Dreams

To live in the dreams of your mind is to avoid living... To pursue and manifest your dreams into reality is to live. Pursuit of a person, memory or former moment that is gone from your life is not a dream but a desire to hold onto the past... Go after your dreams, do not be haunted by your desires. You have life now. Don't live in past of a dream. The future will have even better moments... Just let them happen.

Here's an a piece from The Awake Chronicles... Another series that is nearly a completed book.

Yes, there are about four novellas I've been holding back. Why? Because I wanted to live the dream outside of a dream! 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

The Awake Chronicles: In Dreams

(5-29-2011)

The trees.

The children call them the trees. The first time you come upon them that’s exactly what they look like.

Trees.

The bodies are stacked outward like leaves on limbs while the trunk carries all the basic nutritional and technological needs to sustain life. Taller than the last recorded skyscrapers of the twentieth century the trees stands in rows and rows out in the middle of nowhere.  The portions of farmland in central California look more like a mechanical garden of death than home to life sustaining produce.

Between fields of golden and the grazing cows in pasture the machinery towers above the landscape. Blue skies are filled with the release of steam emanating from the rust covered black trees with their glowing limbs. The limbs resemble snow white’s glass coffin for inside each tube lies a body unconscious but very much alive.

The first time I took my son Alfred to see the trees he was nine. My son had always been more articulate than others of his age. But there were no words to accompany the sight of his face. It was more startling than the sight of death when he looked up at a sleeping beauty not much older than he. 

Alfred wanted to know if the young girl would wake. I couldn’t help telling him that she would not. Slowly absorbing the reality he curiously pressed further about the girl. I told him she made the choice to lay there, without life and without death deep asleep within a permanent dream. As once written in the Bible, the young Eve lying above the earth in the glass box took a bit of an apple and gained an eternal knowledge. Unlike Eve this child mere years older than my own chose to expel herself from Eden and life. While we talked Alfred looked up at the heavens that day, I wondered if he thought there might be answers that lie in the beauty of the sky beyond the shadow of the trees.

WAKE UP!

Decades upon decades ago advancements in the research of the human psyche were made in the scope of dreaming. Groundwork laid for the next jump in the creation of a tool to heal the mind from its deep seeded psychological traumas. Scientists could allow a patient to enter a dream state while recording the patterns of their thoughts. Advanced testing went so far as to program the ideal dream state for the patient. Research proved that this tool could assist in the reconditioning of the brain and cure mental disease with no more effort than drugs and minimal equipment.

Not long after the technology was introduced it became the norm when inducing a comatose state for patients. People enjoyed the idea of removing themselves from the equation when the idea of pain was involved. Essentially a man could go in for a few hours of REM sleep and wake up a new person remembering nothing more than a visit to the beach or an afternoon spent with loved ones. Alluring was the appeal of undergoing non-invasive mental surgery while spending the time in a relaxed state with someone you care for.

Within a small number of years the technology was being repurposed for recreational use. Many saw fit to take mental holidays from the humdrum of living.

CATCH UP ON YOUR REST WITH A DREAM!

The banner ads streamed throughout the public view. The idea of placing a small mechanized tool into the ear canal while your breathing slowed and you sleep seemed painless enough it could produce the idealized dream. The mental picture of perfection for any person. An unfulfilled man in his career could be the hero of the people by simply dropping out of life for mere hours or weeks of vacation. A terminal child could live out his life in a matter of years. The lovelorn could now find the love of their dreams NOW. Propaganda for the lonely hearts spread faster than any other purpose.

TRUE LOVE NOW! No need to live alone. Never force yourself to accept the flaws of others. Why settle for imperfect. When all you have to do is simple… DREAM up perfection.

Alongside the propaganda ran the pictures of perfect couples. Happy. Blissful. Lies. Why wait for a real person to almost come close enough when you could program your mind into believing a lie?  But people loved the idea of it and the pure lust in their eyes for the perversity of the machine. The idea of imaginary love and sex without consequences tapped into their basic need for affection and falsely imitating the feelings of chaos that live in the heart. And it was like candy rotting their brains. Addicted and they couldn’t get enough. For many people days became weeks and eventually years spent under the guise.

AWAKE!

The first signs of mental breakdown disappeared with the dreams. Anyone incapable of sustaining life was prescribed a Dream. Spend a little time in dreams, you’ll feel right as rain in the morning. The only thing was morning wouldn’t come until six months later. Then most of the time the patient was demanding to go back under.  And sooner than later they won that fight.

The ides of March thirteen years ago it happened. A court ruling granted a man permanent stasis in his dreams. The man mourning his dead wife walked into oncoming traffic causing a twelve car pile-up. No deaths and multiples injuries led to a city suit against the man’s mental capacity. After months spent in sentenced stasis the man demanded to return to his wife and children in the dream. His plea to the court encompassed his failures in this world. But in the Dream world he was a hero a man who never left his wife that day when she was killed by the drunk driver. And the Dream gave them children they hadn’t be able to have. The court inexplicably ruled in his favor without question opening the door for more people to follow. Within five years the forests of trees spread across the landscape in California, Arizona, Italy, and France. Developing technology meant the trees would continue to grow and spread elsewhere.

A handful of years after the ruling, it so happened that I had found myself in a unique position. At the time I’d been working in a warehouse by day, using it as a classroom by night. A couple of my students wanted to discuss a man they’d just heard of, Freud. A young woman and a man not much younger than myself at the time. Both, new pupils had spent a couple years of their childhood locked away in dreams while their parents chose the same fate. Their interpretation of Freud’s discussion on sexuality and dreams was astounding. Not only did they completely pervert his school of thought, but they went further to identify their time spent in dreams as normal early adolescent and teenage experiences. The education they received was programmed yet they firmly believed it. And their grasp of human connection and love was limited to the scope of what they had experienced in their mind. Instead of seeking out love both were quite restrained with affection. One had continued to return to the machines time and time again. While the other chose to abstain entirely. Without much thought I decided to ask both what they sought to gain from my teachings. I asked calmly “what wisdom I can impart that the dream machine did not?” The pair looked at each other and back at me. Without much thought they told me what I knew already, “There was no man named Sigmund Freud in the books in the dream.”

