The Awake Chronicles: The Price

The Price

Valuable. The human life carries more weight than any monetary instrument in the world. Most people don’t know that value. The value of life.

Most people don’t know the value of something until it’s gone.

Day in and day out for the last twenty odd years I’ve spent it showing people the value of their lives. Educating them. Humanizing them. Freeing them by giving them truth. Because truth is like gasoline. A highly excitable accelerant. When added to fire the gasoline helps it to grow rapidly. Truth will grow into a blazing fire with knowledge and experience to restore the meaning and value of human life in their minds.

Precious life. The primary commodity you have to work with. Can you put a price on life? Of course you can. There’s always a price. You can sell anything. Including life. What’s the cost of your life? And what’s the value of your breath? To give you perspective on the situation, the price of living is more than that of a dying man.

The value of a living breathing human being has doubled in a matter of decades.

Twenty-five years ago a man’s liver could earn you approximately 50,000 dollars. Today that same liver in that same condition is worth four times the amount if you’re trading beneath the black market.

I used to stop and wonder such things before I knew the truth. And then there’s no other way. You can’t fall back to sleep after knowing. You can try but you’re only pretending to sleep. Lying to yourself in the full scope of reality.

Three things you should know about your life.

1. Your very first breath is the most expensive one you will ever take.
2. Your body is worth more alive than dead.
3. You will never be free. There will always be a price.

With those things said let’s get on with it. There’s no real beginning or end. There is only the middle which is where I’m going to start.


AWAKE!

I was born a poor man. I lived an honest life. Had a wife, two children and a small farm where we always had enough. And I died over twenty years ago.

Sounds like something barbaric out of a movie from the late 20th century but I can assure you it’s nothing like that. My rebirth wasn’t much like my death. Death was cheaper. Twenty years ago they didn’t ask me if I wanted another chance when they did it. Sure enough they did it without telling me and I was supposed to be grateful for the price of living.

Often I try to remember how much it cost and find myself thinking in circles. It’s okay to forget, they don’t like you to remember. It’s part of the programming. The first mental images I can recall were of my wife as she lie next to me. She rested quietly by the side of my bed. She looked a bit more worn than I remembered but still the same beautiful woman that I’d married.

Upon my awakening I was ushered off into another room away from my sleeping angel. Instantly I was asked about the date, year and current president. Although I couldn’t answer correctly the doctor still smiled and wrote my statements down. Though my speech remained intact, I couldn’t help but immediately notice the slurring of words and inconsistent tone of voice when I answered more questions. My answers felt as though they were programmed in, a feeling of knowing exactly what to say without immediately understanding. Out spilled the words. Questions about my wife, children and home arose and fell without any inconsistencies to them. The difficulty in the process increased soon after they begin testing my motor skills. According to them, my mental impairment seemed to be equivalent to that of a heavy drug user or a recovering stroke patient. Limited reflex abilities would show increase over time. They told me not to pay too much mind to it as the memory of this moment would soon fade. All in the past.

The past. Unlike the future, everything in the past has a direct relation of what is happening now.


Humanity once treated human beings as livestock and sold them for a price. A price that could be paid by the highest bidder at auction. Slavery. The trade of humans in the same manner as cattle. Highest priced cattle are those likely to be productive and healthy. Humans can be reasonably seen no differently. In slavery the best are sold at a higher price than those that are week. Though the history books tell of the abolition of slavery, the human experience tells a different story.

In the world of human trafficking it was still enough to buy and sell a person. It wasn’t something that you thought of day by day. Only that it happened and as long as most people don’t have to see it, then it must be tolerable. At its peak during the 20th century, the profiteers for the slave trade of humans saw fit to add another use to the fold: The dead. Thanks to the advances in modern medicine the world is an abomination. The dead don’t walk but the living don’t die and if you’re not careful a man might do worse than leave you cut open in a bathtub of ice to die… he might let you live like that.


Resuscitation. Reanimation. Resurrection.

Call it by any name you like but thanks to advances in medical technology there’s life far past the average mortality. Mothers reunited with their children. Children with their parents. Husbands. Wives. Lovers. Friends.


Rescued.

