dreams.

RD AUTO Message: -2090, Sun 17, Octobre 2081 – Centerville, VA. Off-Line  |

The vintage bicycle was a shiny blue.

And silver. Leaves fell. Many bright colored leaves covered that mat quality of the early morning tar meeting the sun.

The kick stand came flying up into its place. The spokes of the wheels were not rusted as she’d thought the night before, just some dirt. She shined its surface every other day.

Rachael was sitting on the shiny red seat, and a puff of air trapped inside, came out like she was farting. She hated that sense, the sense that things weren’t serious. But she had to forget it, there was work to be done, a journey ahead of her. She’d been at the hospital the night before. That one last night. With him.

The woods would lead to the clearing and from there, she would take the path to the riverbed near the Airport. Orbs of white and yellow light were seeping from the crest of the horizon where the river water mixed with the sun and the harbor ocean.

The bike was going fast! She heard the music in her Ears blaring and she couldn’t help but think that the land, this expanse of light and endless sidewalk, the endless blue tin railing…they were the music.

Roaring could be heard and she was then feeling the air envelop her entire body, lifted from the bicycle, her heart pounding with excitement. Her purple cloche hat nearly came right off, she was so fast. Her white dress, cinched at the waist, was filling up with air and flapping all over the place. She sat on it and that seemed to solve the problem.

Today is different. I think I’ll avoid the woods.

This roar was of a DerGoG Jet, rising like a flying whale from the depths of the river, the last of the Airbourne flights in the developed world.

Her bike profiled, scrolling with the Jet, enormous NeauMetal and bellowing steel. A bulbous fuselage, but elegant; 2more like its predecessor, the old Airbuses before they’d been put out of commission, long ago.

She looked at her tiny silver watch: 5:30HRS.

But it’s not time!

Rachael sped up, faster and faster, pounding her little feet to the peddles.

She hadn’t actually seen the planes. But she remembered. She could always remember.

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Vesper Heliotropic Graphic Novel Chapter 2

Vesper Heliotropic Graphic Novel Chapter 2

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20. The Them

The Great Hall extended two kilometers in either direction.

The multitude of paper Thyn, textureless, organic and intelligent data systems comprised the surface of its perfectly self-illuminated white walls, cascading fourteen meters tall, from ceiling to floor, covering every inch of the length of the Hall. There were featureless steel looking vaults at either end. Only spoken User-Authorized command could let anyone in, and only those pre-Authorized on the fly, every time anyone entered. Even the echoes of voices were dwarfed by the immensity of the space it enclosed. And it was wet, but only on either side, so the floor and ceiling were perfectly dry. Thin, and sometimes, micro Thyn waterfalls of all kinds of speed and slowness fell either toward or away from gravity, only to disappear, then seemingly reappear from the ceiling. Or was it the floor? One couldn’t tell the difference unless the streams were ‘mapped out.’

“We’re all glad you’re back Helen,” said her boss, Dr. Damiand, his voice, echoing next to the quietly streaming water putting a dancing light on Helen’s smooth round face. Her eyes were even more crystalline in the blue and yellows reflected off the sparkling falls. The side of her face that stood next to the water, caught the glint of a sharp melting pocket of light when it mixed in with her hair.

“Yes, good to be back!”

She’d taken off a few days from work to help David with the yard software.

“Yeah, good to have you back!” he repeated as if nothing had been said the moment previous. “We were getting a tad worried you’d get too used to the retired life, after three days, that is…”

Helen moved the petrie dish that seemed to have nothing on it, from one tiny rectangular white plate to another, then began to feed it into the blank wall. The flowing water opened smoothly, like a curtain, its edges quickly conforming to the shape of her hand. Her delicate finger tips pressed to the surface of the unrelenting Wall, perfectly dry, as it took in the petrie dish. A featureless levitating metal slate stood beside her at arm’s level that held a whole set of different lengths of Thyn glass cylinders, a dull surface to each one. They looked almost too Thyn to support their own length.

She and the head Dr. or U-Dr., were in the Una-Hall, right there in the center of the ‘Higher Dynamics’ department at UNATRAD Headquarters, deep within the compound she had so acclimated to over the years.

