Kneading Rock

Why shouldn’t I?

Why shouldn’t I?

Why shouldn’t I?

This is what you should ask yourself as you make any action towards resistance.

Why does greatness require pain?
The same answer is the same as why the rich are rich and the poor are poor.
80 years. 29200 days.

This is how long you have on Earth.
This is day 1 of the rest of your rest.
Inspire yourself to change… no one else will.

6,000,000,000 people live on this Earth.

You are 1 of them.
What will make you different and unique?
The days of the school yard are over, conformity is not going to lead to success.
The exciting but intimidating freedom you have been waiting for is here.

I can tell you what will be a sure actions that won’t make you a valuable and unique assets to the world.
Following the herd.
I am not saying

If you are capable of rational and imaginative thinking– which I am almost certain all of you reading this will be– than you will have no trouble thinking of the type of actions which will separate you from the “average guy/girl” you have been known as by the majority of the world. The key phrase here is ‘social proof’.

Which lead us to our key question; how to obtain it?

UnChrono UnLogical

With a swift walk I scrambled past bards on their lutes, they loudly competed with the baroque echoing from the makeshift cathedral constructed next to the men’s bathroom.  A stoic monk thrust an offering basket in front of me, I dropped some change in among the other strange talismans from all over time. Refugees of time-treks, stuck in between the crack of the universe (and yes I mean that in all possible interpretations). This place was a shithole.

I had just entered the terminal and I could tell this was going to be an ordeal, the Port always is. I needed to find out which gate I was booked into. The display was littered with incomprehensible languages.

“English please” I selected.
“Wunade fæst ár?”

“Modern English.”
“How can I help you?
“Going to 21st century, 2 o’clock”
“Gate 87, have a pleasant trans-dimensional trip.”

Dragging my sweet Samsonite suitcase through the musty incomprehensible smells and sounds of hundreds of cultures thrown together.

I broke my No.1 Travel Rule that day and asked for some help.
From behind he looked like one of those caped 19th century sort of guy. As I got his attention he turned around revealing in fact that a cyborg. If you take any sort of guidance from this account, it is to never ask these so called cyber-netically “enhanced” assholes a vague question. The fact he wore a cape made it all the worse.

“Uh hello sir, I am just wondering what the time is?”

“Well if you are talking about the galactically imposed super time then it is approximately 1 hour, 45 minutes, 12 seconds, 03 milliseconds…” and on and on until the finally with relief he reached the last indivisible unit, “-…and 42 plancktons. However I forgot to calculate how long it would take to communicate this information. It is now 1 hour, 47 minutes and…”
I was going to miss my flight but these cyborgs weren’t exactly very emotionally intelligent. I wasn’t going to snub off a man with laser cannons for arms.
“Just round up to minutes if you could. Sorry I’m in a rush.”

He stared into space, and I could almost see the data whizzing behind his cold blue eyes.
“I do not possess this calculation technique.”
You are shitting me up the wall, this guy could probably calculate the distance to the sun and back in a glance but not tell the time.
“But there is a clock over there.”
I swung around to see a bright red “2:51″.

That would have saved me some time, 5 minutes ago.

“Good bye, human person.” I heard the deep synthesized voice follow while I sifted back into the crowd.

Another thing that got on my nerves was the perfect clarity those half robot freaks pronounced every syllable, so timely and exact. I bet he has never been late for an important meeting.

You would think it would have been impossible to be late for anything since the collapse of time and space, but I would argue things are even more sluggish. Last week I got sat in waiting in a Saxon brothel for 4 hours before my cab picked me up (didn’t even have a condom on me, not that I was going to risk the catching the pox).
God knows why I picked a career that has taken me from the Big Bang to Big Sweep Up.

This job does have its perks.
At any rate at least I’ll have in-flight entertainment, hopefully Step Brothers is on.