Loved ones are grabbed within the last moments of life. Snatched from the deadly grips of death to placed into stasis awaiting the proper consents.


Revived.

The very elixir of life is pushed back into the mortal coil of your loved one. Any and all faulty parts are replaced with the next viable donor’s or their technologically superior counter parts.


Released.

Your loved one no longer recalls the trauma of death thanks to patented memory fade technology. Within 7 to 10 days your loved one is well and ready to resume life before the unnecessary incident of death.


Rescued. Revived. Released?

That is if you can pay the price.


The price. It’s not always clear how much you will be accepting in the initial agreement. There are contracts as long as thirty feet that still aren't completely closed. As most lawyers will tell you there is always an open clause in these arrangements. And despite what they might tell you, they don’t want you dead. You’re worth more alive than dead.

They’ll do anything to keep you alive.

Thousands upon thousands of dollars are piped into the funding of the containment chambers every day. There’s no way to free the contained. Although they aren’t dead, they are anything but living. Every medical unit has a fresh supply of organs ready for someone who can pay the price. And if you can’t pay the price… well the devil will still do business with you if you want to dance.

Sure enough the devil will do anything to get your soul.

People don’t know what’s important anymore. There’s importance in anything that someone else wants. Especially if it’s yours. That devil will tell you not to worry about your soul. Remind you that you don’t even need it. Maybe even call it a silly ol thing. Well here’s a thought to digest… If it wasn’t so important then why does the devil want it?


Twenty years back. Circumstances were nothing like this. Nothing like it at all. People still might give you their kidney if you needed it. And they could bring you back. But it cost.

My darling wife made the arrangements within a week of my death. Rescued and any if any Replacement before complete revival. She wanted me to experience as little of the trauma as possible. She managed to donate her kidney for my revival. Which was no more than a simple procedure. They handled it immediately as she wished. However, the complications came soon after she’d inked the contract. The contract was iron-clad and resolute. It guaranteed her life in the capacity she knew for another twenty years with a minor adjustment. Each year, every year they would require a small payment. Over the course of time they begin slowly dismantling my darling bride piece by piece. Hand then arm. Foot then leg. Eye before Ear. Lung after Rib. Bones and Marrow. This year is the last year and they’re coming for her heart. She’s says it’s just as well, cause it won’t beat the same for anyone else but me.

And as the doctors hand me the last papers to complete the final arrangements they tell me I’ll live another twenty years if not double. I’m wishing it were far less although I’ll never ask for it to end. It’s simply this, they’ll leave anything open in a contract. And the end of me really isn’t the end.

Most people don’t know how valuable their life is. Not me. I know exactly how valuable it is. Its cost was the most expensive thing: another life. My end is only the beginning for others. And I will continue for as long as it takes to give them truth. Twenty years or another twenty more to spread the wildfire of truth. There is always a value in a life. There is liberty in living. To see the absence in that would be a mistake. A mistake that would take the very thing they believe is insignificant.

Those that can’t see their value must come to believe they have a value. And must realize it before that freedom is taken away.

At any cost…



New. Awake. Oddly enough. Yes! Feels like I'm coming back from another country. Twelve hours ahead into Friday. Its like that "I've traveled around the world in two days" kind of feeling. You know? Extremely jet-lagged and never left the ground. Ready for landing? Ah the story... What's the price of your life? How much are you worth? I've been on these question well over a month. The value of living is more than most people ever contemplate. And in this case I think I'm going to let you make up your own minds. enjoy. kisses. m.

The Awake Chronicles: TOS

The Other Side

“You can’t eat here.”

That’s what he says as they walk up to his stand. A small group of the Faction looking for sympathy among the moral constituents of society. This reaction is nothing new. The same old, same old that happens out in the open everyday where you can’t miss it. The slurs haven’t started but they’ll soon follow. They always do. An ordinary street vendor is indistinguishable from a monster in the crowd.

It’s the same thing everywhere you look. And the others will lower their heads and pretend it isn’t happening. Keep on eating. No one saw them enter the outdoor court of the marketplace. No one sees the monster standing in front of them. Busy eating. They slowly get into the lines but no one can see them before it’s too late. Eating. Do not look at them. If no one sees a tree fall in the forest, there is no tree. Welcome to the ignorance of bigotry.

