Royal Carnival

Royal Carnival (2017)

              The travelling royal carnival was a sight to behold for the provincial citizens of the Dolmetha kingdom. They gathered in curious droves to witness rare examples of electronica technology as well as devices of miniature atomics, which were used to create wondrous displays of color and sound that adorned the midsummer sky. The old legends said these technologies were commonplace all around the world before the Last Great War. During that war the world shattered. Out of its ruins arose several kingdoms which have been constantly sparring for dominance ever since. Dolmetha was one of the few to successfully maintain its cache of Old World technology. Reginald stood in awe next to his father Edwin as the final array of detonated atomics lit up the night sky like a piercing beam straight from Heaven.

                “Father, look! Father, look! It… it is marvelous!” Reginald could not take his eyes off the glistening purple and blue display.

                “Yes, son. Amazing, isn’t it?”

                They continued watching the exploding lights in silence until the show’s climatic finish ran its course. While the festivities were dying down an unnaturally cold breeze swept across the field of observers. The chill must have come on earlier but the crowd was too preoccupied with the light show in the sky to notice. Edwin tightened his son’s light sweater around his shoulders as they made their way towards the carnival’s exit, but it was not enough protection from the suddenly piercing wind.

                “We better get home,” Edwin said in a worried tone. “The air is sinking fast.”

                “Why?” a curious and slightly confused Reginald asked. They picked up the pace. Tension rose in their extremities. Edwin did his best to press forward while maintaining his composure. Now was not the time to break into a panic. Not around his son. Not after the way last year’s attack took his mother’s life.

                “Can’t say for sure, son. ‘Been lots of rumors swirling around Khamna down south of us. Best not to worry. We’re hundreds of miles north of the border.”

                A murmur of voices from the crowd’s rear began picking up inertia as Edwin and his son continued walking towards the main road. The murmur then turned into a consistent hum until someone let out a deathly scream. The front of the crowd then broke into a run. Edwin scooped his boy off the ground and started running with the others. More screams followed from the back. The town’s analog emergency siren let out a series of bone grinding wails.

                “Hang on to me!” Edwin said in Reginald’s ear as he used his opposite shoulder to break through the crowd. The mass of people kept growing denser until it eventually came to a halt. The carnage in the rear continued to draw closer. Edwin and Reginald had nowhere left to go. The entire throng of people was walled in by a fence that did not exist even ten minutes prior.

                “What is the meaning of this? What is this?” a man yelled from the front of the pack.

                “They’ve got us trapped here on purpose!” shrieked a woman. “This can’t be happening! Not now! No! No!”

                Edwin stayed quiet and observant. He felt a strong sense of danger but did not want to react prematurely. He then tuned his attention toward the crowd’s rear and he heard the sound of his darkest nightmares. War hounds. Specially bred canines which were engineered to be of high intelligence and outfitted with steel implants in the claws and teeth. He heard human bones breaking under their insurmountable might. He heard gargled screams as the attacking dogs slashed the throats of their victims, moving from one target to the next with unparalleled efficiency. Then an electric voice broke through the chaos over what sounded like a public intercom. Seldom used technology, even in Dolmetha.

                “Test protocol thirteen underway. Running new protocol Population Control. Population Control status successful.”

                The message kept repeating over and over again in a maddening loop. The crowd kept trying to break the containment fence to no avail. Edwin braced for death. He held his son tighter and whispered in his ear.

                “Be strong, Reginald. I love you. Stay strong for me now, okay?”

                “Okay, dad,” said Reginald. He did not know what war hounds were. He was not yet jaded enough to develop the fear of a government using destructive weapons against its own people. Edwin knew better. He served in armor for Dolmetha for six years before Reginald was born. He knew of the unspeakable tactics that kingdoms used during conflict, he just never thought he would have to suffer through one as a family man with a dead wife. He tried his best to comfort Reginald during their final moments as the hounds closed in.

                “I want you to close your eyes, Reginald. Think of a happy memory and pretend you’re there. Think of long summer evenings relaxing by the lake or the curious adventure of your first day at school. Then let go, Reginald. Relax and let go. We’re going to be okay.”

                “Okay, dad,” said Reginald. His expression was docile and accepting.

                A hound then leaped from the darkness and knocked Reginald out of Edwin’s arms. The boy let out a yelp but was quickly muted. The hound destroyed his face with several swipes of its enhanced claws. Then it crushed Reginald’s skull and ripped apart his throat and upper chest with its teeth. Edwin let out a primal roar and went to the defense of his boy but he stood no chance as Reginald was already reduced to a pile of bleeding flesh and bone beaten into the soil. Edwin turned around to search for the attacker when a second hound tore into his back. He attempted to fight it off but made no progress as a third hound clawed at the front of his torso and systematically shredded his organs.

