Sitting in Motion: September 2014

Monday, September 29, 2014

Osmosis: A Satire

The best satire concerns what we care about most deeply.

That was what I thought as I applied the liquid patch my forehead and waited until it dissolved into the bone and through the blood/brain barrier of my brain. These new liquid apps were so convenient. No more upset stomach, the hack was applied right to the source. This app was appropriately marketed as "Instant Zen"

The affect on my consciousness was instantaneous. The room lightened and rotated slowly before it came into an intense focus. My breathing became slow and deliberate. My mind, normally active, quieted and I felt an amazing sense of peace. After this initial programming sequence was complete, a pop up screen appeared in my vision. I selected the option "Deeper Geography 1."

I felt myself going deeper into awareness. I shut my eyes and and felt them glazing upward, but still closed. I began seeing and feeling pulsating lights at the top of my brain as my consciousness descended lower. The entire top of my head was now awash in light and became numb, but I descended down so that I rested almost at the geographic center of my brain. My ears were full of a humming noise that vibrated throughout my entire body.

I began to experience the inner workings of my mind. Voices and memories appeared frontally. Surges of emotions manifested themselves in my hind brain. I felt I was under a deep ocean and any memory or sensation of the outside world was condensed into the four corners of a room that I felt to be the dimensions of my brain.

After I was in this state for a preset amount of time, another pop up appeared, for this app had custom duration presets. I selected the option "Go Big".

Now with my eyes opened I returned to the room I had never left. Only the source of my consciousness, the source of the "me" disappeared and was enmeshed in whatever object in the room my gaze rested on. It was if I no longer had a physical body, but the source of my perceptions now derived externally.

Eventually, another pop up appeared. This one stated, "Trial Version Expires in 15 minutes. The complete App is available in your ITunes store, 12.99Y for unlimited use."

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

God is not Great, God is not Good, But She Sure Knows How to Ferment Some Mango

"God is not Great, God is not Good." I used to think this a lot. But I sure wasn't saying this when I was kidnapped by Al Qaeda in Botswana and conscripted into their rag tag Army.

I'm not sure why I went to Botswana in the first place. My daughters were horrified that I was going. Still my friend Max from India insisted that he knew this cool five star resort on the beach we could stay at.  I think the real reason was that he had business to do with the fledgling Botswana Air Force and wanted to make a vacation out of it.   He kept telling me that Botswana was midway between India and the United States so it would be a perfect place for us to meet. I never found out what happened to Max.

When I arrived at the Botswana regional airport, the situation was already in turmoil. The government troops had been driven back and the airport was in control of the rebels. I was put on a rickshaw under gun point and told that I would be going to the rebel army base. Along the way, my driver and guard were shot and I was taken by a group of teenagers to a small village on the outskirts of Gaborone. It was there that I learned that the teenagers that captured me were part of the Al Kareem Jabaar, the local franchisee of Al Qaeda.

It was surprising how well I assimilated.   I wasn't treated all that badly.   I could tell that they wanted to be friends with me. I went through all the religious rituals they taught me.   I learned how to shoot an AK-47. I was provided with a little sleeping mat which doubled as a prayer mat and given my little corner of a crowded room to sleep.

What I remember most of those endless days of training was the food. Next to the kitchen area was a little bucket were they put all their scraps of food to ferment. Fermented mango was my favorite dish there and I kept thinking how healthy it made me feel. As if I was living close to nature and getting all these natural probiotics that I missed in my Western diet of processed foods.

So everything was going along swimmingly until the Imam's came. I had no idea of who or what an Imam was, but the Al Qaeda people I was with started freaking out when they looked up at the sky one day and saw what looked like priests dressed in white robes and turbans descending on hand gliders into our facility. I later learned that these Imam's were kinda like enforcers of the Islamic faith. Brutal enforcers. They made sure all the local Al Qaeda franchisees were operating an organization that was up to snuff. I could tell right away that my new Al Qaeda friends were concerned for my safety.   I soon found out why.

As soon as the Imam's landed, Marquis, the ad hoc leader of our group was engaged in heated discussions with one of the Imam's about me. They kept pointing in my direction. Like a good little acolyte I kept my head down and avoided any eye contact the the Imams.   Soon one of the Imams came over to me. I was already prostrate before him.

"So infidel," the Imam began, "I hear that you have infiltrated our little coven here with your blasphemy, but you don't fool me."

I remained silent.

"Tell, me, heathen," he continued, "What is the sound of one hand clapping?"

Without hesitation I replied: "All sound comes from Allah."

Hmmmm, the thought for a moment, "show me your true face before your parents were born."

Again, the answer welled up within me and I grabbed a piece of dirt: my face is the earth before Allah intervened and made it the white devil face you see before you today.

"Not bad infidel, but you will not be able to answer this: tell me does a Dog have Allah nature?"

This I knew was the ultimate trick question, but thankfully my new friends had made me study the koran every night and I remembered the answer from my arduous studies:

I responded. I choose answer "D" which in the official version of the Koran article 3 subsection 2 states, and I quote, "All things come directly from Allah, even the fermented Mango that we all enjoy with our our dessert."

"I like your faith, white devil, but I think my colleagues have other plans for you."

