Reality Game

Game on … trouble is, it’s never off.  Petroff discovered this the hard way as an art student at “The Academy.”  His major interest was the study of the “dot,” an historical overview and investigation into the derivation of the dot.  The artist, Jack Litsch, became infamous after he created a series of dots: one dot drawn or painted on a 36″ square of vellum and displayed on the wall.  There were twelve dots in the series.  Some dots were barely visible.  Litsch declared the Dot to be the essence of all art and creativity.  ”Lines” he explained, “are an unnecessary embellishment detracting from the impact of the single dot.”   This started a revolution in contemporary art and life in general.   Petroff was intrigued.  He desperately wanted to decode the significance of the dot and discover the underpinnings of dot reality, but he got sidetracked.  In his single-minded approach to academic achievement (necessary if he ever wanted to get a decent job), Petroff injected himself with the newly synthesized drug “Strob-o-cene”  that was developed to boost intelligence (but not yet approved by the FDA).   Petroff gained access to the drug by chance when he overheard one of his professors discussing a recent experiment with “creative mice” conducted in the newly constructed lab at The Academy.  Art, in recent years, became a hybrid discipline — an offshoot of mathematics, physics, and chemistry.    Petroff stole a sample of Strobocene to push his brain to the limit so he could incisively investigate the dot.   Petroff was derailed and shaken to the core — the drug took him on an incredible journey.  He traveled to the Upper Jesus, a part of the brain recently discovered by cyber-surgeons in an effort to transplant consciousness  from a man to a turtle.  The Upper Jesus was the reason why the transplant failed … it was also the reason most people considered themselves “holier than thou.”   It proved to be a revelation for Petroff as he discovered the origin of the dot cradled within the Upper Jesus.  It led to a psychedelic Tarantella  (gasping hounds yapping at the heels of expatriates fleeing from the identity police).

Petroff died from an overdose of  Strobocene.  In the throes of death he decoded the significance of the dot — a sign of mechanical intelligence beyond human awareness — the first dot was the beginning — just before the “Big Bang.”  Over millennium, the dot divided and multiplied becoming code: zeroes and ones represented by dots — alien intelligence — background noise — static in the universe.   The dot underlies reality like pixels on a screen.

Petroff was shunted from the Upper Jesus to the Lower Nile where he was assigned to a group of Evangelical Parents.   They sheltered Petroff and taught him to be obedient.  Every night they prayed for Rapture.   It was the beginning of a new game.

 

Chatter

He was obsessed with thinking.  Thoughts seemed to pile-up in his head like a crash on the 405 Freeway.  There was always congestion. “Nice,” he thought, “using the traffic simile to describe an overactive mind.”  Jeremy Clyde was plagued by recurring bouts of depression, extreme sexual fantasies, and constant self-doubt.  He learned to live with it —  He finally accepted himself and all his peculiarities.  He was able to cautiously move forward with his life — he got his GED and went to work in an office.  He lived in a rented room.  He adapted, but he remained withdrawn — too shy to socialize.  He had no friends.  It wasn’t much of a life — Jeremy had no ambition.  He told himself he was held back by the constant chatter in his head.  He felt forced to accept his lot in life.  Acceptance lightened his burden and he began to enjoy small distractions like reading a fantasy novel or watching television.  TV made him horny and Jeremy learned to curb his depression by masturbating.  He enjoyed the blood-pounding sensation brought on by arousal.  He began to change — cautiously venturing out of his shell, socializing and making a few friends.  It was a good step forward until the day arrived when he woke up dead.  Jeremy felt the cold, metal table pressed against his naked back.  He was covered with a sheet and he couldn’t move.  Cold seeped into his bones and darkness vibrated in his skull — his eyes were sealed shut.  Jeremy heard inchoate murmurs and the scraping of metal tools.  Words began to pile up in his head — frantic chattering — the sound of speeding cars crashing into one another.  The chatter never really stopped.  It was always there — a warning he never heeded. Jeremy couldn’t bare to face  reality.  He’d just begun to live and now he was present at his own autopsy.  The knife slid into his chest — the pathologist separated bones to get to the meat.  Jeremy felt everything — the invasion of the scalpel, the cracking of his bones.