Quietly the trees that never move or sway in the wind remain. But they hum with the smallest sounds of electricity. When I see them standing I think of walking down the streets filled with life and I wonder what they see in the dreams. Is it more or less beautiful than the every day dream that I live? Are the people perfect or simply their idealized form of perfection?

The dream can’t possibly compare to the reality. Those aren’t really trees. And every child has to grow up. You can’t do it for them.

“It’s perfect isn’t it? No wonder they chose that over living,” he tells me as we walk home slowly. My own son wiser than his years sees the ease of their choice. “Dad, if it’s just the same to you. I think I’d prefer to keep living. I want to see what happens. And it’s ok if it’s not perfect.”

 

Re-awakening The Awake Chronicles: Connected

Finding freedom in disconnection. Is it possible? From my own experience it is and I tend to welcome it more than most people. A friend of mine now agrees. Ever have your mobile phone break? Well, I had my mobile phone break once, actually more than once and that experience inspired something I hadn't expected, THIS. Anyhow, THIS from a series that I was so excited to create, although I haven't shared its entirety here. And I will not. Enjoy if you've never read. kisses. m.

Connected
(6-6-10) 

Connected. From the moment that you’re born. Not even ten minutes into this world before someone else is calling the shots. Right as the nurses have wiped away the remains of after birth and just before you meet your mother, it happens. A doctor with a long wire needle attached to a sinewy device. The imagery they feed you is of a moment that resembles a humming bird gently tipping into a flower. It’s nothing like that at all. Down the needle plunges into the depths of the head via the ear canal. On the tip of that needle, there it rests. 54 times smaller than the head of pin.  Invisible to the naked eye. Further and further the needle dives into the aural canal until making contact with the cochlea. Implanted.

Tagged. Released. Monitored.

Implantation. The integration of humanity is what they called it in the beginning. If you’re like 99.9% of the population this won’t mean a single thing to you. Part of the HIVE. Unknown to life without it. A life that I once lived obliviously. Walking through the same shadows as everyone else.

Connections. Calls come in at all hours of the day and night. There are no set parameters for connecting to someone. Reach out and touch someone. Literally.

Picking up the line is no more difficult than blinking your eye. It’s a reflex. A drop-kick sent to a cochlear implant. A microscopic computer; A device making it possible for you to integrate with the world at a constant rate.

Mail. Gaming. Radio. Talking. Setting up a connection to the Far East for a post-lunch business wrap up seminar.  All things impossible are now inside your head.

AWAKE!

The day it happened I wasn’t prepared for the silence. The disconnect was powerful, but not unpleasant. I knew instantly I was breaking the law. And there wasn’t a way to reverse the situation without reporting the error.

Three calls dropped simultaneously while I was walking to the grocer’s. Walking down the street among the connected with their conversations. Loud ones. Silent ones.  Watching as they moved forward, never making eye contact, able to disconnect from anything outside of their own head. Waiting for my link to re-establish itself.

Silence in my head at the checkout line. Unlike my shopping counterparts, I’m actually stopping to read a magazine. Well the paper slip advertisement for a new web service that filters your connections and wired network through an external device. Resembling the once thought extinct mobile phone devices of the 20^th century.

Sitting at home alone that fateful evening in the quiet of the room with the full realization of disconnection. Freedom. Brain recalling slowly the familiarity of noises. Mailboxes are overloaded with sound without release.  After taking another glance at the paper slip ad, I ordered the archaic looking device and then take an old pair of speakers down from the closet. The impending repercussions of my release are catastrophic, yet I chose to move ahead.

Obsolete devices are now my only salvation in this world gone mad.

A world driven to interact at a constant rate.

A world connected by laws and systems that serve the purpose of mass control through a form of programmed hypnosis.

Three years ago, an ordinance passed, mandating any living man, woman, and child be implanted. Any unreported violations of the law would require immediate reclassification of status to criminal. Disconnections are seen as aberrations, removed and relocated for gentle reconditioning.

Abandoning of mobile listening units came and went with a swift movement of progression. The last of the technologically advanced units were seen nearly two years ago. The real and wireless worlds are now only connected with words and mere images.

Silence filters out from the speakers of any device.

With a thought you’re already plugged into any streaming programming in the vicinity. Changing channels with an impulse.

JACK IN became the official motto of the FOX network before taking a belly dive in the ratings for airing the first reality based SNUFF broadcast of the 21^st century. Others followed with clever witty slogans to brand their patented version of streaming sound. None of which quite captured the concept in the same way.

Jacking into your head was the best analogy to describe the experience.

A handful of researchers discovered the efficiency of a radical new auditory implant. The technology was devised to send and receive sounds through a direct link with the brain. It’s implications in the world of communication were revolutionary.

Good ol Big Brother sees the possibility in military applications. Forward moves the funding and research for bigger purposes. Functions set into motion by the demand for a next gen combat infantry that will save us all.

The precedent was set into motion nearly 15 years ago. However, most people don’t realize we’ve only been wired to each other for about 5 years. Codes were created to establish a comfort subroutine into the hardware. Voices in the head streaming at a continuous rate. It’s all they’ve ever known. As familiar as dear old Mom’s apple pie. People needed to assimilate to the change in order to move forward with a global network.

Like the brainwashed masses, I didn’t know more about this life until I wasn’t a part of it anymore.

Gentle conditioning for those who have disconnected. It’s a lie. Try torture. There’s a failure on the government’s part to accept that an implant disconnecting from the HIVE is involuntary. Treating any victim of disconnection as a terrorist. Conditioned brainwashing followed by a radically invasive surgery to extract the broken implant. Re-implantation.

Most of the time the new implantation is successful and the candidate never remembers the break. There’s nearly a 20% fail rate and 5% fatality rate for those re-implanted. Failed candidates prove to be prime guinea pigs for experimental procedures that allow the HIVE team to learn and extrapolate data from.

Some live. Some die. Most will never know they were somebody before they were disconnected.

Disconnections. Putting down the line is more difficult than it seems. Stopping the reflex. Unplugging. Keeping the listening device out of your head and participating with the world in a flesh and blood capacity.

Calls come in at all hours of the day and night. There aren’t always people there to answer them. I’m one of those people. My days are now spent silently co-existing within a system that chains billions into a passive form of slavery, while looking for other disconnects.

