The Silent Society Templar

The Silent Society Templar

Damon Gyles and Lassandra Wyrwin stood in awe amidst the overpowering wonder of the temple rising from the rocky cascades in front of them. Many legends and rumors about it have been drifting amidst the galaxy for centuries. To finally see it in person was nothing short of remarkable. Four enormous towers, each one representing a spiral arm of the Milky Way, stood solidly above the rocky terrain of the mesa. Inside of their perimeter was a giant dome which was paneled with intricate glistening fractal patterns, representing the infinite complexity of life in the galaxy. Light from across the visible spectrum bounced in an around these patterns, creating a shining mosaic of cosmic beauty. A lone walkway supported by several pillars spanned the immensely deep canyon which surrounded the temple on all sides.

The temple's construction could be deemed impressive in any technological age. The fact that the Silent Society built it using only manual labor, without the aid machines, was all the more impressive. Damon figured that it must have taken several generations of workers to build the four towers alone. He and Lassandra felt extremely alien as they entered a realm of civilization which predated all known technology. They would have to rely solely on their own intuitive cunning and ingenuity during their appeal for freedom before the High Templar Council. They would be thoroughly searched upon entrance, ensuring that no Galactic Federation technology would make its way into the temple.

Damon unhooked his utility belt and placed it among a small rock formation in front of the walkway. Lassandra did the same.

"Don't say too much," Damon said. "They'll be reading our body language and emotions much more closely than our words. Respect their ways and tread carefully."

"Will do," Lassandra replied. "I read about such places growing up, places in the galaxy that have been completely untouched by time. Never once did I think I'd end up in a place like this, vouching for my own freedom."

"If we come in humbled, showing them proper respect, they should let us go. It makes no sense for them to keep us here," said Damon.

"And yet they carry all authority here," said Lassandra. "This world stays untouched for a reason. We could be among the first Federation citizens to walk this path in centuries."

"Which is why we need to be extra careful."

Their utility packs, containing the last bits of Federation technology, were now behind them. The High Templar Council would judge them strictly on character. Damon and Larissa both hoped that no wrong words would be said by the other. One poorly timed phrase could mean sudden death for both of them.

The Shaman of Intaria

The Shaman of Intaria

Intaria, the center of all activity in the Galactic Federation, was experiencing unprecedented economic growth. Peace had finally been made with the kingdoms occupying the Grey Zone. They were left mostly to their own devices and political discourse. After the final treaty was signed, approximately half of the Milky Way fell under Federation control. The reclusive shaman Imball felt a new balance of power coming to the galaxy in his deep sessions of meditation and drug induced trance. Through the ingestion of powerful psychoactive substances he could feel the very core of civilized awareness as it shifted into a more stable position. Trade routes that went through the outer worlds still experienced the occasional attack of marauders, but all in all, peace and order were much restored.

Imball was preparing a new concoction in his tiny apartment when two unexpected guests arrived. They were a young couple, Imball thought that perhaps they were responding to his informational ad regarding spiritual readings and life guidance. He did not get many responses to his ads.

"Greetings, truth seekers, I am Imball," he said as he opened the door.

"Hello. I'm Damon, this is my wife Larissa," said the cleanly dressed man standing in the threshold.

"Welcome to my independent cosmic temple. It is here I study the spirit of the cosmos itself! If you have deep questions I shall attempt to answer them," said Imball.

The couple made their way through the small front door down the crowded hallway. Extremely rare relics and artifacts from several ancient civilizations adorned the walls and ceiling. They looked out of place, very aged, almost impossible to find in the contemporary age of civilization. The galaxy had undergone a vast transformation upon the discovery and implementation of hyperspatial science. Travel times between even the most distant of stars shrank down to mere days. Terraforming became the norm for human colonization and expansion. Planets that were deemed hospitable, or close to it, were populated with fractal-based hyperpsatial machines which functioned outside of the normal parameters of tangible space. They then worked to transform the terrain and atmosphere atom-by-atom until the planet's composition closely resembled the one of Earth - humanity's original home. In this manner the human civilization spread to nearly every habitable world in the galaxy and in turn made that world close to ideal, according to their liking. People of old religious orders criticized this system, claiming it played with God and destroyed the indigenous life forms of the planets. As the generations turned over, these opponents were driven to the fringes of galactic society. It was apparent that advanced technology and the molding of entire star systems was the natural course of humanity's progress.

