6/1/09
"Hello Charles."
I coughed and gagged, hacking up quicksilver, mercury dripping from the corners of my mouth.
Air controlled scene, room temperature perfection, breeze blown by casually. His boots were worn, favorite status shown upon them. Slacks were tight and fit with a flair, suit jacket snapped just below the waist, shirt and tie topping it off. Comfort and power sat on his shoulders.
"I've been waiting on your arrival," seeped from his smile. He nodded to my right.
I saw a towel beside me, swiped it, and cleared the muck from my face. A hatch seals itself closed behind me, a vent sucking down the remnants of fluid.
"Yeah? Great. I'm here." I was annoyed, out of my depth, and in need of a drink and a smoke.
A bottle of beer and a pack of cigarettes rose from the tile before me. A lighter and bottle opener appeared on the one adjacent. They warbled into the air from the ceramic surface, flickered like a hologram, and crackled into existence. My fingers connected with their molecular cohesion.
I popped open the beer, downed a third, stood up and tied the towel around my waist. I took my time in the process of opening the cigarettes, discarding the wrapping to the ground where it evaporated, sliding a smoke out and placing on my lower lip. My top lip gripped the filter and my thumb ran along the gears of the lighter, igniting with a press of the gas lever.
The fire caught my eye, dancing picturesque before me, drawing it closer to my face. I sucked back on the cigarette and it caught fire, the tip of it blazing away down into my lungs. I felt a lump of smoke travel along my trachea. It expanded into my lungs. I hold it for a second then release it.
The smoke fills the space between him and I, dancing through whirling air currents, blown around and around again. I flick my attention up to his face, taking it in as my own, aged to perfection. Manly and confident, eyes not tucked behind protective lenses, a telling smile revealing all his secrets to me.
We had an understanding.
"So, the future. I do okay for myself." The cigarette was splendid.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
The Tower of Brahma. Sexty. See.
5/30/09
And suddenly I stopped. I stood still as the swarm of minds washed around me. Astral bodies colliding and crashing about my person, sparking off into distant twinkling starwinks. Up and down and side by side, spinning minds whipping by, standing as stone, firework smash into my own.
The molecule that warbles among the air, the grain of sand slipping weaving, connected to each other, diagonally damned sentience balancing itself out, lest it whirl off free. Alone. Looking forward, one runs, for all they're worth. Looking at, the two bonds, feeding the other with it's hovering self, unicorn blast through the temple.
We are just the bits ripping away at unreality, the termite twisting tearing away hunks of light, carving grooves of sound. One step up, two steps back, the polarization of ourselves writing on infinity. We make an impact, puncture time and space, slamming our fists at its rough hide. We will survive!
A door opens, light that is impossible comes forth, the air digitized in its wake. Flatscreen virtual world, an inflatable hamster wheel of isolation, I realize I am inside a revolving hologram. Mike Gallows steps in and brings me back to my quarters. He created me, he owns me. He is my maker.
Training for tomorrow is what I'm told. A day will come when I am needed, and what I know will be good enough, to save who I need to save. I obey orders. Eventually I realize I'm the one who told me. Now, as I untell myself, the very matter surrounding me becomes unglued, and I'm twirling down, spiral spine speeding down.
I sit at a desk and eradicate my identity. I open the envelopes, look through the papers, shred what has info, and tear up what's left. It trains my mind, and sharpens my hands. Erases my existence. Released the text to the trees, broken apart financial record.
I heft my books. Upstairs, downstairs, and back thousands of times, the step count alternating each go, so I could keep track of my ebb and flow. It strains my arms, my muscles rippling and snapping taut against my bones. Once every piece of my identity is lifted, carried the weight as stones tied round my ankles, I now could carry the world.
I gasped for breath as I rose to the surface. The bubble vacuum sealed against my skin, I tore away at its skin, clawing my fingers into its molecular makeup. It tore open, air whooshing into my lungs, sucking down liquid dimensional sewage. I hit the floor like a wet sack of clay, my tone body thudding against the cold plastic tiles.
And suddenly I stopped. I stood still as the swarm of minds washed around me. Astral bodies colliding and crashing about my person, sparking off into distant twinkling starwinks. Up and down and side by side, spinning minds whipping by, standing as stone, firework smash into my own.