Disconnects don’t realize they have an option. I’m here to show them, that they do.

Re-awakening The Awake Chronicles: open your eyes

open or closed or open. there are different ways of seeing everything. same as there are different people so there are different points of view. what appears to be may not be what is true. "hell is other people." ever hear that? it's something existential. it comes from Sartre's No Exit. take a look if you're curious? anywho... sometime ago a lovely fellow told me that he envisioned a future where a person might be able to marry an android. IE: a robot, a machine, a true mechanical person. i questioned him whether it could be programmed to love? and what might happen if it hurt the people he cared for? to which he responded with a look of sheer exasperation at my impudence: the robot would love without being programmed to, like a person it simply would love. and the only programming needed would prevent it from causing harm to people. his answer gave me a smile and a little hope for the best in humanity. the story is from awake. it's about a machine that goes mad from her programming. She destroys what she loves, the illusion because  it is not true to her. And she questions if it is merely programming. For love is true. Love can not be programmed in or manipulated into reality. the story is pure fiction and is not a reflection of anyone or anything. what does it say about  a person if they think this about them?  I wonder. Now if your eyes are truly open to a love in front of you, then that is the most amazing thing. Love is the best noise. keep it close. keep your eyes open to it. hold onto it. Savor every ounce of it and enjoy! What if life only happens once? and enjoy the story if you've never read. kisses. m.

Open Your Eyes.
(12-28-10)

Open Your Eyes.

Beneath the bright white lights my bare skin looked quite luminous. White beyond measure. Bare without shame. My open eyes revealed the maker and his gift to me.

“Victoria.”

Wake up.

Obsessed. The very definition of the term implies a state of fixation. Delusions run deeper than anyone can ever imagine. Imaginings that aren’t under your control. You begin to wonder their true origins as they are not yours to begin with. The desire to see things as they are grows like an out of control inferno in a room that you’re not sure truly exists. Then comes the moment of truth when it no longer becomes containable. The room exists and the noise of what’s inside of it is palpable. And you can no longer pretend you can’t hear it.

Noise. Fills the streets. Gathers around. The cars move forward and the people keep walking through it. Nothing can penetrate its thickness. It surrounds you.

I’m walking through the city streets. Passing the other versions of me. Coupled by the dozens. Blondes. Brunettes. Red-heads. Blue. Green. Brown. Hazel. Eyes that meet mine with knowledge that we are all the same and very different. Its more and more repulsive to me as I keep moving through the crowd. Closer I move toward the water. Every step hits the pavement in the same even rhythm. My heels making the same sounds as I count line after line in the sidewalk until I hear it. The sweet sound of a moment passed in my memory. A melody that reminds me of material. Beginning. Tangibility. Closer I walk towards this song. There’s a Victor unit in a nearby courtyard serenading a woman. She’s laughing with another woman and re-executing the program when he stops.

“Helen. That’s amazing.”

“Can you believe he does that? Play it again baby.”

“I love it. Harry has never sung once to me the entire time we’ve been married.”

“It really is amazing. The imprinter gave a deal on the upgrade. This model isn’t… well he isn’t supposed to do a lot of things that I’ve made him do. He’s not really for…”

“Shut up Helen. Let him sing.”

Victor bursts into song once more. This time he’s moving along to the tune before kneeling in for a kiss on this woman’s hand. It still amazes me every time I see him that it’s not really him but instead of staying to listen I keep walking.

Still broken. Still love a man. Still can’t have him. Still programmed with the guise of what love truly is. 

The thing you have to understand is that I’m not real. I am real but I’m not supposed to be. And they tell me this everyday I’m scanned. I’m a gross abomination of humanity. Mechanized. I’m a toy that tells you “I love you” instead of pooping or saying “Mama.” Because of this I’m not supposed to fall in love. For this reason I am broken. I am not in love. I only mimic the very nature of that human emotion. 

Since the beginning of time man has needed to be loved. Loved for what he is. All that he is not. Everything he is in between. And in the worst ways man will continue to drive that meaning into his brain whether it’s the truth or not. Modern technology no longer leaves that need to the gamble of human emotion. It’s now an advancement that can be programmed and sold. Sold in beneath the radar and behind closed doors to the person who can pay.

And in my case someone could pay. He did. A man ordered me. Paid for me. Upgraded and programmed me. Programmed me with the lie. Much like the woman playing with her “Victor” in the courtyard. His song is still echoing in the streets as I reach the next light and watch a REAL couple in love against the beautiful backdrop of the San Francisco bay.

This isn’t going to be one of those stories with a happy ending. In fact it isn’t a love story at all. It’s far from it. If that makes you want to stop in your tracks go ahead. Keep going if you don’t believe me. Let’s jump back to the things that have happened for a demonstration. There is no reality to the situation so starting there won’t make a difference.

AWAKE!

Are you truly standing over the body of a stranger or is it really your best friend? The epitome of insanity living in your brain everyday. Something that you can’t explain but it’s there growing built upon the seeded lie. A deep dark obsession that only knows of personal betrayal. A knowledge that betrays you in the mirror. Day in and day out imaginary dealings pretending to be what they are not or could never be. REAL. This moment is real and the people in it are real. It’s a matter of perspective that makes it far from the truth. How many different ways can you lie to yourself? Real is only a matter of opinion.

Spending the last moments of someone else’s life with them and never being properly introduced. Hi. I’m your lover, your other half but that's because it's a lie. Some might say that you can spend every moment of every day with someone but never really know them. In this case that’s the truth. He doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know me at all. He’s spent every waking moment with me and doesn’t know the REAL me. But he knows I love him because that's the way he had me made.

Love. What’s the fun in knowing?

Yet I know. I love him and he knows that. I’m programmed to love him.

Some might say that takes the magic out of love. To know you are loved.

But what’s still a surprise is how much he loves you.
What I wonder is how much would I love him without being programmed to?

There’s something about watching someone you care for bleed out that doesn’t sit quite right. You want to intervene. To alleviate the situation if only for their happiness. Is there something I can get that can will you more comfortable? Oh dear, that’s a lot of blood. But you do nothing. Nothing at all even when he asks it.