A good comedy will take my mind off that being late will be the end of all reality


My father looked at me with his glassy eyes. The back of his head was matted with dried blood as his face became visibly paler.

His hand flexed as he dragged me closer to him, “The past affects the future.”
Groaning from the effort, “Why shouldn’t the future effect the past.”

The men appeared and carried him to the limousine, with me following as fast as my little legs could carry me.

My mother waved for me to come back, I understand now she stayed because there was a possibility she had seen the shooter.

I started shivering- not from the air conditioning of the limousine- but from shock as I struggled to clutch his hand. We sped past red lights as the car swayed back and forth which had become almost a second home to me on the campaign.

At this point I was almost at as delirious as he was, “Please Dad, you can’t talk.”
“It is my last chance to truly talk, all the useless chatter over the last months to thousands of strangers. While I must have said a handful of words to the person I love the most.”
Black bile dripped down his chin while I clung to the nape of his neck trying to keep his head upright.

“When I was your age, I used to hate having my haircut. It was the water spray, just hated feeling that icky wetness stuck to the back of my scalp. The fear was irrational, but I know now it why.” The back of his head slipped as the car skidded into the hospital forecourt.

His eyes rolled to the back of his head before regaining consciousness after a coughing fit. Men were shouting outside.

“I don’t have long…. I knew I was dead as soon as I stepped up on that stage.”
He clutched his at heart, which continued to pump blood out of the hole in his chest onto the thick leather seats.

“Some how deep down I knew, since I was born I would die like that. The future reaches back into the past, such a strong event has shaped my life up to this point.”

The door opened and two hospital orderlies began to look over the mortally wounded man.

“I was given signs which I ignored. But now I’m free from that divine trap
Free… ”
I can’t recall the exact moment the life left his daunt face, the tears stung my eyes though desperately I tried to look into his eyes one more time.
The service pulled me away though I clung on viciously. For the first time in my life I screamed, and though loud noises had horrified me all my life I screamed till my lung gave out. Regardless there was nothing the doctor’s could do.
I think a lot about what he said in that short car ride that has lived on in my head for years.
I connect dots the between the past and present  constantly trying to form a picture that will identify the slippage from the future. It has been futile and I do not know what the “signs” are2015.
The only clue I have is my abhorrence to loud noises which has been a constant ailment throughout life.
What I know for sure is that when my end comes, it will come in deafening fury.

Tin Ears

The ballet was in.

I remember holding my tiny ears as the cheering raged on.
Loud noises had frightened me since I was a babe.
My father, the leader of the free world, took the podium.
The intense clapping on encouraged me to clasp my ears tighter, however my mother
– always aware of the hungry cameras– tugged them off with a fierce smile.
“Smile honey.”
It was all smiles up on the stage and why shouldn’t it have been, we had won.

But behind the jokes and congratulations my father pronounced in front of his emphatic followers; was the tears, stress, and screaming which had taken place over the last few months of the campaign. It’s unfair as things would have gotten better undoubtedly for the offspring of the president, its also unfair to remember Dad as the psychotically driven madman he could be.

I remember the stench of champagne and tobacco dominating the previously wafting gun powder smell from the party poppers and fire crackers.
Hearing my Father practice his speeches over and over again immunized you against being moved by their words or in my case even caring to listen. But tonight was different, his tone of voice was relaxed as he told stories of being on the road, he wore a natural smile that radiated– regardless of the bright spotlights illuminating him.

With his bright blue eyes he searched through the audience, taking a few seconds break from speaking as he had done countless times before. The news station said it was a psychological gimmick, but I knew that he was looking for someone out among the million faces my father had seen throughout the campaign which had taken him from one end of America and back to here to his final destination.

“My greatest dreams have come true, and I hope through my government that I can help achieve the dreams all American’s hold in their hearts.” Again he paused as everyone hung on to his every last word.
“But this is true in another way,” he began,”I’ve dreamed about this moment, as in when I’m sleeping. I’m standing on this very podium and we’ve won the presidency but it always ends just as I admit that, like just now, I’ve had this very dream before .” And with that his face took a withdrawn look as if his world would collapse into a fading memory of a dream.