The molecule that warbles among the air, the grain of sand slipping weaving, connected to each other, diagonally damned sentience balancing itself out, lest it whirl off free. Alone. Looking forward, one runs, for all they're worth. Looking at, the two bonds, feeding the other with it's hovering self, unicorn blast through the temple.
We are just the bits ripping away at unreality, the termite twisting tearing away hunks of light, carving grooves of sound. One step up, two steps back, the polarization of ourselves writing on infinity. We make an impact, puncture time and space, slamming our fists at its rough hide. We will survive!
A door opens, light that is impossible comes forth, the air digitized in its wake. Flatscreen virtual world, an inflatable hamster wheel of isolation, I realize I am inside a revolving hologram. Mike Gallows steps in and brings me back to my quarters. He created me, he owns me. He is my maker.
Training for tomorrow is what I'm told. A day will come when I am needed, and what I know will be good enough, to save who I need to save. I obey orders. Eventually I realize I'm the one who told me. Now, as I untell myself, the very matter surrounding me becomes unglued, and I'm twirling down, spiral spine speeding down.
I sit at a desk and eradicate my identity. I open the envelopes, look through the papers, shred what has info, and tear up what's left. It trains my mind, and sharpens my hands. Erases my existence. Released the text to the trees, broken apart financial record.
I heft my books. Upstairs, downstairs, and back thousands of times, the step count alternating each go, so I could keep track of my ebb and flow. It strains my arms, my muscles rippling and snapping taut against my bones. Once every piece of my identity is lifted, carried the weight as stones tied round my ankles, I now could carry the world.
I gasped for breath as I rose to the surface. The bubble vacuum sealed against my skin, I tore away at its skin, clawing my fingers into its molecular makeup. It tore open, air whooshing into my lungs, sucking down liquid dimensional sewage. I hit the floor like a wet sack of clay, my tone body thudding against the cold plastic tiles.
Monday, March 15, 2010
The Tower of Brahma. Sexty (b)
5/13/09
ToB. Reality deformers. Nirvana. Hell. Interactive reality bubbles. Stronger ones dominate, video game interface, cheat code enabled. Outside the bubble is a burning wasteland, suffering and eternal dying, none know rest nor respite.
Reality swipes across virtual touchscreen individual cosmos, an infinite amout of hard drive space for maximum pixel interaction. When two of these merge, truly immerse into one another, the power ebb bobs and rises up the ranks.
iPods become iPeople, identities squeezed into a FacebookMentalSpaceSlideShowSoundtrack, pinned to your lapel, in neon green with pink stripes. Embryonic entertainment, life rafts for the soul, what keeps the flames at bay for one more generation. The devil wants his due.
We're microscopic introspective self aware simpletons becoming a flare in the dark of unknown raw universe. Just a twinkle as we turn towards the light, fire scorching the shape of our collective face. The ideal and superman are the forerunners of new worldwide consciousness.
But just a pixel to gods of protoplasmic near sentience, gaining form and mass from the glare of our souls burning out.
ToB. Reality deformers. Nirvana. Hell. Interactive reality bubbles. Stronger ones dominate, video game interface, cheat code enabled. Outside the bubble is a burning wasteland, suffering and eternal dying, none know rest nor respite.
Reality swipes across virtual touchscreen individual cosmos, an infinite amout of hard drive space for maximum pixel interaction. When two of these merge, truly immerse into one another, the power ebb bobs and rises up the ranks.
iPods become iPeople, identities squeezed into a FacebookMentalSpaceSlideShowSoundtrack, pinned to your lapel, in neon green with pink stripes. Embryonic entertainment, life rafts for the soul, what keeps the flames at bay for one more generation. The devil wants his due.
We're microscopic introspective self aware simpletons becoming a flare in the dark of unknown raw universe. Just a twinkle as we turn towards the light, fire scorching the shape of our collective face. The ideal and superman are the forerunners of new worldwide consciousness.
But just a pixel to gods of protoplasmic near sentience, gaining form and mass from the glare of our souls burning out.
Monday, March 8, 2010
The Tower of Brahma. Chapter 60. Sexty.
5/13/09
"People Magazine actually coined the phrase, but that reinvigorating buzzword that has given new life to old age can only be attributed to one man: Charles Crown."
I was encased in some sort of proto-plasmic coccoon, an ethereal embryonic capsule with a plunging elevator vibe. Across the skin of the bubble were imagewords, or iWords, a complete societal initiation into the year 2036.