                They went down one by one, the members of the curious provincial crowd. The hounds left not a single person standing. The recorded message playing over the public intercom was shut down and the fence was broken down and stowed away. The royal authorities of Dolmetha ordered a thorough cleaning of the field the next morning.

Synthite

Synthite (2017)

               Dennis Jones took the dose of powdered synthite with an abrupt inhalation through his left nostril. After the initial burn settled down he took a seat on his couch and prepared to ride out the first wave of psychosis and delirium that would soon follow. He knew the dose taken was sufficient to break through and reach maximum effects. He also knew that the accompanying madness would wreak havoc on his psyche until the moment he transitioned to the other side.

                The drug was still a relatively untested novelty, even for seasoned psychonauts such as Dennis. Reports of its effects first spread on the deep web news network called the Mystic Underground a few years ago, when it was accidentally discovered by an amateur chemist attempting to create a more potent version of DMT. The reports were profound in their nature. The first few users who broke through experienced the essence of an independent multiverse inside their own mind. They were able to live out a series of events not as beings with egos but as sentient particles of subatomic matter. They could form and create entire chains of multiverses and live out generations upon generations of lifetimes as the beings who inhabited them. The power of this drug greatly surpassed DMT, which was thought to be the most powerful psychoactive substance prior to the discovery of synthite.

                The first wave hit Dennis like a freight train. His body began to tingle and then slightly warm up while his mind began to feel like a balloon inflating at an exponentially increasing velocity. Memories of his childhood flooded his mind but they now were severely altered. Instead of being pushed on his swing by a compassionate father, Dennis was being whip lashed around by a snarling belligerent demon with thick grey horns. The psychosis had begun. More visions followed. Dennis’s body grew ever warmer and his perception of his own mind continued to expand, faster and faster.

                Within moments Dennis found himself floating in deep space, completely disoriented. A cold void surrounded everything he perceived. Then the demon returned, only this time it was much larger, and it was laughing at him.

                “What do you want from me? Where am I?” Dennis asked. He felt an intense sickness grip his senses. 

                “I am your own interpretation of you,” said the demon. “Why so troubled?”

                “You’re not me!” Dennis yelled back. His eyes were bulging out if his head in a fit of panic. His arms and legs flailed around in a swimmer's motion as he desperately tried to find something to hold on to.

                “You have much to learn. Do you even remember taking the drug?”

                “What drug? What the hell is this? This isn't real!” said Dennis.

                Dennis truly forgot. He forgot that he had taken the most powerful psychedelic in the universe. He was at its mercy now. The demon continued in a calm and collected tone.

                “I have much to show you,” said the demon. “First you must let go of the part of you that is tortured. It doesn’t get any easier from here on out. This trip is just beginning.”

                “I’m not tortured… I had a good life… then I woke up here… in space.” said Dennis.

                “This is an illusion. Don’t be dense. You took a drug, remember?”

                “No, I don’t remember… at all.”

                “What I will tell you next will shock you, but I assure you that I am telling the truth. You’ve been on this drug your entire life, Dennis. None of your life actually happened. You were an astronaut and you smuggled some of this stuff into your suit during a spacewalk. There was some trouble. Your ship and crew abandoned you. Now you’re floating in deep space with only minutes left in your life support system.”

                Suddenly Dennis woke up on his couch. The change of scenery occurred in less than a second.

                Deep space.

  The demon.

                What happened?

                The chilling memory of what the demon said remained with Dennis as he was coming to his senses. His current life wasn’t real. He actually was still deep space, minutes away from death, tripping on synthite. Dennis then began to question himself. Which reality was actually true? If synthite was as powerful as the reports said, then he could be tripping right now in his clean modern apartment while his true reality is actually him drifting in space as a lost astronaut. He did seem to recall vague inconsistencies in his life, even strange flashes of white and purple light which occurred in his field of vision from time to time. Could they be small seams in the drug’s grip of his mind?

                To get some immediate answers Dennis took out his mobile phone and called his good friend Jack. There was some initial static in the call, which gave Dennis a sinking feeling of doom in his stomach. Eventually, however, Jack answered the call.

                “Hello.”

                “Hey, Jack. It’s Dennis. I’m having a bit of a struggle today…”

                “You need to stop tripping, man. What did you take this time?” said Jack.

                “It’s more of what I didn’t take,” said Dennis as he sunk into his couch.

                “What do you mean?” said Jack.

                “What is reality? Are we real?” said Dennis.

                “That’s a deep philosophical question,” said Jack. “No one truly knows what reality is, but I suppose this is as real as it gets.”

                “If your whole life has been you tripping on a powerful drug, how would you know in the first place? What if you simply died when the effect began to wear off?”

                “Hmm… are you sure you didn’t take anything. You sound tweaked, Dennis.” said Jack.

                He was right. There was a lot of panic and tension in Denis’s voice. Jack sensed that his friend was in deep psychological trouble.

                “Look, I’m at a store around your area. I’ll stop by with a case of beer. We can just hang out and relax, you seem to be struggling,” said Jack.