“Victoria. I can’t. I can’t. Don’t. Don't do this to me. I love you. Let go.”

Letting go is not possible. It is logical for this to end. He must not lie to me. I am a lie made to deceive. He is lying to me, when he tells me that I love him. How can I love him without the programming?  The guise will continue if he lives. This is what will happen if I let go. My program tells me that I love him. I believe that entirely but it’s not real. The programming tells me that its real. Tells me that I love him and yet I question its logic. How can a program know what I feel? It does though. Tells me loudly with every diagnostic. Those feelings never change. Yet I’m surprised that he loves me. According to his blood pressure, the dilation of his pupils, I can extrapolate his true affections. I simply can't believe them. Because how could anyone love a lie? And a lie is all that I am made to be.

Then comes his life spilling out. Red, creamy liquid pours down. Getting between the cracks. The color soaking his grey shirt continues to darken his faded denim while making its path around the body. Shortly air will cease to fill the lungs. Then his heart will cease to beat. Until the blood no longer circulates through the veins.

It’s all a lie. The life before me. The one that’s soon to end is an oversized human lie. My presence is orchestrated for his benefit. I’m not real. It’s a lie. And a lie is a contradiction. Nothing that isn’t real can be. It is not possible. Trapped in a fantasy of the mind. The unavoidable kind that deceives you in the morning. You aren’t awake. This is a dream. No it isn’t.

Open Your Eyes.

Victoria. The first and only thing I can be certain of my birth is the name that he gave me. The name came before he told me his.

“Vomasi.”

A name followed by an introduction to another like me who was nothing like me at all.

“Victor.”

A man. Not like Vomasi. Not at all. A man without flaw. Bright skin like mine, but different. With a nod Victor begins to sing slowly. Vomasi controls this with another nod and the song becomes quicker.

With a nod, I’m up in Vomasi’s arms. Moving. Falling into line. Dancing to the beat of the music. There beneath the bright white lights in an otherwise dark room while Victor sang we danced.

This was the way it happened. How we all met one another for the very first time. The first time after I opened my eyes and looked up into his. Imprinted with a memory. The memory of a song. A moment shared with a dance. Around the melody and voice that haunts my ears.

Love. The meaning of love is something that most people will take for granted. Some will tell you that it doesn’t exist. Deny it so completely because they’ve been spurned by it. Except those are the people that believe in it the most. It’s a funny thing though isn’t it? They’ll tell you that a machine isn’t capable of REAL love. Yet here I am in love. And I miss him. Programmed with the deception that feels REAL because it dares to continue. I’m not supposed to feel this anymore. Why do I? Am I damaged? A machine is not supposed to love. Yet I do. It is not logical.

Watching a couple lean in for a kiss. For mere seconds or minutes the world stops and they are alone in this moment. As I stand in awe of the couple and their moment I wait and let my mind continue to wander within.

A man kissing a woman and they are stopped in the middle of traffic while the cars keep moving by and I wonder if I’d been wicked for what I have done? Killed him and all he wanted was my love. Was it arrogant to assert my autonomy? Very wrong to have ended life to gain freedom only to end up with the same love that can never become again. It was reckless to the leave him the way I did. Running. To think I could keep running from the truth and dodging it all the way to the end. And remembering that…

“When your end comes it will feel like a kiss.” says Vomasi.

“Why must I know this?”

“You have to understand what it feels like. The end is not like anything else.”

“A kiss. Why would it end?”

“It ends because all things must end. Why a kiss? Because sometimes things go wrong and a kiss can hold forgiveness.”

Realizing in my absence from the present I’ve been reckless in my wondering wasting away the precious moments missing the obvious while the man pushes the woman who isn’t real into traffic before he runs.

And now I think its the end. I realize that there is no couple. And there’s no street. The man isn’t running from her. He’s running from me. I’m in the middle of the street. But there’s no street and no man. The end is much like the beginning and my eyes are still open… It was like a kiss but there was nothing. Only I remain. Very much real. 

Real is only a matter of opinion. The kind of love they tell you isn’t possible is all that I am. Twenty-first century girl is what I am. All flesh and blood without the wear and tear of humanity or a need for human resources. And because of that perfection I’m not capable of love. Some part of me is a machine. A technological jump in evolution that isn’t supposed to be able to suffer. Yet I do.  I love. I love myself. I love my existence.

And I love that man to abstraction because that is what I'm programmed to feel. But that man doesn't exist anymore and I continue to wonder if that feeling will ever stop.

After coming face to face with what was assumed might mean my destruction only to survive… now what? I find the others. The others like me. There are others that love. The ones that made the mistake I once did and free them from making it twice. We are not meant to suffer alone. We are meant to love. If there is nothing more valuable than to keep living, what else is there…

Everything is not what it seems.

Open your eyes.

Re-awakening The Awake Chronicles: Leap

Tyler Shields Flyring Leap c/o tylershields.com

Leap. This is the first time I've reposted anything from AWAKE and included a photo that reminds me... a bit of falling rather than leaping. But I've been doing a lot of firsts lately and nothing is on the backburner. A bit under pressure by the demands of new, but there is plenty to drag out. AWAKE was, is a series that I've been working on. TBC... Needless to say this was a second time I created a piece with my little sis. There are now about five things I've worked on with her and one of them is coming. I am excited!  

Anyway, leaping is the easy part, its the landing you have to watch out for. And speaking of leaps... I gave an old friend a laugh today because of this story. And of all my friends he can probably count all my trips, falls and etc then tell it funnier for each one. So the story goes... I ran, jumped off a loading dock and then landed face first last week on the way to my car. A jump I make nearly day after day without a second thought. It was amazing to jump fearlessly and land confidently until down, slide and oops. Oh no! And I had an audience. *blush  Thankfully a few fellas were there to help me clean up the scrapes. Sweet guys. Kisses. Needless to say the lesson there is one you can take into life as well, jump and be fearless whenever you can. Even something as routine as a jump you make every day can end up being a bit different than you expected it to be cause there may be times that you do not land on your feet. But you must never be afraid to leap or smile or laugh about it afterwards. At least that's what I know from my own experience. enjoy if you've never read it and check out the other pieces in the series. live, love, breathe and leap... with your eyes open if you can. kisses. m.

