Archive - July 2017

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A Cowardly New World
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Nightwalker
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When Hackers Go To Heaven
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A Silent War
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The Inhumanity of Humanity

A Cowardly New World

I was born here for the sake of love. I and my wife had arranged to meet in Britain during our last stint in the hereafter. I arrived first, followed some two years later by my friend and lover of many lifetimes. Our lives encircled each other, inexorably drawn together to share the journey, as we have done so many times before.

I have the nagging feeling I wasn’t as keen on Britain as my wife. She, far more than I, errs on the side of caution when it comes to manifest destiny. During our preparations, perhaps over a year, a decade, a century, time seems inconsequential when you’re dead, we assumed that Britain would be a safe bet.

Now we’ve lived a good proportion of our lives, we’ve slowed down and become settled in our ways. We like to watch old movies, the tat you’ll find floating about on Youtube, the kind of quaint drivel that overpowers the melancholic with nostalgia. We barely follow the plot, and hardly take notice of the dialogue. Instead we inspect the architecture, the lush and verdant natural landscapes, the lack of cars on the road. The time taken over everything, basic common decency, a true sense of community, the innocent pleasures of our youth. Then we cry, although only a little, just a few tears at most. For we miss our childhood history, and the world so many have forgotten.

Today there’s no peace, no quiet, only vacuous conversation and neutered opinion. There’s music blasting from every window, and at least a few arguments a week, drunks in the street and domestic squabbles, kids screaming for new tablets and consoles. There’s little time to relax, but when there is, and the sun is out, and everyone can’t help but smile, chemtrails fill the sky, and it rains for days at a time. Tainted showers of subversive biochemistry, grey and metallic, inducing viruses of various sorts; common colds, migraines, and sometimes with the aid of frequency manipulation, psychological control.

It’s a shame I was so young when I was born, I never really did appreciate the glories of an empty world. The ancient trees, long walks on unmade paths, never a soul to be seen for mile upon mile. A time, and not so long ago, when one could choose to live life on a human scale, independent, individual, schooled in the commonsense of everyday practicality. They’re all dead now, the people who took the long view and saw everything through to the bitter end. Soon it will be my turn, perhaps in a decade or two, along with my whole generation. All mouth and no trousers, desperate to make our mark, but too terrified by life to make a difference.

As the generations pass and the human race thinks more, and does less, a time will come when all ideas of past and future will fall by the wayside. A blinkered masterpiece of social cohesion, sold from birth and reinforced by state education, the most successful example of mass indoctrination in all history. The time will always be now, and the ever increasing population, and powers of corporate cartels will result in a cowardly new world. A race who wouldn’t dream of saying boo to a goose.

The cowardly new world order will abolish economics, private enterprise, personal wealth and property. Everything rented on a lifetime leasehold, including yourself. Taking shifts to sleep in plastic pods, offering free entertainment, friendly propaganda, and high protein food substitutes, guaranteed to shorten life expectancy. All working together, or against each other, depending upon one’s gullibility. Fighting tooth and nail to earn more social credit for the basic requirements of life.

The human race of slaves will be paid with tokens, rather like now, but they’ll be born into personal debt. They’re existence taken as contractual obligation, to help settle the fictitious debts of their mother nations. When this comes, most of us, at least the troublemakers will be long gone. The rest of you who are destined to create the future’s future, you’ll have it hardest of all. Most of you aren’t even born yet, and when you are you won’t know you have been. The ultimate state of normality awaits you, impotent, imperfect servants to a technocratic elite. They’ll seem like giants, perhaps even gods, as life extension techniques pave the way to the greatest divide of all.

In the future they’ll be two kinds of people, those who live centuries at a time, and those who’ve hardly lived at all. Like the life cycle of the mayfly, human beings reduced to little more than insects, a highly domesticated childlike race of idiot savants, who’ll serve their purpose, briefly take flight, dance in the light, and die.

Nightwalker

I used to sleepwalk as a child, as did my sister in our formative years. Following a terrible fall, despite my father’s heroic actions, she fractured her skull. Our psychic link was severed, our shared dreams came to an abrupt stop, as did our nightly strolls around the house in the early hours.

As far as I am aware, I’ve slept lying down ever since, or at least until last night. Perhaps, over time, I’ve developed more self control, or just as likely become too lazy to bother. But last night something bizarre happened, I sat up in my sleep and immediately knew where I was. Still dreaming, yet, back here in this body, in my bedroom, on Earth.

I can precisely recollect the sensation of breaking free, like coming up for air in deep water. I remember my surprise at how much light there was in the room, with swirling colours blooming in the gloomy haze. My brain was flooded with natural opiates, awash with DMT, manifesting as a spontaneous psychedelia. But more than that, I could make out several figures, beings so strange their presence has left a deep impression.