The walls had no markings on them of any kind other than the fact that it was white and the surface looked like seamless, polished marble. It was actually a series of machines with interacting nodes that lit up if anyone touched any of them. The vault door they were closest to, looked to be the size of a car wheel, the other, the diameter of a dime.

“Turn on the Emo-Reader,” said the Dr.

“Yes, of course,” said Helen. “Yes, Final Sunset please, it will soothe her…”

Helen clicked her fingers over a few green squares that emerged from the wall as buttons and then receded back into the wall as if never having changed its shape. This activated a set of instructions read in yellow light with light grey outlines, emerging as real as ink on paper, in the consistency and most of the physics of both. This was her work, she and this wall. “Me and my wall,” she’d joke about at home. She could say certain things, as long as they were without context or claim. It was here on the surface of the wall that Helen spent most of her hours and days. She lived through this, because she couldn’t think outside of ‘the many.’ Not in a serious way. She was and would always be of the few, and for the many.

The instructions that had appeared, were as follows:

U CAN =  Run. Syntha TURBINES Cron Manager Commencing via POWERLITE INC. = NMR to CVR 25655 (Africa) S C E N A R I O

THEN. U = Enis.

UNDER. U = Run 62% Enis; Then. All Sub Drives.

WITH. Ab U = Collate. Divise. Collaborate Run Program.

IF. U = F-Dev. Avail. Capacity. Trans.

THEN. UJ = Run Gateway

IF NA THEN U = Gateway Active

IF LESS – THEN U = Run Forum: January.

U = U

“Okay, here we go then..,” said Helen, stretching dormant vocal chords with a choppy start.

IF U = U. THEN –

Please wait a moment…

She could remain still like this while the computer processed, sometimes for whole half hour stints.

THEN. (U)

.U = January-Transitional Commencing.

U = Forum Inactive.

U = Run + X O X A X B X X L X I S T X X X XXXX||||

She tapped something in midair and then this appeared…

U = Run + S O X A X B X X L X I S T X X X XXXX JuXXX

U = Cron-Morning-Snow.

U = Forum Active.

U = Gateway Active.

U = DoubleFace. Active.

U = Morning Active.

U = Phonograph Commencing Periodic Sound Vibration ‘Music.’

USC = “To whose star do you face Helen XXXXXXXX?”

“Morning Snow,” said Helen back to the MachineWall.

UJ + USC = DoubleFace. Active.

D345fgh9987d345fgrpentagonissued=+?< – RUN PENTAGON ISSUED DOCUMENTS TO USC INDONESIA CLIENT – ON -MEGA-FLIGHT 25655 USC (Affiliate) AIR – >Ca>Home<-/-*DARA> U = RUN HOME = END STATE THEN <-/-*DARA HOME> wait the birdcage is|

a fw-class-678cf2122651d430a0e345ea7406ee74 Indonesia Client 25650 = FALSE. libido animals produce| D345fgh9987d345fgrpentagonissued=+??D345fgh9987d345fgrpentagonissued=-?D345fgh9987d345fgrpentagonissued=+?< D345fgh9987d345fgrpentagonissued=-?< D345fgh9987d345fgrpentempty|more

agonissued=-?< ++

TRUE>libido animals . more

Active = Morning + Snow += linkedseries = linkedseries ++

MORNING ACTIVE 2…

“I Face Early Morning Snow.”

And with this more zillions of calibrations were made, and she was finally in. For that day.

“Okay, Dr., now I think we’re ready to proceed.”

“Good, good, okay…Is Gateway Active?”

“Sure is. And, the new Sonic-Architecture is underneath everything.”

“Great, okay,” he said, adjusting his spectacles, appearing also to get slightly more situated in his medical Jacket. He was a much older man than anybody she worked with, in his late 90s.

“Did you tell it what Star to Face?”

“Yes, she is facing Morning-Star, January Transitional Commencing.”

“Cron is checking for receding fractions. Oh, sorry, receding Pairs.

“Receding Pairs?”

“Yes doctor, the fractions are finally multiplying in pairs.” Pairs are the most efficient way that equations of this sort could multiply organically.

“Ha, my god, that’s…That—are—are you sure??” He knew she couldn’t be more sure.

“Well, aren’t you surprised at least, I mean, the Theorem worked, we have Gateway responding intelligently to multiplying exponentials here, that act biologically, no less. Don’t you get it–not only a Learning Brain, but a brain that can self-evolve its own biological matter!”