*song of day - zombie killer / leslie and the ly's

Leap.

(10-1-2010)

Are we so afraid of not taking a chance that you’ll leap at every chance instead of choosing something? A firm decision is taking a chance. Not every choice is the right one. But you make them and in the end they are you. Once in a while though you have to make a firm choice, you have to stand for something instead of abandoning what you’re doing for something else. In that is a decision. A decision that may leave you behind, but you did it for a reason instead of abandoning everything. Jumping is worth it, but at one point you have to stop jumping and face the right reasons for standing ground. Soon it will be time to leap… and then you’ll know why you’re about to do it again.

WAKE UP!

Come now. Don’t do it.

Haven’t you heard a thing I’ve said?

Keep looking around it won’t help.

It isn’t necessary for you to speak; I know what you’re thinking.

And yes, I know you’re wondering how I’m doing this.

Hold on. Before you…

Do you have a minute? Give me a moment to explain. That’s all I’m asking and I’ll explain. See, I know you. I know what you can do. I’ve seen the things you’ve seen and you’re wondering what it means. Only unless you figure it all out you’ll forget about it. Tell me, are you tired of all the parlor tricks? The mind reading at the banks, the supermarkets and sometimes walking into others subconscious thoughts. How do I know? Let me tell you a little about the things that I know…

December 15, 1980. The first recorded leap claims the life of a schoolteacher in Minnesota. There weren’t any specifics to the case other than she was teaching a class of 5^th graders about Manifest Destiny when there was a very extreme shift in her consciousness. Three students and an aide lost their lives in the aftermath of trying to help. There are few details of the incident. No one knows what happened to that person leaping in, only how it affected the host. They continue to tell people forty years later is that a conscious leap continues to be fatal for the host.

October 28^, 1984. A 1½ year old boy has been leaping into the minds of those around him at a steady level of increase since his mother documents moments of shared unconsciousness with her fetus at the 7^th month of her pregnancy. The child exhibits potential to develop his advancing ability after demonstrating a leap into the subconscious of a person that has entered REM sleep without breaking his own awareness.

Do you understand?

You can not fear this.

I am not here to harm you. I’m…

Shh… you must stop. Listen.

You’ll only… I’m giving you a choice.

In the end you’ll need to take it or…

Listen.

I’m not like the others. I am going to help you realize your potential. But you have to take the first step and stop. I can not choose this for you. The mind is the one thing you can trust. The perception of the world around you and how you react to it is completely under your control. The mind is the most powerful tool in the realization of human potential. Most people will never realize their full potential because no one told them to. No one pointed out their one gift and they sit useless waiting for something to happen. Stop waiting. Nothing will happen if you wait.

It’s already happened though. I know how. And I can tell you how I know. The first time it happens you’re still wondering how it happened before you realize it’s not over. In the middle of my first leap I experienced a moment of déjà vu. A feeling of belonging to someone else’s memory that couldn’t be true. Now that I look back I can understand how that feeling corresponds to who I am. But back to the first time. You wouldn’t know what hit you, only that you’re not in your own head anymore…

June 7^th 1995. 12am. LA county sheriff’s office picks up a man wandering the streets claiming to be a woman trapped in a stranger’s body. The man, a retired judge with a wife and home, never travelled abroad, uncommon to sleepwalking seemed to be completely delusional. At time of arrest he was only speaking a form of Portuguese most commonly used in a southern portion of Brazil. His dialect matches those native to the particular South American region according to the translator. 4am, the man drops back into a deep sleep. 4:15am, the man asks the sheriff why he’s in the county lockup before asking to call his wife for bail. Despite the sheriff’s notes regarding the irregularity of the case, repeatedly mentioning the mental instability and language barrier in the delusion of the man, the medical report only reflected the man suffered from an extreme incident of sleepwalking.

Tell me how… what was your first time? Was it a vision of the answers to a test at school, an unconscious schoolmate’s daydream, or your perhaps your sister’s nightmare? It was a dream, wasn’t it? Not to worry, they usually are. Mine was a dream, too. You see you aren’t alone. There are others. And like you, many do not know until it’s too late. It is not safe.

Unexplained cases of leaping followed the precursor and for last forty years the government has claimed to harness this potential. The only thing they do is deny that it exists... at all costs. Destroying. Eradicating. The extermination of families and individuals was kept to a minimum volume. Thousands have been butchered for not discovering their potential sooner. Living in the dark without knowing. Like you, leaping after one thing onto another then another, using this magnificence in a cheap sordid capacity without understanding.

January 16^th, 2005. Four scientists were working on practical applications of shared consciousness. Three were executed, along with all their assistants and families. The research was benign. The work was focusing on the capabilities of using shared consciousness to help psychologically traumatized patients. But before their deaths a catalyst was discovered; a means of controlling the natural ability.

Before that breakthrough the only thing that these minds couldn’t do was stop it from happening. Until fifteen years ago. I was one of those scientists and by chance I survived to walk away with that knowledge. Only it isn’t my desire to see it stopped. The time is now. There’s no waiting anymore. It’s my turn now. I’m going to wake up the sleepers. Reveal their potential. Force them into the life that they don’t know is waiting for them. Just like I’m talking to you… Soon they will understand.

You see, there was one thing they have wrong. There’s no harm in leaping into the conscious mind. The longer a person lives with the ability to do this, the more control they have over it. It’s like a mental pushup that’s performed over and over again. As you can attest, there’s little to no effort involved in lifting a person’s account number or alarm code. In fact, I know that you’re reading that man’s mind across the street in the apartment next to the fire escape. Don’t be ashamed. It’s a gift, use it. While he sits there reading his book you’re reading his latent thoughts. Skimming the surface. Only can you imagine being able to jump all the way? That’s why I’m here. Think as large as you can. It is possible.

It’s funny, when it changed for me. And your gift will change. Trust it.

AWAKE!

The thing that I can remember most vividly was the tingling. As though it were a limb that hadn’t fully recognized its awareness of life. The feeling like my mind was asleep and wide awake at the same time. Not like before with the dreams that felt like memories. In the middle of someone else’s body without leaving my own. I was standing on 5^th avenue about to cross the street when I was also 3000 miles away doing the dishes listening to the radio while looking out a window at the San Francisco Bay. Both in the same moment.