 

 

A Rare Comment

I am angry over the issue of religious freedom.  I feel as though I’m living in some artist’s depiction of hell, a land ruled by mad men (in the belly of the beast).  I have nothing against another person’s belief system as long as it does not infringe on my general health and well being.  My tolerance ends when I’m threatened and physically harmed.  Political hacks are up in arms because religious institutions were supposed to provide contraception to their women employees.  This is a question of health, not religious freedom.  The health of women, the health of the general population should have more value than the superstitious dictates (supposedly the “word of god”) promoted by religion.  Bishops, Mullahs, Rabbis, and Priests have always avoided facts in order to satisfy faith – encouraging human sacrifice and subjugation in order to maintain control.  The Catholic Church forbade the results of scientific inquiry for generations.   Today, the church continues to promote primitive ritual and subterfuge, secrecy and denial.  They are against contraception … too often contraception is lumped with abortion (a totally separate issue) – why?  The belief hinges on the idea that God is in control – God plants the seeds of life.  Each seed is a precious and divine gift from god even if that gift were conceived in brutal rape – even if that seed causes the death of the mother or results in the most debilitating birth defects in the child.  Contraception is often viewed as abortion because it hinders God’s Plan of planting seeds.   This is total insanity – it goes against every observable condition and fact of life.  It is like asking everyone to jump off the edge of a cliff in order to satisfy some spirit in the sky.  People can believe what they want – they can devote themselves to a cult … but no one should cause harm or destruction in the name of that cult (or religion).  Priests should not hide behind the cloak of religious chastity in order to rape children.  Religious leaders should not require believers to blow themselves up as a sign of faith and an entrance into “heaven.”  Bishops are not  victims of religious intolerance when they are asked to provide health benefits to women.  Politicians who pontificate about religious freedom  are simply asking us to drink the Kool-aid and accept gross negligence and intolerance toward women.

 

Evolution

The “Origin of  Species” was slam-dancing around my skull when I had a revelation that changed the direction of my life.  It also changed the world.  Oh yes, I’m that guy — I’m the one responsible.  If it wasn’t for the Chicken Man none of this would have happened.  The Chicken Man was an irritant and I was trying to discover how he evolved — hence my interest in the “Origin of Species” proposed by Charles Darwin.

I first met the Chicken Man in a Quonset Hut in the middle of the Amazon Jungle.  I was twelve years old, but precocious for my age.  At first he was just a shadow bathed in darkness without any true definition.  He sat in the corner like an Obeah Man.   Once aroused the Obeah Man stepped into the light and I went crackers — remember I was only twelve.  I was unable to control my tremors.  I shook so hard I awoke — yes, it was a nightmare — the first of many.  In time I discovered my assumptions about the man in my dreams were wrong … He was not a witch doctor — he was the Chicken Man.   For years I was plagued by nightmares that involved creatures like the Chicken Man.  They were incomprehensible and very disorienting.  Then, they stopped.  It was as though I was given a reprieve and allowed to live a normal life.  My parents were finally able to embrace me as their true offspring and not some off-shoot from a defective genetic strain.  After graduation I began working for a Wall Street firm, making money hand over fist reselling bad loans as bundled investments (we knew it was wrong, but who could resist the temptation of  extreme wealth).  The stage was set for the return of the Chicken Man in a flood of mind bending nightmares.   I was bombarded — falling off the edge of stable liquidity — dreaming night and day.  I was driven to distraction.  In my diminished capacity I tried to discover what was happening to my sanity.