Imball led Damon and Larissa into his cramped dining room, which also served as his psychedelic meditation chamber. He opened a small felt bundle and sniffed some of the powder that came out of it.

"I will enter trance shortly, please state your question," Imball said.

Larissa then spoke.

"We have a large life decision to make. We are torn between staying here on Intaria and joining a Federation corps to travel the stars as crewmembers on a commercial trade ship. We've pondered the possible outcomes of both decisions, and both paths have their upsides as well as their potential pitfalls. We've come to ask you, which path in your view is the most spiritually sound?"

"Ah, so you do not want to lose yourselves in the business of space, and yet you do not want to feel stagnant," said Imball. "Smoke a bit from this cigarette here, it will align the planes of our nervous systems to a more tranquil state."

Imball gave them a tightly wrapped cigarette to share. He did not say exactly what was in it. Damon and Larissa complied with the old shaman's request and smoked it in turns.

"Now relax yourselves, focus on your breathing pattern, enter a clear state of mind. The substance I took is much stronger than yours and I will be in trance soon. Focus on the spiritual aspect of your lives, think slowly and calmly.

And with that Imball leaned back in his chair, gave out a large exhale, and entered a deep meditative trance. Damon and Larissa cleared their minds with the aid of the mild relaxant in their cigarette. Outside the window the traffic from the industrial district buzzed with life. A large freighter drifted silently across the sky as its shadow quickly skimmed the facade of the apartment building. Inside the atmosphere was calm and introspective. Damon and Larissa patiently waited for the shaman's response.

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)

Science Fiction Concepts Part III

Science Fiction Concepts Part III (2016)

Mind's Eye Programming - The programming of a sentient and self-aware individual through repeated visuals. Rather than requiring the individual to spend hours poring over text, this learning protocol allows an individual to know the core knowledge of nearly any field of science, art, music, or history, simply by viewing certain visual patterns pre-assigned to those fields of study. This system belief implies that most of Cosmic Knowledge exists in a state that is locked inside the individual's mind; it merely needs a catalyst to get it out the mind's depths and into the individual's control and disposal. Under this concept, the said catalyst is visual because most sentient and self-aware beings are highly reliant and dependent on their visual sense.

Entrapment Wire - The entrapment wire is a basic premise of a technology which is used to create mental prisons of torment and torture by ruthless and totalitarian governments and organizations. In the midst of 21st Century Earth civilization, the police state of North Korea is an example of a country running what could be called the early stages of many entrapment wires into the minds of its own population. The developed version is a physical wire which extends from a bio mechanical computer into the spinal cord of the patient, or in most cases, the prisoner. The wire then feeds various nervous system stimuli, including intrusive thoughts, propaganda, psychoactive drugs, and other methods of torture from the machine directly into the prisoner's nervous system.

Free Will Simulator - To further enhance the already powerful effects of an installed entrapment wire, a sub-program administered using specific psychoactive drugs and thought patterns called a free will simulator is used on the patient or prisoner. This gives the patient or prisoner a fully believable real-time illusion which states that everything currently happening to them, all they feel and all that they currently experience... is being done according to their own free will. In other words, they feel and carry 100% responsibility for everything that is happening to them in that moment, even if they are actually at no fault of their own, and even if what is happening results in their own torment, torture, interrogation, or incrimination. This could have drastic implications for personal testimony in the court system.

The Schizoid

Excerpt from "The Schizoid" (2016)

         Cold fluorescence enslaved my senses. I felt numb and distant from my own self. The walls around me buzzed with fear. I opened my eyes to find myself strapped down and immobilized on a stretcher as several blurry silhouettes hovered above me. My nose itched but I could not reach for it. There was a tube in my right arm. The tempered beeping and humming of various medical equipment slowly crept into my right eardrum. My left one gave me nothing but empty silence.  As I began coming to my senses I felt my spirit spitefully pushed forward into a shallow ghastly grave.