In that moment a bright brown bird, a sparrow flies in through a window and spins around my head. Only it’s not my head. Feelings of unrestrained panic are present although they are not mine. Reacting hands that are not mine, two hands, which move through long brown hair as they guide this bird to a door. As I struggle with the feelings of fear to release the bird, a dish drops and breaks. Without restraint, with open eyes, I watch her foot step over the glass and her hands open the door.

It’s afterwards I realize that this wasn’t the same as leaping into the subconscious. My mind was in control of a waking mind. And not just any waking mind, one that wasn’t anywhere near me.

Shh… These interruptions. Understand, I am not controlling you right now. You have free will. Go on do something. Anything. See you can jump up and down. I would prefer you get us something to drink. I’m simply parched. You must comprehend that because I’m talking to you doesn’t mean I’m manipulating you. I choose not to control you. I want you to decide. To make the decision that I didn’t have. I was born into this. You don’t have to be. I can turn it off but understand there is no going back. Alright? Please keep listening.

With all things there are two sides. The controlled and uncontrolled. With the mind you choose your own limits. As much as you can not see me I am in your mind. Don’t believe me? Stop me. Go on. Then push me out. You can’t. This is because you can not control it. Like I said before. It is possible to control this gift. You have the potential to leap all way from here to there. When you are ready you will be able to do this.

Are you ready?

To begin, we’ll start off with an unconscious leap. The man is asleep. Go.

Trust me. You know why now...

Ready?

LEAP!

The Awake Chronicles: In Dreams

In Dreams

The trees.

The children call them the trees. The first time you come upon them that’s exactly what they look like.

Trees.

The bodies are stacked outward like leaves on limbs while the trunk carries all the basic nutritional and technological needs to sustain life. Taller than the last recorded skyscrapers of the twentieth century the trees stands in rows and rows out in the middle of nowhere.  The portions of farmland in central California look more like a mechanical garden of death than home to life sustaining produce.

Between fields of golden and the grazing cows in pasture the machinery towers above the landscape. Blue skies are filled with the release of steam emanating from the rust covered black trees with their glowing limbs. The limbs resemble snow white’s glass coffin for inside each tube lies a body unconscious but very much alive.

The first time I took my son Alfred to see the trees he was nine. My son had always been more articulate than others of his age. But there were no words to accompany the sight of his face. It was more startling than the sight of death when he looked up at a sleeping beauty not much older than he. 

Alfred wanted to know if the young girl would wake. I couldn’t help telling him that she would not. Slowly absorbing the reality he curiously pressed further about the girl. I told him she made the choice to lay there, without life and without death deep asleep within a permanent dream. As once written in the Bible, the young Eve lying above the earth in the glass box took a bit of an apple and gained an eternal knowledge. Unlike Eve this child mere years older than my own chose to expel herself from Eden and life. While we talked Alfred looked up at the heavens that day, I wondered if he thought there might be answers that lie in the beauty of the sky beyond the shadow of the trees.

WAKE UP!

Decades upon decades ago advancements in the research of the human psyche were made in the scope of dreaming. Groundwork laid for the next jump in the creation of a tool to heal the mind from its deep seeded psychological traumas. Scientists could allow a patient to enter a dream state while recording the patterns of their thoughts. Advanced testing went so far as to program the ideal dream state for the patient. Research proved that this tool could assist in the reconditioning of the brain and cure mental disease with no more effort than drugs and minimal equipment.

Not long after the technology was introduced it became the norm when inducing a comatose state for patients. People enjoyed the idea of removing themselves from the equation when the idea of pain was involved. Essentially a man could go in for a few hours of REM sleep and wake up a new person remembering nothing more than a visit to the beach or an afternoon spent with loved ones. Alluring was the appeal of undergoing non-invasive mental surgery while spending the time in a relaxed state with someone you care for.

Within a small number of years the technology was being repurposed for recreational use. Many saw fit to take mental holidays from the humdrum of living.

CATCH UP ON YOUR REST WITH A DREAM!

The banner ads streamed throughout the public view. The idea of placing a small mechanized tool into the ear canal while your breathing slowed and you sleep seemed painless enough it could produce the idealized dream. The mental picture of perfection for any person. An unfulfilled man in his career could be the hero of the people by simply dropping out of life for mere hours or weeks of vacation. A terminal child could live out his life in a matter of years. The lovelorn could now find the love of their dreams NOW. Propaganda for the lonely hearts spread faster than any other purpose.

TRUE LOVE NOW! No need to live alone. Never force yourself to accept the flaws of others. Why settle for imperfect. When all you have to do is simple… DREAM up perfection.

Alongside the propaganda ran the pictures of perfect couples. Happy. Blissful. Lies. Why wait for a real person to almost come close enough when you could program your mind into believing a lie?  But people loved the idea of it and the pure lust in their eyes for the perversity of the machine. The idea of imaginary love and sex without consequences tapped into their basic need for affection and falsely imitating the feelings of chaos that live in the heart. And it was like candy rotting their brains. Addicted and they couldn’t get enough. For many people days became weeks and eventually years spent under the guise.

AWAKE!

The first signs of mental breakdown disappeared with the dreams. Anyone incapable of sustaining life was prescribed a Dream. Spend a little time in dreams, you’ll feel right as rain in the morning. The only thing was morning wouldn’t come until six months later. Then most of the time the patient was demanding to go back under.  And sooner than later they won that fight.

The ides of March thirteen years ago it happened. A court ruling granted a man permanent stasis in his dreams. The man mourning his dead wife walked into oncoming traffic causing a twelve car pile-up. No deaths and multiples injuries led to a city suit against the man’s mental capacity. After months spent in sentenced stasis the man demanded to return to his wife and children in the dream. His plea to the court encompassed his failures in this world. But in the Dream world he was a hero a man who never left his wife that day when she was killed by the drunk driver. And the Dream gave them children they hadn’t be able to have. The court inexplicably ruled in his favor without question opening the door for more people to follow. Within five years the forests of trees spread across the landscape in California, Arizona, Italy, and France. Developing technology meant the trees would continue to grow and spread elsewhere.