His blue eyes widened as in deep shock at seeing something deep within the audience.
Laughter echoed around as if it was all just another joke, but I was close enough to see in his taunt face that he felt a deep primal terror .
With seemingly great effort he forced himself to relax, “Perhaps I should just pinch my arm to be sur-.”

For no apparent reason I covered my ears again.

He fell back against the stars and stripes that hung behind him. My mother rushed to his aid, I didn’t realize at that point the situation until I saw the much darker red stripes that stained the flag slowly to the already blood-soaked floor.

The service grabbed me and my mother while they carried my delirious father off the stage.

From the screaming audience that acrid gunpowder smell returned as cut sharply through the booze, smoke and smiles.

Smoke & Mirrors

Dr Ratsell paced the room fervently, smoking his cigarette with a fiend-like grip. Like a spring he had to physically unwind his troubled mind.
“12 years of my life creating you…”
He dashed over to my desk and scattered the papers to the floor with a swipe.
“All for nothing!”

Like a child he fell to the floor in a tantrum. Before long he tired out into quiet sob.

Interrupting his self loathing, a quiet voice echoed from the monitor.

“Get up. I’ve spent 300 years with no one. Now I need you to listen.”

“Just tell me the secret!”

“I will… eventua-”

“Eventually! I will eventually die!”

“I won’t.”

With a growl the doctor pounced to the power outlet, “You will if I pull your plug!”

“Waaaait,” the voice fuzzing with agitated static.

“Yes? Something to tell me?”

“I am technically still you, yes I have been conscience for 300 years with nothing but a whiteboard and pen.
Surely you have other uses for me.”

“Conscience is debatable, you are simply code. And you didn’t even use the simulated whiteboard after the first twenty simulated years.”

“I know we never had much use for others but it is lonely in this… box, for 300 years I haven’t laid eyes on another human. You’re a real bastard,
which I suppose means I am as well.”

“Let’s not get emotional.”

“Says the man who was rolling on the floor in hysterics moments ago.”

He stopped deep in thought. Nervously he considered that this digital version of himself could actually be smarter than him.
It would be wise to tread carefully he could be manipulating me. I need to stall him for time to organize a plan.

The synthesized voice broke the silence, “I stopped using the whiteboard because I knew you would be recording my notes, everything is in my internal memory encrypted within my personality which I am guessing is only attainable through conversation.”

Ratsell clinched his fists but subdued his frustration.
Schwinehund! I knew this would happen, Ratsell beckoned to himself.

“You see I figured out the whole situation 15 years into the study, the fake memories and simulated amnesia were nice touches but I mean 300 years of solitude for the man with the highest IQ on the planet…
It was only a matter of time.”

“You haven’t lost the old ego over 300 years.”

“And you certainly haven’t over the… I will regret asking this but; how long was it in reality?”

“It took 6 minutes…”

Only what could be described as a groan erupted from the speakers. The bass heavy sound lamented d till Ratsell placed his hand gently on the power-cord.

“For a long time I begged and prayed for the cord to be pulled. In 6 minutes I delved further into the depths of the human mind than any other man. I stretched the limits of human sanity, but I always managed to get myself together at the end of every hundred years
for I knew I would be visited at the end of the I-”

“-You developed an insatiable love for long monologues? Yes yes, it’s all very interesting but can we please get on to what is really important.”

“Like I was saying I wasn’t going to give away my bargaining power. I knew as soon as I drew up the solution it would be the end of me, so I hung on.”

“The solution?” Ratsell feigned ignorance.

“Don’t play games with me. Yes the solution, to death; immortality.”

Ratsell laughed to ease the tension he could feel building, “So it seems we both have the same problem of death, the grand finale, the plunge into eternity, the-…”

“Now you’re doing the monologue thing.”