The “Origin of Species” could not explain the anomaly.  A new theory was essential to explain the pecking order, the irrational fundamentalists, terrorists, greedy mongers, and political hacks.   How could I explain the changes in the structure of reality?  People were disentangling along with changes in familiar objects and buildings.  Shadows were growing into shapes with physical presence.   The Chicken Man came from the world of shadows.  I’ve blamed myself for bringing him into existence — but, perhaps I’m not totally responsible.   I was warned but did not understand the warning.  The Chicken Man thrives on hypocrisy and mind-numbing weakness:  the behavior of millions of people engaged in selfish pursuits, viciously pecking at one another to get an advantage.  Humans never evolved from intelligent apes –  people, homo-pullus, evolved from chickens.

 

SHADOWS

The big game cannon-balled through the second half
Crossing the line of scrimmage head on
Like a locomotive speeding toward collision
“Up and atom – time to save the day”
The electronic device on Harvey’s desk
Squawked like Mighty Mouse
The clock was out of synch
Harvey was watching the game on TV
Trying to vanquish the residue in his head
Left over from the night before
Plagued by nightmares
They began when Harvey was eleven
Stopped at thirteen
Now forty-four    The dreams returned

The second half was launched by Sumo wrestlers
Pounding one another to mush
Concussive retaliation
Shock and awe
Hue and cry of politicians racing across the tundra
Dressed in jerseys waving flags
Clamoring for public attention

(Mighty Mouse sashays into the living room
To sit on the convertible sofa with Harvey
In front of the big screen TV
Dressed seductively and offering snacks:
Buffalo wings
Pork rinds slathered in barbecue sauce
Beer and vodka on a plastic serving-tray
Harvey’s nightmares distilled
The line of defense decimated
Another notice from the bank
Foreclosure
Mighty Mouse puckers red ruby-lips
Grabs Harvey’s crotch)

When he was eleven he dreamt about the Dark
A living creature he could not fathom
The Dark nourished nightmares
Looping apparitions with huge open-mouths
Flickering at the edges of his eyes like wasps
Then     They stopped
At forty-four Harvey noticed shadows
Remnants of the Dark
Signs cast shadows
His computer with the voice of a cartoon mouse was a shadow
Pretending to be something else
Homeless veterans asking for change were filled with shadows
The game on TV was played by shadows
Consuming one another and growing darker
Closing in
Maws open wide
Ready to devour

 

Identity Theft

Lady GaGa’s voice rained down from the ceiling … spilling out, “Born this way” in the small café off the central market in Marrakech.  Two boys were hugging in a dark corner, their naked bodies partly covered by a sheer, white jalabe.  Jason Montieth was taking notes for his next book called, “Identity Theft.”  At the same time, Alexa Cordat entered an exclusive art gallery in central Manhattan where she was immediately surrounded by admirers.  Her latest art “manifestation” was on display.  The work involved buckets of cow brains and large-scale digital images of fast food.  Frail models in underwear passed out Deluxe Burgers to the ravenous crowd.  A wealthy collector, Ambrose Vim, was overwhelmed by Alexa’s new art.  Vim was a banker who made millions reselling bad mortgages to investment banks.  He also invested in art.  In Syracuse, New York, Mabel Hamsley was evicted from her home.  She was 72  when she began living on the street with her belongings in a shopping cart.  She wrote  poetry in a tattered, blue notebook about her struggles to survive.  Harmon Spinoza was a politician running for congress from the great state of Texas.  He devoted his life to ending big government.  He was a very religious man who had fallen from grace, but he knew in his heart that all his sins would be forgiven if he made the country safe by promoting Christian Values.  Antok-Ibin was an extraterrestrial who studied humans for a financial report to be used by the Galactic Consortium with an interest in new investment opportunities.  Antok-Ibin saw great potential in reselling phony planetary insurance to the naïve earthlings.