                What had I done to get here?

                And then… I remembered.

                I killed three men. They were guilty as all hell… and had to die. For working class dregs like me, there comes, a few times per lifetime, a very precise and particular situation. Forget everything. Forget the law. Know only fear. Forget the courts and the system and the company and the job and the family. Either kill or I get killed. Act. Do not think. There is no other way.

I did what I had to do in order to appease the overlords of my particular union. The hourly jobs in my district did not pay enough to even support a family of three. I had to take on side projects from an underground union in order to feed my wife and kid. It was through an unfortunate unraveling of one of these projects that I ended up in this predicament. There was no escape from what I had done, or from what I was about to do. The memory of exactly what went wrong still eluded me. I focused on my immediate reality and the exact situation at hand.

So, here I am, in a maximum security mental institution. I hope the food here is worth what the tax-payers paid for. They’re going to evaluate me before trial, I suppose. More like torture me… ugh! These fractal neuron machines hurt like hell. I’ve had one before. They scan thoughts with them, leaving subatomic tears in the subject’s neurons. One, you don’t feel it, but… people obviously have more than one neuron. Multiply that by every possible pathway in the brain… and… you get excruciating pain.

                “Do you remember your name? I am Dr. Welson. We will tag you as ‘Patient Thirteen’ from here on out if you do not remember. An identity is important for surviving the evaluation process. If you cannot come up with one, we shall provide you with one, at no further inconvenience.”

                Dr. Welson seemed to be an honest man on first impression. Honest, dedicated, educated… kind of like the third man I kille… (Wait, you idiot. You can’t think you’re guilty already, they’ll trace the thoughts. Think innocent. Think innocent. Think innocent!) He could probably tell right away that I was a psycho killer (I am NOT a psycho killer!). Many vagabonds and star drifters end up with kill totals above three to their name. Not many have killed two people of high regard, esteem, wealth… power.

                Now, if only I could remember the third… wait a god damn minute! I’ve never killed anybody!

                “No. I don’t know who I am,” I lied. I don’t know if he bought it.

                Of course I remembered. I was Daniel Rothsonn. Now I am Patient Thirteen (To them… Wait. Wait… Wait… Damn. I AM Patient Thirteen.).

I’ve read an in-depth investigation report of this place in a weekly news magazine. Apparently, this hospital saves lower ID numbers for the worst cases, a kind of running gimmick they seem to have.

                Why am I now Patient Thirteen? I must have done something awful.

                 And then… I remembered. I killed three men. (Or did I?)

                Ah yes, one of the men I killed was a highly esteemed galactic diplomat. The other was a wealthy property manager. That one owned five mining stations in the outer asteroid belt of Solara III. So then, who was the third?

                “Who was the third?”

                “Stay calm,” the doctor proclaimed. “I won’t lie to you. You will experience major pain during this upcoming process. The less you shake and scream, the quicker we can get on with it. By law, I must reserve judgment upon you until your court day. It is in my oath to properly treat you… the best I can.”

                The interrogative drugs started pumping into my right arm’s vein. My past life began to flash in my mind’s eye. I used to be a simple working class man, in the prime of my life. I’d clock in and out of Gideon Metal Works five times per week, then I’d come home to a simple wife and a slightly demented nine year old boy (must have been all that teenage drug use on my end). She was a very plain woman, and he was a very stupid kid, and yet, the simplicity of our family scenes gave me comfort, gave me a reason to carry on through a dreadful job which I had no hopes of ever leaving.

Velocity: NULL

"Velocity: NULL" (2016)

Death in the Capsule

"Death in the Capsule" (2016)

The Terror of Cry's'ahn

The Terror of Cry's'ahn (2016)

I was gathered among some elders around an ethereal fire. The subject of discussion was the doomed constellation of Cry’s’ahn. 

We were honoring the dead.

                “How many do you think perished in the gate detonation?”      

 

                “Perhaps ten trillion, old friend… perhaps… ten trillion.”