"He grew up in a lower class, blue collar family on Long Island, New York. His parents, still teenagers, raised him with the aid of the grandparents. His father worked as a mechanic, building race cars and fixing his Mustang. His mother taught him to feel, read to him every night and never left his side til this day."
The generic photomontage, with telepathic audio tracks, dialogue or voice over, commentary track from the ID, Ego & Superego, washed over my being making me experience a dramatic re-enactment, POV, steady cam, COPS style sensation, immersed in altered dreamstate.
"Charles was often quiet and shy in his early days, preferring to hide behind mom's legs or in the middle of clothing racks in early 20th Century 'Department Stores'. He was lost in a daydream haze, until the day he died. A hotdog bite just a tad too big ended his life despite his father's attempts to run him to a local hospital."
I felt like choking. Gagging on early development biopic nausea. Where was I? What is the primordial ooze on top of me? I pressed my finger into the membrane which held firm, despite water droplets like ice melting dripping down the sides. I ran the jagged edge of my nail against its skin.
"When Charles was resurrected he had already passed over, clinically dead for sixty four seconds, before a resuscitation padle brought him back to us. In those sixty four seconds, everything had changed: the World, Charles, You. All of reality altered slightly, although psyientists would not make this discovery til 2020."
Infomercial documentaries with advertisement hyperlinks beamed straight to the cerebral cortex. The frontal lobes are wiggled into a vibrational pattern that allows minds to perceive. I scratch at the surface of this gelatinous gumball, making the signal flicker every so slightly.
"Charles' parents could not afford to sustain a living and so had to 'volunteer' their son to a (recently declassified) government secret agent program where the blank slate of Charles' mind was replaced with an 'artificial intelligence', or AI, named Babel. What they didn't know was that there was still something deep within the spirit of Charles Crown."
The story started to get interesting so I ceased my nail surgical strike and began to let the flood fill my being. I found myself eager to become one with my surroundings, to withdraw into myself and fold into everything that ever is. The light of the void, the dark of the bright, prism shift to pinnacle pyramid perfection.
"A childhood incident involving a landlord's dog had burned itself onto Charles' psyche. Meta-physicists say that he was chosen to be a canine spirit, while psychologists say that this attack and release formed a stronger bond with the child than his human parents' imprint. Either way, government scientists were intrigued."
Sitting in pillows, all around you, sleepy drifting off in mid day sunshine, stress and tension long since faded and forgotten about, discarded as bones settle into place, free from fiction the skin sits, relaxed breaths freeing each bit by bit up your body. Lit up chakras glow like a race in reverse, red stopping, orange uncurling, green growing, purple popping, blue blossoming, white sprouting.
"The wild animal spirit and simulated personality eventually formed a union, and this persona renamed itself Charles Crown, but what was left of the original personality is unknown. Research is being done today that will uncover the secrets of identity and the mysteries of birth. The very essence of humanity. The meaning of life."
"People Magazine actually coined the phrase, but that reinvigorating buzzword that has given new life to old age can only be attributed to one man: Charles Crown."
I was encased in some sort of proto-plasmic coccoon, an ethereal embryonic capsule with a plunging elevator vibe. Across the skin of the bubble were imagewords, or iWords, a complete societal initiation into the year 2036.
"He grew up in a lower class, blue collar family on Long Island, New York. His parents, still teenagers, raised him with the aid of the grandparents. His father worked as a mechanic, building race cars and fixing his Mustang. His mother taught him to feel, read to him every night and never left his side til this day."
The generic photomontage, with telepathic audio tracks, dialogue or voice over, commentary track from the ID, Ego & Superego, washed over my being making me experience a dramatic re-enactment, POV, steady cam, COPS style sensation, immersed in altered dreamstate.
"Charles was often quiet and shy in his early days, preferring to hide behind mom's legs or in the middle of clothing racks in early 20th Century 'Department Stores'. He was lost in a daydream haze, until the day he died. A hotdog bite just a tad too big ended his life despite his father's attempts to run him to a local hospital."
I felt like choking. Gagging on early development biopic nausea. Where was I? What is the primordial ooze on top of me? I pressed my finger into the membrane which held firm, despite water droplets like ice melting dripping down the sides. I ran the jagged edge of my nail against its skin.
"When Charles was resurrected he had already passed over, clinically dead for sixty four seconds, before a resuscitation padle brought him back to us. In those sixty four seconds, everything had changed: the World, Charles, You. All of reality altered slightly, although psyientists would not make this discovery til 2020."