The absence of excitement was shored up by Helen’s ever present miniature smile existing only on the right or left side of her face, like the Mona Lisa. At least that was the joke around the Lab.

“Well, it’s what we’ve been working toward all along here, isn’t it?”

“Helen, you’re such a talent, and yet, you don’t give a shit or a hoot about any of it.” He’d said that smiling, but reproached himself when he suddenly asked why. To himself, of course. But it was too late, he had to pay attention, and resigned his thought on the scroll of his presently focused mind.

She knew what a revelation he must have felt, what a breakthrough this was for him. For him. For everybody else.  She was simply delighted though, in the emotional reaction people made, that actually made things, produced things–could feel like. She’d always pay his passion just the proper amount of lip service though.

But all she could think about was The Game with her Hubby later on that evening. It had been like this, for as long as she worked at UNATRAD. She was just so damn good at everything requiring the quick witted understanding of harmonics and Bio-Symbol-Systems, I mean, you name it in terms of what she’d sought out to do. Certain concepts that took others forever, she could do in minutes. Made her non-expendable.

The good Dr. did find it mildly odd she shared no exchange of passion with him, ever. Maybe that’s just how women are, he thought. It never occurred to him what actually resulted in putting this conclusion to action. Then again, he didn’t do much other than spend time at the lab’s facilities in some way or other.

There were also the rumors. Oh, the rumors, she’d say to herself. But in the end, she told herself she cared and ignored the fact it didn’t change her life in any immediate way, so her interests would then stray to thinking about something random, like Jenny. This typically wouldn’t last very long before she was on to Kenson’s new album and her top Fetish shows.

She looked at him just then, almost to test herself. She knew what he’d done. The child he molested was nine, not ten as the authorities reported, and there were rumors that bounded through Space and Time itself, it seemed, that he had been molesting his daughter, Harietta, all along. There was no way to prove anything either way but the surveillance of the church the incident occurred in.

Intra-Cam Nano Surveillance wasn’t allowed in the homes of certain elect Diplomats. Dr. Damiand had no Nano Recording installed in his home, ever, due to his membership to Global Community One, GCO–CAMBIAN’s Central Global Networks, since 2044.

She had known the wife, Johanna. But whenever this thought came back into her head, somehow she had a harder and harder time imagining it. What she didn’t realize is that if she’d ever tried, she would have discovered the same difficulty in imagining anything. And the test resulting in the same thing: she couldn’t feel more than distant from actually loving this stuff.

She also and weirdly, knew that his daughter was no longer ‘present’ on God’s Good Earthen Soil, either. Harietta Damiand had died in a horrible Hover accident involving several or more automobiles. She was nine at the time of her death.

He had loved her, like Daddy’s do. Or like, Daddy’s can. To complicate things, Johanna, his wife was going senile. Her sudden dementia was combatted with restructuring software and everything, but in the end, she just slipped away.

This made things more convenient for him of course, especially. Harietta had been made of God’s Good Flesh when she lived. She was made of God’s Own Good Born Silicate and now, well now, she was made of wood. Dr. Damiand, resurrected her by copying what the Intra-Portable Equiv-MRI Bot, that is, the brain software, had recorded for the duration of her life. Damiand, being privy to software and Skins in the Lab, got quite a discount in taking over the more expensive parts of her. Unfortunately, he wasn’t a Hollywood man, nor exposed to many artists, so he regarded Human Silicates to be cost prohibitive. Anybody with his income could have found a less expensive Human Silicate Equiv., but he was an old fashioned kind of guy, and the new Networks Spots and channels were a little too fast paced for the likes of him.

The IPE-MRI Bot had obtained most of the details. Things like the surface textures identities of formica or certain types of metal and wood etc., didn’t copy over. Amongst an entire host of lost data, such as her first time using the toilet, which as a mahogany wood Real Girl, a subtype of Rubber Girls and RBoys.

So, Harietta was now made of mahogany, fine polished dark cherry wood. The Dr. Had grown to like the aesthetic of wood. But his sexual appetite was taken care of on behalf of the FED Marriage Sexual Health Act of 2067. He had amassed enough FED-MSHA-2067 money in a special FED linked account, to buy him RealSkyyn, or actual organic home grown genetically engineered flesh and muscles in a small private Lab. She would have RealSkyyn, soon.