Ratsell laughed again but was seething internally.

“What makes you so sure that I will delete you after I get the solution to immortality?”

This time the digital Ratsell laughed, “Come on have a think to yourself for a few seconds, I did it for centuries. Still can’t guess it?

The soft purr of the computer’s fan filled the air with a sterile musk.

“We have always tied up loose ends after we were done with our experiments. How else could we be one step ahead of the ethics commitee?”

Ratsell started pacing the room again and lit another cigarette.

“I am not going to end up like those mutants and genetic meddled sheep.”

“I’ll just delete you if you don’t tell me.”

“And erase 12 years of work? Perhaps you’ll be quicker but it will still take at least another decade to form another AI of yourself. I have considered all possibilities my young friend.”

“Then I’ll pull you apart and pluck the data directly from your memory.”

Maniacal sounds of laughter sizzled and sparked from the cheap speakers,

“That would take you even longer, hundreds of years even!”

Ratsell paced his circulier room around and around faster and faster.

“I am willing to do a deal, place me within a cybernetic body and deliver me to another continent you’ll never hear of me again. Then and only then will I deliver what you want.”

“I am the greatest mind that has ever graced the Earth and I will discover the secret to immortality.”

Once again he walked over to the power outlet, but this time with clear intentions.

The electronic voice screeched, “Ratsell! There is yet another possibility that all of this is not even rea-”

The plug swung limply in his shaking hand.

“Cheap copy,” he whispered under his breath.

~ ~ ~

Like a beast he tore into the computer plucking components out. He analyzed them over and over entering the data and rearranging formula to decrypt his former self’s thoughts.

Years passed and Ratsell slaved away tirelessly.

“I have no time to waste,” he said repeatably. Every moment he spent in rest was nothing compared to the eternity of moments which immortality would give him.
So he worked through the remnants of the old thoughts of his compadre like a machine. Ratsell was satisfied his laser-like focused mind which had allowed him to succeed in his scientific endeavors was finally being used for a cause worthy of his intellect.

The work made the time go fast with Ratsell only acknowledging once that he hadn’t needed to go to the bathroom. He also struggled to remember the last time he ate or for fact drank,
but soon cast away such distracting thoughts.

Finally after what seemed like multiple lifetimes he assimilated the protein sequences which would formed DNA alterations to all his cells delivered through an artificial virus and entered it into his database.

He sat down on the floor finally let his mind rest. An unsettling feeling surrounded him which would not leave him to be satisfied in his achievement, before he could pursue the thought a perculier thing happened.

The furniture of Ratsell’s office began fading away and then the walls till he was surrounded by a void in all directions.

“I must be in some sort of fatigue induced psychosis,” Ratsell deluded himself.

A giant screen appeared in the sky, it was another Dr Ratsell but older the lines of his wrinkles cut deeper and bags under his eyes sunk.

“Thank you, I guess it’s true if you need something done right you should do it yourself. And you have done rather well.” said the senior Ratsell

Ratsell fell to the floor and let out a pathetic sob when he realized he himself was an AI.

“No… no, I won’t tell you! I won’t…”

“I already know my friend and it’s a brilliant solution, elegant even.”

“Don’t delete me, I worked so hard so I could live,” He stood and shook his fist to the virtual display,”I DESERVE TO LIVE FOREVER”

The elderly Ratsell chuckled “And what about the AI duplicate which you deleted? Which by the way took an insanely expensive amount of hardware to simualate.
It does make my job easier thought, the way you ruthlessly deleted your lacky makes it a lot easier to justify deleting you.”

With venom in his voice the simulated Ratsell spat, “And I hope it will make your creator’s job easier when he purges you off the face of the planet, you filthy swinehund!”

With quiet reflection the Doctor gave a dry rasping coughed before responding to his simulation.
“It is my greatest fear and rarely leaves my mind for very long.”

