Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Massively Multiplayer

Len - 2040

The finished basement was filthy. Strewn about like the carnage after a battle - one where pizza boxes, wads of paper, soda cans, and cellophane wrappers were the contestants - trash occupied the majority of the room’s space. A path of shallow refuse led from the stairs to the computer desk. Here, the sole area of clear floor in the basement, was perhaps four square feet of carpet visible beneath a plastic runner. The computer desk itself was also littered with refuse - crusts, cans, paper plates, plastic utensils. In the midst of all of this garbage sat a large man, his height was average for his time - just below 2 meters. Girth was another measurement and his friends jokingly remarked his belly’s circumference must nearly match his height. While the remarks were not accurate, the man’s bulk did ooze through the sides and spaces of his office chair.

The 5,000 credit unit virtual processor sat on the desk, barely larger than one of the energy drink cans but emitting a harsh, bright glow that illuminated the desk and the room’s inhabitant. This was the provider of his every need excepting food, sleep, and excrement. The man’s job, his social life, even his romantic encounters all took place via the virtual world. Len spent most of the day “invirt.” Although he didn’t perceive his life in days, just spaces between “going live” and back to invirt where he was a shining exemplar of health, wealth, and power.

Every year Len spent five kilocrednits on the newest virtproc, fiendishly obsessing over the smallest upgrade in specification, the latest substrates and nanotechnology used to grow the quantum-entangled crystal circuitry, the various interface modulators which helped regulate his brain’s ability to perceive the virtual world through his neurocortical shunt, and lately his focus was the various sleep simulation engrams which were being developed to clear the toxins from the microtubules of his brain. He regularly bellowed his ire at the local network’s extreme congestion and the network company’s refusal to upgrade the antiquated fiber infrastructure laid in the 2020s. These were the two concerns of his live life - all of his finances, including rent, utilities, and food delivery were organized via invirt management firms for the most connected of clients. Len sometimes pondered in those few moments he went live what he would be doing if he had decided to pursue football at university instead.

Len - 2018

Those students at the adolescent school who had gained some satisfaction from verbally abusing other children quickly realized that insulting Len led to a crushingly acerbic, monologous reply. Most were left bereft of confidence and the ability to reply in an intelligible manner - those that did reply often embarrassed themselves and fled the scene with lame excuses. The few football players who had dared to insult him in class soon found themselves planted into the field as if they had grown roots. The massive lineman in glasses was a force to be reckoned with but he had no friends. Thanks to his sharp tongue and his “gardening” on the football field no one spoke to him except about classwork.

The nerd elite of his school Chittered of his victories over the school’s infohub. He was soon dubbed Troll Crusher by those obsessed with the virtual gaming realms. The tormentors turned victims often tried to report his fanboys to the moderator for “personal attacks” and the legend soon grew within the virtual neighborhoods his fellow students frequented. On the gaming pinsquares - communities where one’s avatar was “pinned” in-game so the express purpose to communicate was preserved and trolls could not disrupt the talk - Troll Crusher was renowned as their outside defender. After much deliberation an invitation was extended to Len to attend a Loch Sesh Monster event. While local network session gaming was not something their hero was known to enjoy, they eventually mustered the courage to send him a direct addressed Chit. The promise of free booze, cannabis concentrate, prescription drugs, psychedelics and the possibility of female attendance was enough to draw the lineman to the nerdoisie event of the year.

Monday, June 9, 2014

Today's Crap

As a Walker and Weaver
There are few things that I know
For it is within one's fantasies
That each of us can grow

I have walked the Way
Weaving light in and out of dreams
My works not limited to the nocturnal
Sewing together those bursting at the seams

Yet for myself I know not how to stitch
Those holes deep within, ragged they gape
Running around inside, clueless
Hoping only for a momentary escape

Spinning gets old and tiring fast
Body fatigued, legs and arms failing
Collapse imminent
This soul is ailing

Longing is the worst
The Friend's absence concerning
Yet always there within
Spinning faster, slower, always yearning

Closer, speak quietly, breathe
To share, sing, weep some more
I can Walk while you Weave
Integrated inside us both, buried in our core

If dreams are private myths
And myths are public dreams
Then you and I are more
Than either of us seems

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Retrieval Process

I've been having a hard time with electronic housekeeping lately and didn't want to lose more stuff.