                It was the most vicious act of terrorism the galaxy had ever seen. Twelve star systems wiped of all life… simultaneously. I exhaled from the ritual pipe and passed it clockwise around the circle. The smoke exited my lungs like a cosmic wisp, then it slowly rose above our ethereal fire and into the night sky. We could still see remnants of the gate detonation; its light was accelerated out to us by the anti-tachyonic wakes left by the terrorist explosions.

                “Their dead souls breathe new fire into our night…”

 I mused at the glistening cascades of dead stars above me.

                “Souls cannot die, young one… souls… cannot die… “

                Perhaps he was right.

                Souls cannot die.

                And yet, over ten trillion lives did.

                Why?

Science Fiction Concept Part II

Science Fiction Concept - Part II (2016)

The entire observable Relative Multiverse is an 

ongoing biochemical reaction inside the Relative

Observer's central nervous system.

The Scariest Feeling...

The Scariest Feeling (2016)

The scariest feeling... It does not come from media. 



Not from friends, relatives, acquaintances, parties, restaurants, bars, gigs, parks, parents, children, work, bosses, time clocks, scientific journals, encyclopedias, hospitals, etc, etc, etc... Real Fear does NOT come from the Real World.




The Real World is a very safe and stable place to be.





Real Fear comes from within.




What if... 



what if...


What if your dearly beloved spouse, the person you trust, the person you sleep with every night...

what if he or she...


... is actually on a Federal Contract Commission based High End Salary one-time-only job... and that job...



is to Silently Kill You.

Andromeda Friend TV Static

Andromeda Friend TV Static (2016)

General Reality Theory

General Reality Theory (2016)

Based on the extremely intense, overwhelming, and life-changing Dreams, Visions, and Trance-like states of consciousness I've experienced over the years, none of the following seems impossible:

- Reality is a Dream
- Reality is a Hologram
- Reality is an Illusion
- Reality is a Programmed Simulation (Think Sims "4 Trillion") instead of Sims 4.

- A very small segment of the human population has already been fundamentally altered by unknown and undetectable outside forces through the following media:

- Dreams
- DMT (N,N-Dimethyltryptamine) Trips

- Psychedelic Trips

- Psychosis

- Magic Mushrooms
- LSD
- Meditation
- Starvation
- Any state of mind which is different from basic waking consciousness where regular people work, drive, eat, do chores, etc...

All of this may have already been going on for thousands and thousands of years.

The End of Days - Movement I - Remembrance

The End of Days - Movement I - Remembrance (2016)

It looked like New York City... probably around the mid 2100's... Soon after Nuclear Holocaust II. Its hollow shell wept below us as our craft drifted silently above the melted corpses of the skyline. We had to jump in from the late 4000's and so we could not pin point Timespace accuracy as well as we had hoped. We would have to do one more. I checked the power levels, noticing them to be only a few percentage points above single-jump threshold. It had to be one-shot, one-kill, from here on out. We exchanged somber nods inside the capsule, our eyes and faces partially shielded by the translucent glass as well as the moisture that was building up inside of our helmets. Settings aligned, we engaged the engine.

Spacetime began to bend around us violently. Matter melted into itself in an infinity loop, which vibrated trillions of times per waking second. Observable Reality oscillated wildly within our parameters, and then became perfectly still... like a cold Autumn lake. Cosmic tones then consumed our very souls; tonal bursts of String Frequencies and Harmonics reached us, coming from the Singularity itself. They overpowered everything we knew or remembered. Consciousness started bending, cracking, and grinding like a tectonic plate. We became Nothing. Concussive fractals shattered reality as we collapsed into desolate Oblivion...

The self-piloting realignment sequence proved to be successful. We broke into Earth's upper atmosphere with a resounding flash of light... sometime around the year 2012...

Under the Knife in the Hyperspatial Surgery Chamber

Under the Knife in the Hyperspatial Surgery Chamber (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.”