He motioned over to a different Imam, with beady eyes that they called El Al Eichmann.  Al Eichmann approached me and motioned for me to get up on a makeshift bench. He then removed a rope for his pocket and started stroking it with his palm.

Soon, Al Eichmann had me prone on the bench. It was then what I saw was in store for me. For on the other side of the compound they had another acolyte tied up on a bench with his legs bent behind him in an unnatural position that I knew would be intensely painful. The acolyte was screaming in pain.

"This is a little test of our faith," Al Eichmann said as he began to tighten the ropes.

I'm don't remember exactly what happened next. I remember them pulling my legs back in a way that was painful. Then I blacked out. Afterwards, my friends told me that I had survived the ordeal. And I had thrown up.  And not just a little.   Instead, I had thrown up prodigiously, which indicated, at least according to the Imam's that I had spewed out the great Western Satan and all of his works and was now ready to accept the one true God.

So I went with that idea the whole time I was in Botswana. But in my heart, I knew better.   For it wasn't any great Western Satan in my vomitus--but rather just a bunch of fermented Mangoes.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

I am the King of the Jungle, They call me "Tigerman"

I am the king of the jungle, they call me tiger man.

The man ain't got no hold on me nomore. I'm free. No more cellies, no more seg, no more guards. They let me out after that operation and all the work I did on all those god forsaken towns between Statesville CC and what used to be Tamms.

They think they can still track me and they took away my mojo, but I think they are wrong. Man I know in St. Louis says he can take out what they put in me to keep me in line. I'm not so sure about that. I don't want nobody cutting into me anymore.

Still I was glad I did it. Volunteer they said to be some guinea pig. Put this little computer in you. And work off your restitution in all these little towns that are too poor anymore to fix their own roads and sewers. And I wasn't the only one. Percy, Ray, Cecil, George, Taliani, Bahrs, Priest, we all did it. Especially the lifers. Do anything we can to get out of that shithole Menard and the cages and the endless summers that dragged on and on in the sweltering heat in 4C. None of us could take it anymore. So we let them cut into us. Signed the consent. Got the court order. Now we are out.

But sometimes now that I am back I feel as useless now as a whistle on a plow. What's left to do all day? I know I should start taking those pills again, but the fog was too heavy and I didn't want to sleep all day. And all these free people now walking around all day over and over again same old thing. I have to get out of this place. Find something new. But it would all be the same whereever I went. And it gets so cold at night sometimes. I still feel like I'm living in a dream and my face still looks like a stranger. I've been here a couple of months now, but its not like a I live here.

I should just turn off my brain and go download one of the books they gave me. And wait for the final session, I guess. Its like I'm two people, and right now the other one is running the muscles.

I go out the door, onto the street, and I head for St. Louis.

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Guardian Angel Kroeter

My friend Kroeter from college had been dead for over a decade but that didn't stop him from giving me a bunch of crap on a regular basis. Not that I minded much.   I was pretty lonely at the time.

Kroeter was always online. I have no idea how he maintained his Internet account after his death. But every time I logged into Messenger or Facebook to chat, he was always available, 24/7. I think he maintained relationships with a number of people after his death.   In life, I remember that Kroeter frequently exchanged stock tips with some Porn star named Asia Carrero.   I may have her last name wrong. He probably preferred haunting her to me actually.   I think when he was alive she refused to give him her phone number or address.   No doubt, death provided him an opportunity to stalk her in new and imaginative ways. I wonder how she dealt with it? No doubt she had a constant voyeur. lol.

When the ghost of Kroeter first made contact with me, I lived in a run down apartment near a large state university. When Kroeter was alive he and I attended a small private college. The state university I lived at that time had a ton more women on campus--but I still couldn't get laid. I even worked at a job that I thought would be cool with the women. But even though I worked to save the whales, I still could not lose my virginity.

So my ghost friend Kroeter offered to help me with my predicament.   Kroeter was always giving me tips, always whispering in my ear when I talked to women. In retrospect, it was kinda like Cyrano de Bergerac. You know, that French guy that could always say the right things to woo women, but couldn't show his face because it was too ugly. But in Kroeter's case, he couldn't show his face because he was dead and I only I could see him. Despite his best efforts, I still had no luck with women--even though I said all the "smooth" things Kroeter told me. In retrospect, maybe my lack of luck had more to do with the fact I was old and creepy hitting on younger college women.

I remember one time I was in a bar talking to women and I thought I would impress them with my freaky telekinetic powers. My plan was that I would tell the woman I was interested in that I could move the napkin on the table with my mind. I told Kroeter that I expected that he would move the napkin and the woman would be impressed. However, when I tried it, Kroeter disappeared and would not help me. Goddamn that pissed me off. I stayed upset with him for a long time after that and didn't speak with him.

Many months later, Kroeter tried to talk with me while I was sitting in in the bleachers at a baseball game. I was tired and dehydrated. I wanted to take a nap. Kroeter began massaging my forehead, just like you would do to a baby that was being grumpy. I don't remember what happened next. I must have fallen asleep. Afterward, Pete only spoke to me in my dreams, like a guardian angel.

Sitting in Motion