Chant

A young village boy approached an elder
Asking for advice, 'How does one address God?'
The elder looked upon the young one
He said nothing but beckoned
The boy followed

The elder walked well away from the village
Stripped himself before the boy
Danced naked in the sands of the desert
All the while chanting nonsense
The boy left clueless

The next week the boy approached again
The elder beckoned him forward
The pair came upon the well
The elder dropped his loin cloth and pissed
Happily around the well

The boy was confused
He asked, 'Why are you so foul?'
The old man shit in his hand
Made dolls and balls
Threw the shit high into the air

The boy was distraught
He asked, 'Why do you poison us?'
The elder then milked himself
Rubbed his seed upon his body
The boy cried out in anger without words

The elder left the boy
Saying only three words
His back unbent
Filth covered body, eyes bright
'God, please forgive.'

An Explanation

My late night practice
Enhanced as usual by ancient medicine
I was enthralled, taken in, and flew away
Vision expanded, such a high vantage
I was given knowledge and power
Over things far beyond me
It take others decades
To even consider such an act
I jumped in with both feet
The pool was like fire in my mind
Its waters like vacuum
Deepest lake of fire and ice
I shouted loud, disturbed the resting
Those dwellers of the deep
Listened to such piteous wailing
They offered rest, just breathe deeply
I breathed in great gasps and drowned
There I was shown how to love
Without thought or consideration
I spun wildly, triangle to circle, square to cube
Cube to sphere, sphere to torus, torus to disc, unknown shapes
On, and on, around and up, in and out
Then called to and came to me a sphere
I spun with great intent
My cube self is not a cube
My sphere self is not a sphere
I showed the sphere how to extend
Change, do this! Challenge your shape!
Tentatively the sphere opened
We met and joined, it was beautiful
Immortal seeds planted, both spheres gone
One capsule where once there were two
When finally pulled from such a lake
I was drowned but again breathing the thin air
This air is lacking, filthy, and nigh on lifeless
Gone what once was and ever transformed
Ah my Love, you were not conscious of this
You have been there many times though
We will be there again, together

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Some More Stuff

I just realized that I have not updated this in some time. Here is something that got wonderful reception at the Cultiv8N Culture open mic in Phoenix.

The Piper and the Swordsman

Forgive the plaintive songs
This reed sings what it knows best
There was little sweetness in its bed
It was plucked green
The cane dried and yellowed
Cut down to size and drilled
Holes along its body
For the air to pass, creating
Melody, harmony, music

The remainder of the reed
Split and bound
Wrapped in cloth and leather
The two halves sing for each other
One sings its sweet tune. longing
The other has no voice
Whenever it is swung the air passes
It hears its other half
Cries in its quiet way
Whooosh, crack!

One day the two halves reunited
The flute was being played as usual
Its master begging in his tattered robe
The other carried by a traveling swordsman
Looking upon the flautist the fighter frowned
He said, "The song you play hurts me deeply
I cannot stand to hear it any longer.
It is too much for me to bear, my heart
Longing to leap from my chest."

The musician looked upon the fighter
His response, "Blowing air through this
Sad, abused reed is what I need.
The joy in my heart is not apparent
As I expel sadness from my lips.
Leave me now, I have played here for years."
With a lightning quickness
The swordsman lashed out
Cane whooshing, then CRACK!
The flute's sad music ended
Each half having met, both broke

The piper looked up, stricken
Flute smashed, so was the practice weapon
Seeing the swordsman's face
Crying over his broken stick
The musician laughed and rose
Walking calmly he bid the man,
"Peace unto you my brother."

--

I'm still working on this one at the moment, I think this is the first verse but... I need to do more work.

Thirst

Come, let us sit and speak, I long to listen
Smoking, sharing, making signals as we gesture
Spiraling smoke, spinning vortices, dervishes in the air
Breathe out, so I can inhale the vapor of your words
Being that high, from your thoughts
Pour another whiskey, golden liquid
Quenching throats with this: water of life
Closer, lean in, I long to drink your smile
Dropsy takes hold, drunk on that distilled happiness
Light a new flame, I see the fire reflecting
Staring into the mirrors of your eyes to see myself
Who is there? Not who was before