Drone Citizen

Drone Citizen (2015)

I toiled for meager wages
For two decade and a half
Finally the blindness took me in
Didn't realize what they've done to my head
Spread disease and laid the blame with me

Your health will be secure, the manager then said
As I ate his lies, destitute and dumb
In agony I pray to a god who is never there
Save the broken shell that I've become

All the drones toil on in the burning sun
The privileged classes look away
Our effort is led on by their pointed guns
Our only real escape from this is death

A decade has passed since machines could think alone
They'd help mankind, their makers proudly said
I shake and shiver in my cold fluorescent home
The room is bare, my savings growing thin

Classified for life as the ones who will die
Working for the privilege of the few
We're desensitized, pupils dyed pure white
Sleep dreamless, conquered by the truth

I listen to the rain and the telecast machine
The agents talk of wars in distant lands
I weep for the end of my family's proud tree
Sterilized, by the higher classes hand

Swept away in pain, I am trembling
Wishing for my consciousness to cease
Shattered dreams all die, hope is crucified
Emotions numbed, yet I remember grief

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.

Introduction

Welcome to the Creative Multimedia Archive of Vlad Motchoulski. Vlad is a 21st century polymath who specializes in music and writing. He is self-taught in all of his disciplines.

Vlad Motchoulski was born in Moscow, Russia on March 16th, 1988. He endured a turbulent and tumultuous upbringing, being often cast away from his peers and isolated from society altogether. He began to independently study music at age 20 after a meditation session following the ingestion of the entheogen known as Dream Herb. A transcendent experience gave him new perspectives on his life and he began to see the cosmos and his place in it under a new light.

Vlad is completely self-taught in all aspects of music. Having either been financially unable to support lessons or sometimes even outright denied all opportunities by prospective instructors, he forged his own path as he trekked on his musical journey, which he hopes will someday become the pinnacle of his legacy.

Links to Vlad Motchoulski's work:



Youtube Channel

Gallery

Ethereal Artist Campaign

ReverbNation page

Twitter


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Brief Excerpt from Vlad Motchoulski's Biography:

Biography of Vlad Motchoulski 

(Birth to Age 27)

Vlad was born on March 16th, 1988 at a nondescript hospital in then-Soviet Moscow. Upon leaving the facility he was wrapped in insulating blankets for warmth and shuttled through the dreary streets of the city to his family's apartment in a monolithic five-story building in the Izmailovo district. Political and social turmoil engulfed the city during his early years. One of Vlad’s earliest notable memories is of the 1993 Russian Constitutional Crisis, during which armed tanks from the Taman Division opened fire and bombarded the Russian White House with artillery.

Vlad’s pre-school was in the courtyard of the Soviet-style residential block. It provided a tranquil enclave that acted as a spark for his interest in nature. As a child he enjoyed the ambiance of rainy days and the earthly smell rising from the courtyard’s lawns. During spring the numerous lilac trees would be in bloom, creating a peaceful and pleasant atmosphere. On occasion he would accompany his grandmother on strolls through the aptly named Lilac Boulevard, picking up freshly baked bread from local merchants on their way home.

Soviet agenda permeated the culture and environment at the pre-school. When Vlad was learning how to write, one of the instructors noticed him using his left hand and quickly chastised him for it before forcing him to continue with the “proper” right hand. During recess the teachers would walk away from the children and huddle around a gazebo towards the back of the yard while smoking cigarettes. Nap time was mandatory at this facility and restroom breaks were not permitted until a specific time. Early on Vlad noticed the oppressive structure of this establishment, and it likely played a significant role towards his involvement in social justice and equality as an adult.

Vlad and his family immigrated to the United States in the summer of 1994. His father secured a research position at Purdue University in West Lafayette, Indiana. The family moved to the Purdue Village residential complex in the southwest corner of the town. Vlad was apprehensive of other people during this time and did not initiate much contact with others. Instead he chose to take solitary journeys on his bicycle through the winding sidewalks of the apartment complex. Directly to the south was Purdue University Airport. Upon making this discovery, Vlad became fascinated with the small single engine aircraft that took off and landed there. He was amazed at their sleek beauty and skill of the pilots that maneuvered these machines.

Over time, Vlad began to feel scared and alienated by America. He simply did not understand…

why are these people…

 so…

... angry?

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