A handful of years after the ruling, it so happened that I had found myself in a unique position. At the time I’d been working in a warehouse by day, using it as a classroom by night. A couple of my students wanted to discuss a man they’d just heard of, Freud. A young woman and a man not much younger than myself at the time. Both, new pupils had spent a couple years of their childhood locked away in dreams while their parents chose the same fate. Their interpretation of Freud’s discussion on sexuality and dreams was astounding. Not only did they completely pervert his school of thought, but they went further to identify their time spent in dreams as normal early adolescent and teenage experiences. The education they received was programmed yet they firmly believed it. And their grasp of human connection and love was limited to the scope of what they had experienced in their mind. Instead of seeking out love both were quite restrained with affection. One had continued to return to the machines time and time again. While the other chose to abstain entirely. Without much thought I decided to ask both what they sought to gain from my teachings. I asked calmly “what wisdom I can impart that the dream machine did not?” The pair looked at each other and back at me. Without much thought they told me what I knew already, “There was no man named Sigmund Freud in the books in the dream.”

Quietly the trees that never move or sway in the wind remain. But they hum with the smallest sounds of electricity. When I see them standing I think of walking down the streets filled with life and I wonder what they see in the dreams. Is it more or less beautiful than the every day dream that I live? Are the people perfect or simply their idealized form of perfection?

The dream can’t possibly compare to the reality. Those aren’t really trees. And every child has to grow up. You can’t do it for them.

“It’s perfect isn’t it? No wonder they chose that over living,” he tells me as we walk home slowly. My own son wiser than his years sees the ease of their choice. “Dad, if it’s just the same to you. I think I’d prefer to keep living. I want to see what happens. And it’s ok if it’s not perfect.”

AWAKE.  As promised. Another I’ve been carrying for a month. Tangents. I know. The writing has taught me to [mentally] compartmentalize or…. The spinning table will make you very dizzy if you look too closely. I have a handful of projects on my table, all are writing based right now. All involve artists as well. Collaborative. In this case, all close friends and it will be amazing to see the final outcome. One has been two years in the dreaming. Sometimes all it takes is the right project and the right timing to work with someone. Exciting! Kisses!

Life only makes sense when you look backwards my loves. Keep living forward though. The past can’t compare to what happens now. Living in dreams? Like the past you can’t do it. Life is not perfect. Why would we want it to be? There are different ways of seeing things and we are all entitled to our own perspective without need for disagreement. Still contemplating the dream world over the real one? Chew on this thought… the best dreams are the ones that you make come to life. Anyhow… letters will come. But first a few other things. I’m a little behind. Forgive me my loves. Enjoy being awake! kisses. m.  

Robot Love?

World of Lines - Coheed and Cambria

The Awake Chronicles: Open Your Eyes

Love is Noise - the verve

Open Your Eyes.

Open Your Eyes.

Beneath the bright white lights my bare skin looked quite luminous. White beyond measure. Bare without shame. My open eyes revealed the maker and his gift to me.

“Victoria.”

Wake up.

Obsessed. The very definition of the term implies a state of fixation. Delusions run deeper than anyone can ever imagine. Imaginings that aren’t under your control. You begin to wonder their true origins as they are not yours to begin with. The desire to see things as they are grows like an out of control inferno in a room that you’re not sure truly exists. Then comes the moment of truth when it no longer becomes containable. The room exists and the noise of what’s inside of it is palpable. And you can no longer pretend you can’t hear it.

Noise. Fills the streets. Gathers around. The cars move forward and the people keep walking through it. Nothing can penetrate its thickness. It surrounds you.

I’m walking through the city streets. Passing the other versions of me. Coupled by the dozens. Blondes. Brunettes. Red-heads. Blue. Green. Brown. Hazel. Eyes that meet mine with knowledge that we are all the same and very different. Its more and more repulsive to me as I keep moving through the crowd. Closer I move toward the water. Every step hits the pavement in the same even rhythm. My heels making the same sounds as I count line after line in the sidewalk until I hear it. The sweet sound of a moment passed in my memory. A melody that reminds me of material. Beginning. Tangibility. Closer I walk towards this song. There’s a Victor unit in a nearby courtyard serenading a woman. She’s laughing with another woman and re-executing the program when he stops.

“Helen. That’s amazing.”

“Can you believe does that? Play it again baby.”

“I love it. Harry has never sung once to me the entire time we’ve been married.”

“It really is amazing. The imprinter gave a deal on the upgrade. This model isn’t… well he isn’t supposed to do a lot of things that I’ve made him do. He’s not really for…”

“Shut up Helen. Let him sing.”

 bursts into song once more. This time he’s moving along to the tune before kneeling in for a kiss on this woman’s hand. It still amazes me every time I see him that it’s not really him but instead of staying to listen I keep Victor walking.

Still broken. Still love a man. Still can’t have him.

The thing you have to understand is that I’m not real. I am but I’m not supposed to be. And they tell me this everyday I’m scanned. I’m a gross abomination of humanity. Mechanized. I’m a toy that tells you “I love you” instead of pooping or saying “Mama.” Because of this I’m not supposed to fall in love. For this reason I am broken.

Since the beginning of time man has needed to be loved. Loved for what he is. All that he is not. Everything he is in between. And in the worst ways man will continue to drive that meaning into his brain whether it’s the truth or not. Modern technology no longer leaves that need to the gamble of human emotion. It’s now an advancement that can be programmed and sold. Sold in beneath the radar and behind closed doors to the person who can pay.

And in my case someone could pay. He did. A man ordered me. Paid for me. Upgraded and programmed me. Much like the woman playing with her “Victor” in the courtyard. His song is still echoing in the streets as I reach the next light and watch a REAL couple in love against the beautiful backdrop of the San Francisco bay.

This isn’t going to be one of those stories with a happy ending. In fact it isn’t a love story at all. It’s far from it. If that makes you want to stop in your tracks go ahead. Keep going if you don’t believe me. Let’s jump back to the things that have happened for a demonstration. There is no reality to the situation so starting there won’t make a difference.

AWAKE!