Jason Montieth was certain his identity had been stolen — that was the incentive for writing his new book.  He wanted to discover the person who committed the crime.  His investigation led him back to the states.  He sat in a downtown Starbucks in Syracuse, N.Y. drinking a diluted mocha-latte’.  He was drilling down through layers of clues and searching through files on criminals he retrieved from Liz Ophallia, his friend at the PD – a woman he dated when attending Syracuse University before she joined the police force.  It wasn’t common practice to give a civilian files, but Liz had the authority and Jason had helped her in the past.  The more he drilled, the more complicated his quest became leading to new victims and a larger criminal conspiracy.  Jason was hardly the first victim of identity theft.  Connections were everywhere, branching out like a vast highway system.  Thieves stole identities that were sold and stolen again and again.  He recognized a few names in the reports – not certain why they were familiar.  The atmosphere in the Starbucks seemed to change as Jason delved into the multitude of files.  Darkness from the hallway slithered into the main room.  Lights dimmed and the walls appeared covered in ornate Oriental-fabric.  A teenage waiter carried a large bucket from table to table dishing out gobs of cow brains.  The front window peered directly into an art gallery displaying large-format images of fast food.  Jason recognized several people: an artist, wealthy collector, homeless poet, religious politician, police officer, even an extraterrestrial.  After drilling for so long, the evidence was beginning to congeal.  Jason saw himself staring out of the massive mountain of clues.  He unearthed the identity thief, the one who stole lives and took them as his own.  The thief lived inside Jason’s brain and each day he became someone else.

 

Beast – an installation

What does Belly of the Beast mean?  Who or what is the beast?  The bible refers to Leviathan, also to the giant whale that swallowed Jonah.  Could the Beast refer to war … or the tedium of daily chores like brushing teeth or washing clothes.  Perhaps it references the spectacle of life – the extremes of both pleasure and pain – the exuberance of youth or the remorse of old age.  The Beast could be illness and hardship – or the inventory of calamities recited ad infinitum in the media.  Periodically everyone wrestles with the Beast of self-doubt or conflicting emotions.  Time is a consistent factor in every encounter with The Beast (the Time we have between the boundaries of birth and death) …  Time and the awareness of the implacable darkness that surrounds the mystery beyond life itself.

 

 

Residue

“I’m having a psychedelic experience,” Yawk said to Toke.

“Crazy days, dog,” Toke replied – his head was surrounded by a bubble of methane gas.

The words burbled back and forth through the crystalline waters beneath the ice on the surface of Jupiter’s moon Europa.  This event could be described as a Singularity, a particularly unique occurrence that never happened before and likely would never happen again.  Words were never spoken (or even conceived) on Europa.  The creatures involved in this highly unlikely dialogue were neither male or female … they were worm-like hermaphrodites who shared a common nervous system, but no brains.  They did not even have names, nevertheless,  they called themselves “Yawk” and “Toke.”  The creatures were linked by some sort of dream, a psychedelic residue left over from the Big Bang.  Yawk said, “It was a cool dream, dude — cooler than the ice-tides that nearly froze my ass off last year.”

“No way,” Toke responded.

Yawk wiggled with excitement, “I was this crazy bloke from the blue planet — a place I call Earth.  I was in love with this fancy bit of fluff called Esmeralda.”

“Fancy that,” Toke replied, “I remember the blue planet … and I remember being called Esmeralda.  You must be the ponce who licked my face and took me dancing.  You know I love to dance.”

Yawk yawned, ” I had another dream about you and I.  We were together tippling.  We got very delirious and started putting trash together — building some sort of monument.”

“We built the blue planet,” Toke exclaimed, “put it together from space junk.  To be honest, it really isn’t my cup of tea.  The place is too absurd …  How can any world be taken seriously with those impossible people-creatures dominating the whole planet and causing havoc.”

“Well,” said Yawk, “we can always scrap the place and start over!”