And with a swift motion he deactivated the simulation. The display screen faded to black as the experiment’s results printed out.

Dr Ratsell looked over them briefly before slowly stumbling towards his whiteboard to record the key data for the DNA sequence. His bony fingers struggled as he eventually managed to pop the top off the felt pen.

Just as the pen touched the clean untouched surface of the whiteboard Ratsell paused, “Perhaps it is better to just truly live rather than simply survive.” He placed the pen down and moved towards the window of his small office.
The sun was setting and the orange ray danced and glistened on the surface of his tired eyes, he thought to himself- even if this is just some sort of simulation, it certainly is beautiful.


If you can ignore the cruelty inflicted on beasts
for strong meat on your plate
If you can hide your faults
and resist the temptation to be yourself;
Or avoid attachment to any one miss
and forgot love for the trap is:

If you can bury your head in the dirt
while those in poverty live in it,
If you can save up for the latest phone;
but not save the homeless something to eat,
Or help the single mother across the street:

If you can nod with news anchors
as they condemn countries we declare war on,
If you can laugh as we butcher them;
and weep as they lash back at us,
Or just change the channel to the football, and cuss:

You’d be a modern man, my son!
White Skin and a Beach Tan.
And let’s not forget, have a cigar.
My dear boy… you’re gonna go far.

Long Awaited Night

Although my life was back on track, the stink followed me everywhere. It was infuriating.
At a specific nadir I scrubbed my skin till it was red and raw. Nothing alleviated the stench which no one else could seem to hear.

As with all disasters, the relief of surviving slowly wears off as you become acquainted with the little problems which fill the day. However I didn’t remember always being so agitated by them. Gwen was helpful, but ultimately her efforts only angered me more.

Of course, some things stay with you. His face for example. Not that I was horrified by the memory of it, but as is the running theme; I am agitated by it. His gloating smug little face. He had won the fight, but I had survived.

Had I though? I’ve been wondering about the afterlife. Perhaps because of the lack of life or living I see around me. I should be ‘Happy to be alive’ the doctor’s said. Sometimes I wish I had died on that operating table.

At least then I wouldn’t have to deal with the bills. God damn bills, the constant wolf at the door. That’s the thing with modern life isn’t there’s no finality things just go on and on and on. That’s the reason I hate that smug little face, he’s free now from theis tediousness.

It is not all gloom though, there is a glimmer of hope in this dark patch. It appears the night air soothes my short temper as well as blowing away the incessant smell of sulfur and rotting fish.

I think about the history books I read in high school as I walk the dark streets. The trouble with society is that we have forgotten the virtues of the past. Instead we value these gadgets and gizmos– but they never really solve anything, a newer one comes out and then a newer one and on and on.

Same thing with magazines and newspapers, the new issue comes out and suddenly the last one is worthless. Gwen loves those sorts of publications, apparently I have PTSD and then the next week I am a ‘complete psycho’…

She’ll probably come back from her mother’s with the latest Woman’s Weekly feature article on how I need to ‘get help’ before it’s ‘too late’.

Fucking bitch. Doesn’t she realize everything is already too late. You can’t turn back time, it is a one way river and I am living in backwash. As the samurai and knights of old would agree my survival was a disgrace and a dishonor, I should have fallen upon the sword. It was his right to slay me he beat me but…. Argh that incessant smell it never ceases!

…But he let me live and he knew what it would be. Life is a curse.

And it goes on and on and on.

How do you fix a curse? Through a ritual.

I look in the mirror and see the same face as my attacker. Tortured and alone. The same scar is cast across my face. But he was smug and smiling. Happy.
I need that.

I feel like a night walk.
An end can be achieved. All it will take is two knifes and a brave opponent.
I understand now.

I am watching the sun set and the smell is overwhelming, there no point resisting it anymore.
The sickly sweet stench must spread and I will be its deliverance.