                “Hmm… sounds like a good idea. I’ll see you soon.”

                They both hung up their phones. Jack arrived at Denis’s apartment about twenty minutes later with a case of beer and a few bags of snacks.

                “Good to see you,” said Jack. “Man, you don’t look so good. Maybe it is time to give this psychonaut thing a rest? It is breaking you down pretty badly.”

                Dennis did not answer normally. Instead, he screamed and reached for the machete he kept in the hallway closet. Jack suddenly got uneasy.

                “Hold it, man… what… what… what! What are you doing?” Jack began to backpedal but he could not escape. One precise swing of the machete sliced into his stomach open and he collapsed to the floor, bleeding.

                “Get away from me!” screamed Dennis. He did not see Jack as his normal self. He saw him as the demon from earlier. “Make it stop! Make it stop! Make it stop!” He screamed the phrase a few times while pacing around in circles. Jack was on the floor, bleeding out and shaking.

                “No more! No more! No more!” Dennis let out several more screams and then charged towards the biggest window in his apartment. His flailing arms hit several shelves, knocking down all of their contents. Without hesitation he let out a primal roar and jumped while leading with his shoulder. He broke through the glass and fell twenty one floors down to the concrete street. 

                

A Faded Memory

A Faded Memory (2016)

When all of life is lived, it becomes a faded memory

What was its purpose and who was it for?

Why do some claw hard and scream out for more?

Being alive is a delicate time

A few steps awry cease yours, maybe mine

Some words and feelings are good gallant things

What will your spirit sing when it leaves?

A temple of one, whose construction has faded

In old age dies youth, but the spirit is not jaded

There is a ghost deep inside there somewhere

And one day it flows to not here nor out there

The Urban Cannibal

The Urban Cannibal (2016)

William Humphrey scurried away from the refuse pile with a decayed bone between his teeth. He was a hungry man, but it was not traditional dining that he was seeking. He needed to eat a young boy's hand to fulfill the current month's consumption requirements, which were written out with marker on the flap of an old cardboard box. The chicken bone in his mouth was merely a deterrent, a slight distraction away from his impending psychosis.

The local elementary school was an option for fresh meat, but how would William Humphrey acquire such a delicacy? Disguising himself as a janitor and drugging a kid into submission at the end of the school day was an option. However this would inevitably cause a scene, and even if it did not, the parents would surely discover that their child was missing. William had no immediate solution. Days dragged on and the chicken bones he constantly devoured to stay mildly sane never got any better. Reality was but a thin veil. William wondered why the poultry consumption did not quell his cravings. Must the target to be devoured be sentient and intelligent? Why was farm animal meat not enough?

William did not have a job. He survived on disability checks after the state declared him mentally unfit to work. This occurred when his employer reported him to a health facility because he could not stay on any kind of schedule. William would come into work during completely random hours, and his employer decided enough was enough when he showed up at four in the morning and began to pound on the front door of the office building.  An experienced cannibal, he had never once been caught practicing the art. It was common reality, the routine of daily life, that he lacked the skills for. The days seemed to fall out of order during his most ravenous cravings for flesh. Before William knew it, an entire month had passed and his July prerogative was then void. The cravings persisted stronger than ever. Each night inside his tiny cluttered apartment he fell asleep sweating and trembling.

In August William began to question himself, his identity, and whether or not he was even truly alive. He was on a court order to take medication for psychosis, but he did not adhere to it. It made him dumb and slow, he reasoned. He also concluded that the only way to live life was through natural means. Foreign substances and drugs in the body  made life unnatural, and so he abstained from taking such things even though he was self-aware of his own downward spiral.

On a warm September night William stumbled into the back of a hospice parking lot. He had given up on finding young flesh and decided to find an old corpse to chew on. Delusion and dissociation plagued his mind, for William himself was completely unaware of how he ended up at the hospice in the first place. During a small moment of lucidity he deemed to himself that it was fate and then continued on his delusional prowl.

And then a chance! Two workers were carrying a large bundle wrapped in plastic through the back door. William waited near the loading dock and then pounced on the one in front with uncontrolled rage. The second man seemed shaken and moved in to attempt to restrain him. William, however, would have none of it, and knocked the man unconscious with a swing of his right fist. The first man, deeply struck by the moment's panic, ran towards the front door while screaming for security. This gave William a moment to examine the large bundle, which he assumed was a dead body.

Inside were dozens of aluminum cans and plastic bottles. He glanced up in fear and saw Alvin's Recycling Company written on the side of the truck.

"Help me!" William screamed.

"You had a bad dream, William," said the psychiatric nurse suddenly by his side. The plastic-wrapped bundle, the unconscious man, the hospice dock, and the truck were nowhere to be found. Blindingly white fluorescence surrounded William. Moments later he discovered that his arms were immobilized and bound in a straight-jacket.