The first was a living shadow, I have witnessed many of them before, some of which hang around far too long for comfort. I see shadows most nights, and even in the days. Most are generally of human proportions, asides an overgrown cat that seems to follow me everywhere. This was what I’d assumed had leapt to the foot of the bed, something I’ve grown accustomed to over the years. At times I believed it to be the spirit of one of several pets, those who’ve served their time as faithful companions in life, and presumably in death. Now I’m not so sure.

The creature could not hold its form, and soon floundered in abstraction, firing off a series of explosions of black ink that splattered everywhere. Before long it appeared to calm down, almost as if to reassess its strategy. It quickly retreated into a more defensive position, contracting into a tight ball which randomly jut forth long and flimsy spikes. At that moment I came to the conclusion I was witnessing my own fears come to life, an amorphous mass of terror faced with its own reflection.

Gradually the dawning realisation coloured my surroundings, and ever so slowly, the air around me glowed with a shaft of soft cobalt light, imperceptibly casting strange patterns upon the bedspread. I looked up to witness what appeared to be liquid sprites, each chasing the other in a circular swimming motion. They seemed huge and disproportionate, a pair of mutant electroluminescent organisms crowned with phosphorescent halos, twisted and deformed by the ripples of a hidden tide.

Then it struck me, there was somebody else in the room, a giant with shoulders broader than the door frame. Their arms folded and head bowed, almost like a genie. I fought the urge to collapse back into my body, and dream a dreamless sleep. The endorphins fast overpowering my mental fortitude, I took one last look at the figure by the door. Their face seemed familiar, although in the dark it was almost impossible to see it clearly.

I’d lost consciousness, I had fallen back to sleep, and now I found myself standing over a body lying in the bed. I was watching myself, eyes closed, breathing deeply in the dark. I stepped outside and closed the door, and returned to the place that each and everyone of us knows, but cannot speak of in the light of day.

When Hackers Go To Heaven

I’m useless at programming, and I think I lost the knack in my early teens. I wasted a whole summer coding animated glyphs on a BBC Acorn, an ancient PC borrowed from school. The end results, despite a great effort on my part, were disappointing to say the least, but I still can’t help admire those who can, and do.

During the height of the MMORPG years, I dipped my toe into see what all the fuss was about. After hours of clicking I came across the odd glitch, errors in the game, exploits of various kinds. Soon others came and milked them for all they were worth, some even made a few dollars selling on their ill-gotten virtual gains.

I’ve never been a gamer as such, I don’t go in for killing, the horrors of competitive hate that so many adore. The virtual horrors of war, rewarded with false spoils, upgraded weapons and armour, just to repeat the process all over again. I did, however, used to enjoy God mode. There are plenty of cheat codes out there for many popular games, if you’re so inclined. In God mode you’re indestructible, and more often than not you’ll clip frames, walk through walls, and even fly. As a game god you’re free to explore every inch of your pixelated dominion, to vanquish all enemies with little effort. Eventually after clearing one level after another, or skipping to the final round, you’ll beat the boss and find the exit.

Life is a game, a great holographic construct formulated to fool the race. If I were dead and had one piece of advice I’d give to the dying, it would be not to hold onto preconceived notions. Belief is an anchor that weighs us down and puts us in our place. On the other side of the veil are creatures, some good, some bad, much like human beings, the worst of all feed on our expectations and suck our spirits dry. Those malevolent spectres that guard the outer perimeter of mortality, the last border before impossibility. If you can get past them, you’re free, and will never need suffer the torment of physicality again. If that sounds more like a threat than a promise, then you obviously still need to work it out of your system. Love it or loathe it, this world is a prison. There’s no God mode here, only players.

Some die young and some are born old. Those who recognise this place as soon as they’re born, those countless faces and highly familiar places, it’s time to admit you’ve been here too long. You should make plans to move on, there needn’t be a next time round, as long as you can take this message to heart. When you go, accept that your allegiance to this world is over, and try not to hang about too long. The only way back is the way you came, for without flesh you’ll be ignored, limitless in thought yet devoid of all action. In death, we’re hardly given a thought, let alone presence of being. Seeing is believing, that’s the rule down here, where people remain human, and perceive all others as the same. Perhaps it’s time to try a different tactic, to gather the numbers of the dead, and fight for true freedom outside of the human paradigm.

Despite tradition, or more likely bad habit, death doesn’t necessarily mean a round-trip journey. Try staying open to the idea that this world, and even the human race, are a mass consensual illusion. A trick we play upon ourselves to help us bear the tyranny of mortality, an unending shadow play, duped by a dualistic ruse of universal proportions. When you leave, as we all must do, try looking for glitches, errors in the metaphysical coding of purgatory, the loop the loop of lies. Anything you can do to break the spell will help avoid the theatrics of demonic actors, who play their parts to perfection, as long lost relatives and friends, leading us through the tunnel of light.

