the son walking into the same small apothecary in downtown Tianjin that I visited all those years ago, and greeting the same gnarled old Jin Ku Ming who looked the same as in my photographs.
How could this be? I asked the son who the Chinese herbalist was and he told me that it was Jin Ku Ming and that Jin and his wife Suya used to entertain him while he was in Tianjin. What? Impossible! Jin must have been at least 70 or 80 sixty years ago when I was in China. He would be 150 years old! No one lives that long. Or do they?
"Grandpa, what are you saying? You never went to China," the son told me.
But the kid had to be wrong. I remember going to China as clear as day. I can prove it with my old photographs. I still can't seem to find them. They must have been lost in my last move. I think it was not my imagination. Its the singularity. Every since the computers took over I've been noticing that there are glitches in the program. Like we are all living in a simulation except that the computers keep recycling the programs for new generations hoping that they don't notice. But I do. I've still got my wits about me--and that's no coincidence.
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