The nurse gave William Humphrey a psychotropic injection and he went into another deep, calm sleep in his assigned bed.

Elvira and Jake

Elvira and Jake (2016)

Jake Briggs found himself alone in the street as the sun set over a brisk autumn day in Chicago. He had just been turned away at the homeless shelter because it was currently over capacity. He had nowhere else to go and no one to turn to during this particularly awful point in his life. The shelter offered some assistance in the past, but not enough for consistent survival. Days like today reminded him of that. The previous times that he was turned away, he would move on and go begging near the local highway exit, hoping that a few passing motorists would be generous enough to place some spare change in his dusty fast food cup. On this particular evening, Jake decided to forgo that strategy. He went to the nearest hotel instead. His plan was to wait for the kitchen staff until they threw out the day’s unused food. After they were through, he would dig in the refuse bags in hopes of finding some sustenance to help get him through the night. In the deep throes of desperation Jake would do anything to survive.

Jake approached the hotel just as the final beams of light vacated the dim November sky. He was huddled in a raggedy jacket full of holes and old scuff marks. His thin grey shoes were a few days away from wearing all the way through. He took solace in the fact that he had washed, shaved, and brushed his teeth at the shelter two nights ago, and so he was not as non-presentable as he could have been. Things are bad now, but they could have been much worse, he thought as he entered the hotel’s parking lot. He then sat down on the curb of a vacant parking spot near the dumpster and waited.

Two hours passed and the cold night air strongly sunk its grip into the terrain. Pedestrians slowly streamed in and out of the hotel’s back door. Jake lazily gazed at them as he sat there, drowning in waves of incessant nostalgia. He was just like those fortunate people once, not too long ago. He remembered how he was a warehouse manager at a local freight distribution facility only seven months prior. He rented a comfortable apartment and had his own car. Food was never scarce and there was always sufficient time for leisure after work. It was a good life and he did not have many worries while living it. An unfortunately timed psychotic breakdown at the warehouse took all of that away from him. At the peak of his psychosis, he became so belligerent and mad with rage that all three of the paramedics at the scene had to jump on him and restrain him one limb at a time. They gave him a double-dose of sedative to make sure he remained subdued. The psychotic episode seemed quite distant now, faded by the drifting tides of time. Jake probed his mind for answers as to what had caused the breakdown in the first place. To this day, he did not know.

“Hey there, it looks like you could use some help,” an older woman’s voice startled Jake into alertness. He had unintentionally passed out on the small patch of grass behind the parking spot.

“I’ll be okay,” he mumbled as he came to his senses. “Thanks, though.”

“The low is in the 30s tonight. You’re gonna freeze out here! And you’re not gonna pick through that dumpster for food, are you? Oh no… how about you come over for dinner? A warm meal could do you some good.” The woman seemed oddly hospitable for a stranger.

“Thanks, I’ll be okay, I will…” Jake did not want to burden this woman with his troubles. He finally got a decent look at her under the street light. She appeared to be in her mid 40s and heavy set, not particularly pleasing aesthetically. Her gaze was one of universal loneliness. It appeared that she needed a companion just as much as he needed a meal. He pondered the situation in his mind for a few moments and then decided to come with her. The air was sinking into a numb frigid stillness. He was sure that whatever happened henceforth, his weary body would not regret his decision to choose her over the bitter cold.

“I’m Elvira,” the woman said as she drove her late 1990s Oldsmobile out of the hotel parking lot. After an extended moment of awkward silence, Jake finally responded.

“I’m Jake.”

“Nice to meet you,” Elvira said. “I have some chicken thawing out on my counter. We’re gonna have a nice little meal.”

“Thank you,” said Jake. It was all that could muster. He had no idea why a complete stranger was being so hospitable to him. Jake had always lived his life as a downtrodden underdog. He never had many friends. The once had usually kept their distance. Jake saw himself as an unfortunate character, always contemplating over things that could go wrong instead of enjoying the things that didn’t. He would attempt to break this pattern tonight, and it would be nice to experience a proper meal after months on the street. The stale soup and canned meat served at the shelter were passable, at best. He was ready for a real meal.

They were inside Elvira’s two-bedroom apartment now. It was located in Arlington Heights, one of the northwestern suburbs of Chicago. Jake was sitting nervously at the dining room table while Elvira put the finishing touches on their meal in the kitchen. A slightly obnoxious dog released bursts of staccato barks from the hallway. He was breaking in a newly purchased toy.

“I don’t cook much for others, I don’t have much company over,” said Elvira as she brought over a platter of baked chicken followed by mashed potatoes and a bowl of steamed vegetables. “I hope this will do.” She placed the food in the center of the table. Jake felt intense saliva build up in his mouth. The food looked and smelled magnificent.

“It looks great, thank you,” said Jake. He then caught himself, realizing that ‘thank you’ was just about all he had been saying to this woman. He decided to open up a more proper stream of dialogue in an attempt to get to know his host.