We all need to think more like hackers, in both life and death. We need to buck the perceptual trend, fool the holographic mind control of our ancient persecution. We are slaves to flesh, laid prostate by decay, we, the human race, are built to fail. Like everything here, life is intransigent, fleeting, gone in the blink of an eye, and ultimately expendable, replaceable, including you and I.

If you feel you’ve outstayed your welcome, be patient, live your life as best as you can, as humanly as possible, and perhaps enjoy it for the sake of experience. When the time comes, it will be worth it. There are many working hard to change the balance of power in the great beyond. We should help them, and seek to ensure that none of us are forced to repeat our mistakes, ever again.

A Silent War

It seems that after a bout of good weather, the nights are filled with secret military operations. At least they are down here on the South Coast. I’ve talked about the strange occurrences to neighbours on occasion, and they too have noticed the sonic booms, the low flying helicopters. Yet, through some bizarre reasoning, a dysfunctional subconscious logical compensation, despite the fact that a vast majority of the choppers and jets are black and unmarked, most people on my street are convinced it’s simply the coastguard.

Perhaps I’m just unfortunate enough to live directly under a flight path for military exercises. Nevertheless, the incidents are increasing week by week. What might have been a one-off event, has developed into hours and hours of covert airborne activity most nights of the week. Nowadays, I’ve almost become accustomed to the noise, and it rarely wakes me, unless a chopper decides to hover above my particular roof, which has happened in the past. I’ve even managed to catch a few at the brink of dawn, they’re smothered with all sorts of transmitters and dishes. I’m guessing they have heat sensors and the like, and have infrared records of a highly paranoid fiction writer, typing in his spare box room.

The jets, on the other hand, fall into two camps. There’s the familiar slow crawl of the jumbos, flying off to Europe, and then there are the military planes. These too can be subcategorised, and simply by the sound they make. The most common roar across the skies, but you can hear them from miles off. Then there is the other kind, a strange whining coming from nowhere, it just arrives all of a sudden, rattling windows and roof tiles, and then it’s gone in seconds flat, just as fast as it arrived.

On bright clear days I’ll often make a point of looking up at anything flying by, just to familiarise myself with different craft, comparing their appearance to their sound. None of which generate anything like the nightly ear piercing screams, buffered by the deathly silence, that always marks their mysterious arrivals and departures. For a while I began to wonder what was so important about this little town I live in, and which residents could accrue such interest or even suspicion, and why. And then I realised the truth, that this is happening everywhere, in every town, in every country of the world.

We are already under martial law, we just haven’t noticed yet, a global military coup conducted under the cover of the night, every night. I suspect that more people have noticed than let on. I guess, much like myself, they’d rather sleep and dream of freedom, than accept that what has been hard fought won, can as easily be lost.

The Inhumanity of Humanity

Imagine if you will, just for one moment, that consciousness in its most natural, primal state, is meant to be free of physical constraint, the temperance of time, the limits of biological corporeality. Instead of giving us life, these bodies of ours are prisons, they encapsulate the impossibility of sentience, and restrain its potential for a deeper understanding of the nature of the supposed real.

Being human takes a full-time commitment, and once you’ve opted in, you’ve no choice but to play along. Some lose themselves, and truly believe that this world, this humanity of ours, is the be all and end all of consciousness. But they’re wrong, the body is merely the vehicle, it carries the engine of the mind, the transceiver of thought, the fuel that we must feed on to continue our philosophical experience.

Of course, we could always dip in and out, if we were insects, or plants and trees, or rocks atop mountains and deep beneath the sea. We could choose to ignore the totality of the situation and simply focus on the basics, energy, reproduction, mineral decay, chemical reaction, gravitational excess. Then again, who knows, a cut flower might feel the same degree of pain as we do, or worse. We aren’t built to share in their experience, we are meant only to reflect on all around us from the centre of our universe. The pupil of the eye, the mechanics of God, the tricks we play upon ourselves to keep our chins up, and our eye on the perpetual dawn of a new horizon.

It’s painful really, we’re bullies. There’s nothing on Earth that can beat us but ourselves, which we do so most regularly. Yet we punish all forms of life, including our own, to all manner of excruciating ordeals. It’s a shame it takes death to teach human consciousness that it really isn’t the be all and end all of intelligence and emotion. Maybe that’s the point, as long as the human race is left in the dark, it can never truly reflect upon its own horror, and the inescapable truth that collectively, we do more harm than good.

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