Infomercial documentaries with advertisement hyperlinks beamed straight to the cerebral cortex. The frontal lobes are wiggled into a vibrational pattern that allows minds to perceive. I scratch at the surface of this gelatinous gumball, making the signal flicker every so slightly.
"Charles' parents could not afford to sustain a living and so had to 'volunteer' their son to a (recently declassified) government secret agent program where the blank slate of Charles' mind was replaced with an 'artificial intelligence', or AI, named Babel. What they didn't know was that there was still something deep within the spirit of Charles Crown."
The story started to get interesting so I ceased my nail surgical strike and began to let the flood fill my being. I found myself eager to become one with my surroundings, to withdraw into myself and fold into everything that ever is. The light of the void, the dark of the bright, prism shift to pinnacle pyramid perfection.
"A childhood incident involving a landlord's dog had burned itself onto Charles' psyche. Meta-physicists say that he was chosen to be a canine spirit, while psychologists say that this attack and release formed a stronger bond with the child than his human parents' imprint. Either way, government scientists were intrigued."
Sitting in pillows, all around you, sleepy drifting off in mid day sunshine, stress and tension long since faded and forgotten about, discarded as bones settle into place, free from fiction the skin sits, relaxed breaths freeing each bit by bit up your body. Lit up chakras glow like a race in reverse, red stopping, orange uncurling, green growing, purple popping, blue blossoming, white sprouting.
"The wild animal spirit and simulated personality eventually formed a union, and this persona renamed itself Charles Crown, but what was left of the original personality is unknown. Research is being done today that will uncover the secrets of identity and the mysteries of birth. The very essence of humanity. The meaning of life."
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Tower of Brahma - Chapter 59.3 - Overpowering Dreams
5/10/09
"My name is Charles fucking Crown, and I can fucking write!" I screamed at myself.
I felt the words, never thinking of their intent, only knowing I was alive. Scenerios slash their way inside my dreaming mind. Everything becomes alone knowing that I'm just fine. I walk that straight and narrow line, til the very eternal end of time.
Security blanket blues make me slosh along the sidewalks, daydream ideas dash down my desires, igniting and fighting somewhat driving fires through and through. Poet suffering in a bed of pens and kneels, begging to be forgiven, seeking salvation in text. Alphabetical hypothetical absolution.
Delirium dances into the night, sweaty simpleton spinning round himself, artist in retreat from introspection and reflection as I flail about. Fade to black, the end, fin. Once again.
I caught up, got in, and was launched beyond all that is around me. I got here first, just in time to fly higher, soaring solitaire into the skyline. I laugh and cringe to watch the grinding of gears of society crush each other into shape. The noise becomes a tune, shrieking sanity springing forth from their fears, praising dysfunction over deform.
So I walk. And I see. Listen to them. Understand their dreams, their silent screams, see what they really mean. I know them all at once, when I was new and shiny, glistening innocent glory beaming from me. Afterbirth Jesus, Kung Fu Drifter, Word Conqueror. I am all these things and more.
I will die so you will know.
"My name is Charles fucking Crown, and I can fucking write!" I screamed at myself.
I felt the words, never thinking of their intent, only knowing I was alive. Scenerios slash their way inside my dreaming mind. Everything becomes alone knowing that I'm just fine. I walk that straight and narrow line, til the very eternal end of time.
Security blanket blues make me slosh along the sidewalks, daydream ideas dash down my desires, igniting and fighting somewhat driving fires through and through. Poet suffering in a bed of pens and kneels, begging to be forgiven, seeking salvation in text. Alphabetical hypothetical absolution.
Delirium dances into the night, sweaty simpleton spinning round himself, artist in retreat from introspection and reflection as I flail about. Fade to black, the end, fin. Once again.
I caught up, got in, and was launched beyond all that is around me. I got here first, just in time to fly higher, soaring solitaire into the skyline. I laugh and cringe to watch the grinding of gears of society crush each other into shape. The noise becomes a tune, shrieking sanity springing forth from their fears, praising dysfunction over deform.
So I walk. And I see. Listen to them. Understand their dreams, their silent screams, see what they really mean. I know them all at once, when I was new and shiny, glistening innocent glory beaming from me. Afterbirth Jesus, Kung Fu Drifter, Word Conqueror. I am all these things and more.
I will die so you will know.
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