“You have a nice home, Elvira,” Jake said. “Would you mind me asking what you do for a living?”

"Nothing fancy,” Elvira replied. “I’m an office assistant for an insurance company. The job is repetitive, but I’m quite comfortable with it.”

“I used to be a warehouse manager before I hit some hard times,” said Jake.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, you’ll get through it,” Elvira said. Sweetie. Jake was not prepared to hear that unforeseen term of endearment. It made him nervous, as well as introspective. He once had a long term partner, Cassandra, who left him because his managerial position at the warehouse made him unavailable - at least in her eyes. He had no recent major romantic events in his life to speak of, having only been on a few forgettable dates since Cassandra left him.

“It won’t be easy to get through this. My entire family abandoned me; no one will take me in. And you know, it’s almost impossible for a homeless person to get a job.”

“Don’t you worry, Jake. There will be a solution, just keep your head up. You know… I’ve come to like you even though we’ve just met. You’re an honest man, a simple and humble man. People like you get lost in the cruel trenches of the world.”

“I appreciate your kind hospitality,” said Jake.

They continued to eat and converse. Elvira caught Jake up on the major news and sporting events that he had missed out on. When dinner was over Elvira hinted that Jake could sleep on the couch. Jake was longing for intimate contact with a woman, but was rather clueless on how to approach his newfound desire of going to bed with Elvira.

“I’ll get you some extra blankets; you should be okay out here.”

“Thank you,” said Jake.

They slept separately with no contact. Jake slept soundly and did not stir throughout the night. The couch was much more comfortable than the stiff cots at the homeless shelter. He woke up to the sounds and smells of Elvira making breakfast in the kitchen.

“Eggs and bacon, all for you. Oh, and there’s some toast too,” said Elvira. “I must go to work now. We can discuss your future arrangements when I get back. Make yourself at home, help yourself to anything in the fridge, and just enjoy the day. I’ll be back before you know it. Oh, and please scrub the bathroom.”

Elvira placed the plate on the table and left the apartment, locking it behind her. Jake, still rather unaccustomed to full meals, devoured the food. After he ate he switched on the TV and tuned to the round-the-clock sports channel for background noise and pondered the sudden change in his life. He could see a potential romantic relationship developing between himself and Elvira. She seemed nice enough and it was a comfortable home. He figured he had nothing to lose. Whatever troubles or conflict that may come up here would pale in comparison to being homeless. He then remembered Elvira’s last comment, oh, and please scrub the bathroom. Well, why not? Doing a few chores in exchange food and a bed seemed reasonable.

Elvira came home just a bit after six P.M. Jake was happy to see her, but she seemed drained from a long day at work.

“Hi, did you scrub the bathroom?” was the first thing Elvira said.

Jake felt a nerve inside him being struck by the question. He now felt somewhat disrespected by Elvira. He wondered if she picked him up from the parking lot just to be a live-in servant whom she wouldn’t have to pay.

“Yes, I cleaned it the best I could,” said Jake.

 Elvira went on to her bedroom to change out of her work clothes. In that particular moment Jake was feeling both angry and lustful towards Elvira. His mind bypassed all rational judgment when he decided to follow her down the hallway. He was now waiting in a slouched position outside of her closed door. Without knocking he barged in on her changing.

“I want you!” Jake awkwardly exclaimed.

Elvira seemed somewhat stunned by Jake’s intrusion but she did not put a stop to his advance. Jake embraced her then kissed her and she kissed him back. Both of them felt an internal rush of pleasure as they made physical contact with each other. Both had been alone for a very long time. A rather quint session of love-making followed. The two loners felt at easy with each other and neither was judgmental of the other's ailments.

The next morning Elvira went to work as usual and Jake was left alone with a new set of orders. They never did discuss the terms of Jake's stay. Elvira also seemed more crass and standoffish when giving Jake the new set of tasks, which had greatly expanded from simply scrubbing the bathroom.

Jake was vacuuming the living room carpet when Elvira walked in with a cringing demeanor and a slight scowl on her face. Clearly this was not the woman he bedded last night. He shut off the vacuum and went to the door to greet her, all the while wondering what Elvira's true nature was. Was she a psychopath? Did she get pleasure from ordering him around, beckoning him to do her every command? Jake knew that his slave-like status was still a better state than being homeless.

"Hi, Elvira, did you have a good day at work?"

"Wash those dishes!" Elvira barked.

Jake suddenly felt ill.

"Elvira, I did wash them, they're perfectly clean," he said.

"Wash those damn dishes now!" suddenly she seemed hostile.

"Okay, okay," said Jake as he retreated to the kitchen sink area. Elvira followed him. She then picked up a frying pan from the counter and began to corner him.

"Do my dishes or I swear I'll kill you right here and now!" Elvira was now screaming.