There was something different though, even to her now. She had begun uttering things her mom had said, his wife and himself, could only have known, as they had never shared certain details with Harietta.

***

“Hey Cam, come here quick for a second.”

“Ok, what’s up?”

“All right, first of all–are you Mikin’ sure that this Switch Light is the only data device that’s retaining this event?”

“I mean except for Unambiguous. eah…why?”

“Take a look at this. Look, the two numbers.”

“What? Oh, wait, yeah, I guess–they’re not the same number but…”

“But they are the same number of digits.”

“Holy fuck, you are right! So what does that mean? Naw, no way, were not doin’ what I think you’re getting at.”

“Oh, so you know what I’m getting at?”

“I think so, you wanna use these digits somehow to…to make money somehow…”

“Yeah, literally, like, Print money.”

“No one uses Print money anymore.”

“Not off the Main Line.”

“So, the only places we could use whatever you’re concocting is here in central CAMBIAN?”

“Not, ah, what about Oakland Community Mall?”

“OCM is so…”

“Ghettie I know, but not entirely, they have some good stuff cause like, business men go through there…”

“I don’t know, Oakland? That’s so dangerous though.”

“You know it’s funny, as much as you say you hate your mom, sometimes you really listen to what she says…”

“What?? Whatever, I guess, well anyway, I’ve got nothing against going, but well, what are we even talking about here Kim?”

“Camel Toe, this is an entry key code for bills, and its just a coincidence it matches up here, I mean, not just the digits, but the letters and dashes too! And Una gave it to you, prolly for a reason. Mike! This is what my Dad does or well at least knows a lot about money printing in the old days and he pointed out the number range of certain numbers that are or were allegedly, numeral skeleton keys.”

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Our personas react and conform to the people we are most immediately near.

ImageEven and especially when you protest certain things your lover, spouse, roommate, whomever…actually commit to action that day or everyday. The way to circumvent this is with conversations aimed at setting up situations where your patience and energy are optimal. For example, I used to drink coffee, caffeinated coffee everyday. When finally I stopped, and fully didn’t crave it anymore, I drank decaf and do to this day. It still has caffeine, but you shouldn’t be drinking coffee if you have anxiety. Ever.

If little by little we changed little things about ourselves, we’d get along a lot better. Most are closed to communicating in words. They don’t know this, they even completely aware or aware at all that others communicate a lot More with words and a lot more effectively and on many higher and differing levels. Language is the cornerstone of all progress human, let’s keep extending it to our love lives, to our families and children.

Christmass is Early

I dont think any time has been so painful. Timing is a crazy bitch. My relationship with existence alone to highlight and Ebeneezer me into The Ghost. If only shed care, or if Id listened to her, for what she needed. Bono says, “I gave you everything you wanted…it wasnt what you wanted.”

Blame and desire.

Blame and desire are very lethal in a certain combination. That is, when you blame yourself, for denying desires.

Desire is not to be taken lightly. It is the best estimation of the inventory of your self-appraisal; what you think you are worth, not in the light of just men, but of men, women and existence.

If you deny a desire while maintaining responsibility, you are worth it and deserve it. That is, freedom. Freedom. Men and women have died for it, for a reason. Even if only to have protected a system of Rome, it was still done to protect some of the best minds and all of the best results, no matter how misguided, maladaptive, violent and genocidal at times. 🙂

I go by this measuring stick that through much experience, I can say has been efficacious in predicting a repeated outcome: It is when you feel a pal or a canopy has been thrown over you in a process of denying not just a thing, or rather, an object, but a value, most defined by the reasonable list of reasons why you persist in existing in this world. Alive. Not just surviving, which is not the point of human living as we all know and all have to deny in some increment.

But your estimation of it, your concretely manifested desire of it and hence, celebration, and hence, love of it–is what gives life its meaning in any meaningful social context.

Pure pleasure is seen in drugs. But it is our concepts and knowledge of the world that gives that pure adrenaline and serotonin its true meaning.

Do not blame yourself for denying so long as you can support it independently. But do blame yourself when you do it at another person’s expense. This is mostly because you will live in a dreamworld, and accuse others of doing the same.