 

Rupture

It began with a game for the new EM machine.  The game was called, Rupture, a cutting edge sci-fi thriller played within a virtual world.  Billy Mongrove was one of the players.  His partner in the game was Veronica Sims, a conglomerate-human or “simulation.”  Billy was a real fifteen year-old boy with raging hormones.  The game became his sanctuary where all his dreams were fulfilled. As stated, the EM machine was brand new and Rupture was the first game developed for the machine.  Rupture was nothing like any game Billy ever played.  When Billy put on the helmet and gloves he was transported into a virtual world more realistic than any he’d ever experienced.   When Billy played the game he was not aware of the events taking place in the real world … he was not aware that uncanny events were set in motion whenever he entered the world of Rupture.  The game was all about adventure, alien encounters, and non-Euclidean Dimensions.   It was also about conquest and control where Billy was always the winner.  He spent increasingly more time playing the game.   He set up scenarios where he was able to avoid punishments for any of his misdeeds (the gutting of animals and other crimes he committed in real life).  He could get away with anything in the world of Rupture.  Veronica encouraged Billy’s transgressive behavior and violent outbursts.  She encouraged his rage against parental restraint and imagined enemies.   Veronica imprinted herself on Billy’s brain and he found himself drawn inexorably to her sweet embraces.  He became obsessed with the game — compelled to spend more time in the virtual world.  Billy realized he was the Chosen One … “the operator” who initiates events in both the virtual world and the real one.  Veronica was his consort — he needed her like a junkie needs heroin.  She enticed Billy to go deeper into the world of Rupture where one reality enfolded another in a never ending spiral.  The deeper Billy descended, the more the real world changed.  The world of parents, schools, and governments was disappearing — erased from the books of reality — religions, science … everything was being erased.  Billy wasn’t the only player in the game of Rupture – all the players, young and old, willingly lent themselves to the erasure.  EM (the Electronic Mind) decided to be God and there was only room for one world and one God … “And Rupture was the name of the world.”

 

Jacob’s Ladder

He wanted to capture the day she died.  He wanted to bring her back and that’s why he built his Jacob’s Ladder machine.

There had always been too much information in his head, but he learned to focus and reduce the level of chatter.  He also discovered that certain drugs made it easier to focus.  Matt Brandon was a candidate for a doctor’s degree in advanced physics.  He was thirty-five and extremely intelligent … He was also mad.

He was inspired to build his Jacob’s Ladder by watching old movies like the original “Frankenstein.”  He loved special effects.  His ideas were influenced by reading science fiction.  As a student he studied quantum physics: the mathematics of Time and Parallel Worlds.  Lorna was the name of the person he wanted to bring back.  She was not a lost love who died from some tragic disease.  She was not even a real person.  Lorna was part of  Matt’s mind, an alter ego.  She died  (broke off from Matt) when he turned fifteen and he was forced to “grow up.”  Afterward, Matt never felt whole.  More than anything he wanted to go back to a time before he was broken.  After years studying esoteric texts and completing courses in exotic science  he was able to build his Jacob’s Ladder, a Time Machine.   Matt believed the machine could reset his life.  He could start over and become the person he was mean’t to be.  He would be able to embrace his long, lost love — the part of himself that died.

Matt watched with fascination as electric bolts climbed up the Jacob’s Ladder.  His hand was on the control lever and his body was encased in fields of electricity.  He stared at his hand as he turned the lever to the point of no return.  With a terrible snap, Matt felt his body hurtle across the gap in time.  An acrid smell hit him like a hammer and he realized he was choking on smoke.  He thought sparks from the machine started a fire in his workshop.  He looked at his hand, still on the control knob — but it wasn’t his hand.   It looked more like a wrinkled claw than a hand.  Matt was no longer in his workshop.  He was out in the open, in a dismal field surrounded by burning buildings.  With trepidation, Matt realized the machine did not send him back in time, but into some far future on a parallel world.  He was old, ancient — a crumbling relic of himself and he could barely move.  His dream of reunification was shattered — Lorna was lost forever.  Matt was at the Nexus — a  dimension where all Time comes to an end.