Jake didn't know what to do at first. His survival instincts then sprung forth and he kicked Elvira in the left knee. Fight was chosen over flight. Elvira buckled, dropped the pan, and fell to the floor. Without thinking twice, Jake picked up the dropped frying pan and smashed it against Elvira's skull. Elvira screamed.

Jake smashed her again, harder this time. Pent up rage was exiting. This was it, the culmination of years and years of personal suffering.

Jake swung the pan back again, this swing arcing even further, and struck Elvira one last time. Blood was puddling on the floor near her mouth. Elvira was now silent. Her skull was partially crushed and slimy bits of head tissue were leaking from the cracks.

Jake did not make a single sound. He calmly washed himself free of any blood and then disappeared into the night.

Elvira lay dead on her kitchen floor. Her little dog came from the apartment's hallway and began barking to no avail.

In Winter

In Winter (2016)

Death, the stalking specter

Beckoned from the woods

I lit my final candle

and waited as I should

Its claw was soft as velvet

Its gaze was eagle keen

I seldom knew what entities

Would come pollute my dreams

And so I calmly waited

The moment but a straw

So thin and dry and useless

Against time's gaping maw

There was no need for fighting

There was no shrewd retort

The cancer shrugged it shoulders

And I was then no more

What Was Needed

What Was Needed (2016)

Epochs unfolding swiftly

Glow wild with desire

Everything in between is a dream - 

Only the single moment exists

Reach and reach for something

Once it is yours, it is no more

Longingly wait for something

You never truly needed

The Drone Class Citizen

The Drone Class Citizen (2016)

The drone woke up abruptly from the incessant buzzing of his alarm clock. Five fifteen in the morning lit up on its digital display. It was another routine workday morning in the endless cycle, exactly the same as the previous and upcoming one. Commute. Work. Commute. Eat. Sleep. Such would be his daily life from now until his last breath.

The drone brewed himself a cup of liquid stimulant in his tiny kitchen. He could not afford a more spacious dwelling - not that he would ever need it, or even have time to enjoy it. The drone worked upwards of seventy-six hours per week in order to survive. He had no time for friends, no time for family or acquaintances, and no time to dedicate to finding a mate. If he worked less than seventy hours per week he would be losing money because of the high cost of living in his residential area. The other six hours worth of income were for his savings, which he would need for health care emergencies, inevitably arising from the physical toll of working more than seventy hours per week. Sometimes he worked so intensely that it became a state of being greater than life itself.

After a quick breakfast of toasted bread and fried eggs, the drone went to his private vehicle. It was an old beat-down model of a sub-compact car. He could not afford to replace it. Not that he would ever have time to enjoy it even if he did - for most of his waking hours were spent working.

The drone drove to work while thinking about work. The tasks of the upcoming day would be exactly the same as the last, and yet he thought about them incessantly even when he was awake and not working (which was almost never).

The drone pulled into the parking lot of his company. He exited the vehicle and locked the doors, but deep down inside he knew no one would waste their time stealing this pathetic relic of his pathetic and irrelevant life. He rode the elevator to the fifth floor of his employer's facility, entered his employee identification number into the time clock, and he began to work at his station. He worked doing the same menial and repetitive tasks until the lunch bell sounded. This meant he would have a thirty minute break to consume his food so that he could have enough energy to continue working afterwards. He did precisely that, and then he continued to work.

He worked non-stop up until five o'clock in the evening. After that he drove to his second job, a much lower paying job, but one he needed in order to survive. And so until eleven o'clock at night he would work this second job to the best of his ability. There would be no lunch or dinner break here. He would have to sneak morsels of food out of his pocket while his supervisor's eyes were elsewhere. He needed these morsels of food for energy so that he could continue working his job properly. However, eating morsels of food while working there was strictly prohibited, and so he faced termination each time he did this. And yet, he had to break this job's conduct code because without the morsels he would not have the energy to work this job, and thus he would not have enough money to survive.

The drone continued to work hard each and every day.

And then one day, he died.

21st Century Musician

"21st Century Musician" (2016)

Multiverse Population Theory

Multiverse Population Theory (2016)

The more populous a particular multiverse is, the more advanced and sophisticated it can become.

A multiverse which is populated by one single creature or entity will consist of an eternity of time during which this particular creature or entity lives this eternity out inside its own mind.

A vast and diverse multiverse of many different species, creatures, and entities, such as this one, allows for a much more diverse range of phenomena, such as the passing of generations, death, birth evolution, and the perceived passage of time.

Diversity of participants and observers is critical to the success or failure of a particular multiverse. A multiverse which has observers and participants that can acquire new technology and push known limits will fare better in the concept of existence than, say, a multiverse in which the particularities and parameters prevent any kind of technological progress from happening.

Death in the Capsule

"Death in the Capsule" (2016)

Science Fiction Concepts Part I

Science Fiction Concepts - Part I (2016)

Hyperspatial Science - The theoretical branch of science that deals with non-material space. Experiments conducted using applied Hyperspatial Science have proven the general concept of M-theory and the confirmed existence of Multiverses.