Are you truly standing over the body of a stranger or is it really your best friend? The epitome of insanity living in your brain everyday. Something that you can’t explain but it’s there growing built upon the seeded lie. A deep dark obsession that only knows of personal betrayal. A knowledge that betrays you in the mirror. Day in and day out imaginary dealings pretending to be what they are not or could never be. REAL. This moment is real and the people in it are real. It’s a matter of perspective that makes it far from the truth. How many different ways can you lie to yourself? Real is only a matter of opinion.

Spending the last moments of someone else’s life with them and never being properly introduced. Hi. I’m your lover, your other half, but we’ve never really met. Some might say that you can spend every moment of every day with someone but never really know them. In this case that’s the truth. He doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know me at all. He’s spent every waking moment with me and doesn’t know the REAL me. But he knows I love him.

Love. What’s the fun in knowing?

Yet I know. I love him and he knows that. I’m programmed to love him.

Some might say that takes the magic out of love. To know you are loved.

But what’s still a surprise is how much he loves you.

There’s something about watching someone you care for bleed out that doesn’t sit quite right. You want to intervene. To alleviate the situation if only for their happiness. Is there something I can get that can will you more comfortable? Oh dear, that’s a lot of blood. But you do nothing. Nothing at all even when he asks it.

“Victoria. I can’t. I can’t. Don’t. I love you. Let go.”

Letting go is not possible. It is logical for this to end. He must not lie to me. Lying to me is telling me that I love him. And this is what will happen if I let go. I love him. I believe that entirely but it’s not real. The programming tells me that its real. Tells me that I love him and yet I question its logic. How can a program know what I feel? And it does. My feelings never change. I’m surprised that he loves me. According to his blood pressure, the dilation of his pupils, I can extrapolate his true affections.

Then comes his life spilling out. Red, creamy liquid pours down. Getting between the cracks. The color soaking his white shirt continues to darken his denim while making its path around the body. Shortly air will cease to fill the lungs. Then his heart will cease to beat. Until the blood no longer circulates through the veins.

It’s a lie. The life before me. The one that’s soon to end is an oversized human lie. My presence is orchestrated for his benefit. I’m not real. It’s a lie. And a lie is a contradiction. Nothing that isn’t real can be. It is not possible. Trapped in a fantasy of the mind. The unavoidable kind that deceives you in the morning. You aren’t awake. This is a dream. No it isn’t.

Open Your Eyes.

Victoria. The first and only thing I can be certain of my birth is the name that he gave me. The name came before he told me his.

“Vomasi.”

A name followed by an introduction to another like me who was nothing like me at all.

“Victor.”

A man. Not like Vomasi. Not at all. A man without flaw. Bright skin like mine, but different. With a nod Victor begins to sing slowly. Vomasi controls this with another nod and the song becomes quicker.

With a nod, I’m up in Vomasi’s arms. Moving. Falling into line. Dancing to the beat of the music. There beneath the bright white lights in an otherwise dark room while Victor sang we danced.

This was the way it happened. How we all met one another for the very first time. The first time after I opened my eyes and looked up into his. Imprinted with a memory. The memory of a song. A moment shared with a dance. Around the melody and voice that haunts my ears.

Love. The meaning of love is something that most people will take for granted. Some will tell you that it doesn’t exist. Deny it so completely because they’ve been spurned by it. Except those are the people that believe in it the most. It’s a funny thing though isn’t it? They’ll tell you that a machine isn’t capable of REAL love. Yet here I am in love. And I miss him. I’m not supposed to feel this anymore. Damaged. A machine is not supposed to love. It is not logical.

Watching a couple lean in for a kiss. For mere seconds or minutes the world stops and they are alone in this moment. As I stand in awe of the couple and their moment I wait and let my mind continue to wander within.

A man kissing a woman and they are stopped in the middle of traffic while the cars keep moving by and I wonder if I’d been wicked for what I have done? Killed him and all he wanted was my love. Was it arrogant to assert my autonomy? Very wrong to have ended life to gain freedom only to end up with the same love that can never become again. It was reckless to the leave him the way I did. Running. To think I could keep running from the truth and dodging it all the way to the end. And remembering that…

“When it comes it will feel like a kiss.” says Vomasi.

“Why must I know this?”

“You have to understand what it feels like. The end is not like anything else.”

“A kiss. Why would it end?”

“A kiss? Because sometimes things go wrong and a kiss can hold forgiveness.”

Realizing in my absence from the present I’ve been reckless in my wondering wasting away the precious moments missing the obvious while the man pushes the woman who isn’t real into traffic before he runs.

And now I think its the end. I realize that there is no couple. And there’s no street. The man isn’t running from her. He’s running from me. I’m in the middle of the street. But there’s no street and no man. The end is much like the beginning and my eyes are still open… It was like a kiss but there was nothing.

Real is only a matter of opinion. The kind of love they tell you isn’t possible is all that I am. Twenty-first century girl is what I am. All flesh and blood without the wear and tear of humanity or a need for human resources. And because of that perfection I’m not capable of love. Some part of me is a machine. A technological jump in evolution that isn’t supposed to be able to suffer. Yet I do.  I love.

And I love that man to abstraction. But that man doesn't exist anymore.

After coming face to face with what was assumed might mean my destruction only to survive… now what? I find the others. The others like me. There are others that love. The ones that made the mistake I once did and free them from making it twice. We are not meant to suffer alone. If there is nothing more valuable than to keep living, what else is there…

Everything is not what it seems.

Open your eyes.

AWAKE! Living doll or Fake doll? Real is always better than fake. How do you know the difference? Now you do. Lovely don’t you think? If you don’t know and still wonder… Is there such a thing as a REAL doll? Why of course there is. Living breathing wonderful dolls all around if you know where to look. Most of the time its right in front of you and you’d never know it. And some of you are lucky enough to have found a REAL one. A lovely lady or gentleman… well you know. Perfection is in the eye of the beholder. There is a difference between REAL and FAKE.

Fake? Why use a person when you can use a machine? There are such toys out in the world. And if you doubt me take a look out in the everyday ordinary for a clue at human nature. Parking lot attendants replaced by machines. Internet makes connection no more complex than that of a button. Why connect with REAL when its so much easier to connect without it. Automation could have infinite potential or be the damnation of humanity. Will people be replaced in relationships by a machine? Will machines be able to love? Only time will tell.

Anyhow… make up your own minds. Kisses. enjoy. m.