Fractal Enhancement Machine - A theoretical machine that is created using several key principles discovered by Hyperspatial Science. This is a fully functioning machine that can exist in any given material space without physically occupying any of it.

H.E.H. - Hyperspatially Enhanced Human. A biological human who has been fundamentally altered through applied Hyperspatial Science and Technology. A Fractal Enhancement Machine could theoretically be installed in a human brain. This machine would allow that person to perform feats and acquire abilities that would generally be described as humanly impossible by a neutral observer in a controlled setting.

Exponential Theory - The theory describing an individual's learning curve; which in this case is exponential as opposed to the linear one described by conventional wisdom. An individual who applies this theory would notice that his rate of development in any area actually increases over time. When graphed, this would resemble a basic exponential curve slowly bending upwards. Natural biological occurrence of this is extremely rare. An H.E.H. would be intrinsically aware of this theory and its applications. The British Musical Artist Nick Drake (1948 - 1974) is potentially a real-life example of an artist using applied Exponential Theory. Fortunately he happens to have an extensive archive of recorded music which can be analyzed. Nick created completely new Acoustic Guitar Tuning systems based of nothing that ever existed before. He created chords, melody structures, and pieces of rhythm that have never been heard before or replicated since. It is not unreasonable to believe that... if Nick Drake did not have a reasonable command of Applied Exponential Theory, much of his recorded musical talent would be impossible to achieve.

Interval Theory - A theoretical musical theory which disregards all structural features such as key signatures, chords, scales, etc. This theory uses the relationships and intervals between stand-alone musical pitches simply as they are presented, without any preconceived or preexisting notion or structure.

S.A.C. – Statistically Average Citizen. A theoretical mathematical concept that creates a single numerical value based on the total output of one average citizen in one general location in one calendar year. For example, a mathematician who is able to command the proper equations could make a statement such as “The creative output produced by Vincent van Gogh in year 1888 is equal to 550 years of 1,000 S.A.C’s; United States; Year 2016.


Biological Automaton - A biological human, usually an adult, who through either an external or internal series of stimuli, has regressed and "evolved backwards" from his or her previous status as a natural human, in the classical sense. A Biological Automaton can pass any controlled awareness, self-awareness, or basic humanity test. However, this subject is not a true human because of a severe and obvious lack of abilities in any or all of the following skills and tasks: Autonomous Thinking, Critical Thinking, The Questioning and Analysis of Perceived Authority or Hierarchy Systems. A classical natural Human, regardless of talent base or technological advancement, is capable of these basic tasks to some degree. A Biological Automaton is not.

The Hyperspatial Surgeons

This is an account of Hyperspacial Surgery performed through a link between two Multiverses. It can be generally assumed that the two realms are physically and chronologically independent, although they share some parallels in terms of technological advancement.

The Hyperspatial Surgeons (2016)

Dominn adjusted his approach angle four degrees to the left and entered an algorithm value that he estimated would be sufficient. The goal was to temporarily magnify a small cluster of the patient’s brain cells to the size of a few tangible spheres. After running the capture protocol of his surgical multi tool, he entered the data and ran the magnifier.

“Lucky guess…” Angelina smirked.

The targeted neurons burst out from beyond the barrier of the patient’s skull and into one of the gravity bins inside the Surgery Chamber. They began to rotate with precisely the correct angle and momentum that would be required in order to install the core of the Fractal Enhancement Machine.

“How’s the link going, Jimmy?” Dominn addressed his right-hand man.

“Steady. Got a solid one here. We’re still about a half-deviation above sustainable, and we can make it run a bit past that ‘til we hit critical.”

“Good stuff.”

It was Jimmy’s primary task to maintain contact with the patient at all times. One slight miscalculation or mistaken variable, and the link from the Surgery Chamber back into the year 1979 would break down. This would potentially cause an intense cataclysm and endanger both the team of surgeons and the small sleeping boy that they were operating on. The surgeons had several failure control systems running that would minimize the potential damage caused by a broken link. The boy would not be as fortunate if such an event were to take place. He would be vaporized by the instantaneous flash of super heated matter created by link instability. A sizable portion of the city around him would also be destroyed.

Jimmy knew quite well that thousands of innocent people could be wiped out in the name of Hyperspacial Science. It was still a relatively new field of study in the year 3015, and it relied heavily on the intuition and sheer talent level of its purveyors. Jimmy had nerves of steel and it was unlikely for him to fail tonight. Still, as scientists from ancient times discovered, there are no known certainties in any Universe; only probabilities - which could be altered, managed, and bent… but never completely controlled.

“We’ve got a prime lock. Angelina, run it.”

Angelina made a few swipes at her control station and unleashed the core of the Fractal Enhancement Machine. It was a device that existed and functioned in the areas between and around tangible physical space. It pulsated and bent in and out of existence within the rhythm and framework of tiny wormholes through space time that were present in any given setting.

“It’s a go. Power it down.”

Every fraction-of-a-fraction of a second was extremely critical. The link had to be powered down as soon as reasonably possible.

“Got it.”

Jimmy started running the shut down protocols. Safe link closure was nearly guaranteed once the final few critical breach points were stabilized. The tense air in the room began to soften; the surgery team declared this operation as success.

“What do you think he’s gonna do with this?” Angelina reflected, some time later.

“Looks promising,” Dominn mused. “We ran a self-awareness pattern. The kid’s already got a bright future, but if he becomes even vaguely aware of this particular pattern… look out. He may become one of the first clearly defined examples of exponential mental growth in humans. Unparalleled and consistent learning ability in any given field… art, science, music, mathematics, literature... He’s going to be producing Savant level work while simultaneously learning and building onto his existing core of knowledge. There is no limit.”

“What comes after Savant, Dominn?”

“I have no idea.”

Matthau, Journeyman of the Cosmos

Matthau, Journeyman of the Cosmos (2015)

     I have never been a man of talent. Throughout my youth my greatest efforts in education yielded results that fell just short of average. I would attempt to forcefully scurry up the IQ bell curve; screaming and convulsing, praying to any and all deities, beings, demons, and ghosts. I read incessantly, always trying to force my brain to retain something, anything. As my frustrations became unbearable I required physical release, so I would close my hand into a fist and smash it against my own head multiple times in a row. There was no pattern to these concussive assaults, some would end after a few quick thuds, and others went on indefinitely until I lost consciousness. Each time I woke up reality remained the same disappointing prison. All prayers remained unanswered. All of my effort was in vain. 

     Mathematics absolutely confounded me, and logic caused me pain. Literature made me feel insecure and tense; science left me deaf, dumb, and blind. I always had a general awareness of the wonders of the world and the supremely talented beings that contributed to it, but I never saw myself as more than a numb observer, an idle parasite on the sidelines wallowing in its own filthy shattered dreams of mediocrity.

     I forgot about high school three weeks after I was told that I graduated. Societal demands for a job began to weigh on me and so I began my first search for employment. Daily job applications numbered in the dozens. Over the next eight months I managed to obtain four interview opportunities. All four ended with tears, a violent scream, and a direct sprint out of the facility and back to my dwelling.

     The years rolled hopelessly by me. I was able to secure marginal employment in society’s trenches but it did nothing to fulfill my mental curiosity or boost my feeling of self-worth. On a dark winter morning I then stumbled upon a true epiphany. It went something like this:

     I was suffering from a bout of insomnia when suddenly my brain seemed to vibrate strangely and my right arm began to experience a warm tingling sensation. For no reason at all I opened the word processor on my computer and began to wildly pound the keyboard. After what felt like many hours of mashing keys I gave a quick glance at the text. It appeared to be a jumbled mass of words, random punctuation, and scattered symbols made from alt-codes. Without giving it any more thought I saved the file and moments later emailed it to the administrative offices of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I then gave in to fatigue and passed out on top of my keyboard, oblivious to the moderate shock this caused to my skull.

    Several weeks later I woke up to the obnoxious ringing of my mobile phone.

    “May I speak to Matthau […inaudible…] please?”
   
    “Yes, I am speaking,” I whimpered nervously, still wiping the drool from my chin.

   
    “Please report to the Rogers Building of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I’ve no time to elaborate now, but we believe your equation may have discovered the voice of God."

     I arrived in an important looking office about forty-five seconds later, feeling quite unsure of what my method of transportation was or how I ended up in a perfectly tailored suit.

     “Matthau, please sit down. We are now required to give full disclosure on the true nature of your existence. You are a successful test subject of a psychological experiment here at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Contrary to how you may feel or what you may believe, your entire experience in this universe and all memory of it has been a fabrication.”

      
     Shock began to build inside of my chest. It slowly radiated into my extremities as I attempted to maintain calm. The phantom voice continued on.

     “We regret to inform you that due to the nature of the mind alteration technology, the disclosure of its existence to you will lead to its immediate termination. We are very proud of you and we will treat your end-life process with dignity and respect.”

     There was more that was said but I was unable to comprehend it. Suddenly intense vertigo assaulted my senses. My visual field collapsed into fluorescent static. Sharp violent bursts of pain shot through my head and I began to taste blood. I collapsed to the floor, and then began to tremble and weep. Through my blurry tears I saw the most peculiar sight; an alien world was suddenly superimposed onto my field of vision everywhere I looked. It seemed real, yet strangely out of reach. A large clear, yet slightly off-color wall surrounded everything. I began to feel small… very small… unnaturally small… and very, very trapped.

     “You are a rat.”

     The speaker’s final phrase drifted into oblivion, and I with it.