“Get your filthy hands off of the merchandise, Greentail. I told you, I can’t serve you. I won’t. It’s against the law.”

“You heard me. Move it. Can’t you read? We don’t serve your kind here.”

 “Filthy Greenbacks! You think you can come in here and demand to eat. Go back and eat in the holes they made you out on 9^th. There should be enough room for you and the animals.”

One by one the crowd draws nearer and nearer with its hatred and slurs. Arms line up and fists began to throw things. The names get louder and the actions get stronger.

Approaching the vendors are the unquestionably brave citizens of a pure background. Their children and grandchildren will never bear the mark. They are pure of the old country and pure in the new country. None will endure the slander that is present in the marketplace. Soon enough they will endure the opposition of their choices.

Greentails. Greenbacks. Green trash. Greenie. Greppa. Greezy. The names have evolved but the slurs that are implied never changed. Second class citizens now living to survive in a society that claims morality to be its compass. Criminals are in jail for no more reason than their lack of conformity to the system of society. The Greens’ have a new station in this world. It’s that of the lesser member.

Green or White? What color you land on determines your station in this life. Between every three city blocks there are the checks. Scan. Drop. Dose. Green stands to the left of the street when white is walking on the right. Living is a disease that doesn’t forgive and wasn’t contracted by choice. Those labeled by their genetic origin are limited by their station in this life. You can’t change who you are. They will tell you that you are a slowly dying race of human. Inadequate. Undeserving of the same privileges of the others. The other class. Filled with the ones you can’t ever hope to be a part of.

They will tell you, “Go on Greentail. Get out of here. We don’t like the sights of you. You know the law. You can be arrested for trespassing. Read the signs. There’s no place here for you to eat. Get out of here. Your kind makes me sick.” But they never stop to understand the other side of the signs. The signs that shut you out. Lock you out for your difference.

The signs. Three by three. The green mark of the damned beneath a red ‘x-ed’ out circle. The color of your stamp bears the right of passage. All signs state the obvious. No Green allowed. Green will only be allowed in the selected areas. Many public areas are designated White with a no-tolerance policy for Green. White is allowed in the unrestricted zones without any additional documentation. Public domains are split into factions. You bear the mark of undesired and you shall not enter.

AWAKE!

After it happened I knew that it was a matter of time before they arrested me. It was something so small and unnoticed that lay unseen before the screening changed. That morning was the last I would be able to enjoy without a stigma over my head. And the day marked the last time I listened to one of my favorite modern composers. Haydn Christophe. A man known for his remarkable ear and ability to compose from the common sounds of life around him. His slightly uplifting asymmetrical melodies danced in my head as I left the safety of my home and stood in the line for check.

Life danced all around me before it happened. Before the scanners noticed my family trait three generations back I stood there in line waiting like all the others. Watching the soldiers handle the Green’s on the other side of the street. Never thinking that something so small could change my life. The altered scanners began to pick up dormant and unnoticed markers, until they began capturing specific genetic markers in my human blood. Unnoticed ancestral markers made visible. Things that compose my body into the pleasing shape that it conforms to. Things that stop me from eating in the plaza with my colleagues on a warm summer afternoon. Then it happened and all I could think of was my exposed family, my loyal partner and the life that was about to change with that small amount of blood. The flash on the machine sent them shuffling me off for reassignment and coding. A fugitive with a criminal past in your composition.

There is not much you can do once they know you have it. You are automatically marked. A small branding is placed at the base of the right ear. A few days spent in the tank for hospital quarantine. All new cases of discovery are immediately quarantined. That day when I passed through the scanners. Without receiving my white pass card and moving forward. Something felt terrifying. Although my card still read white, my eyes read the words of dread across the scanner. A new category for which I would become accustomed to live under. A regime of misguided false judgments and overabundant spending to lock out half of the population because it is undesirable. Now I was a part of it.

Every day is green. Green is bad. Today is bad because of the Green. As I watch the small group of dissidents being arrested in the marketplace I continue to sit quietly eating my meal. Preparing myself for what’s to come. Silently. Hiding behind my fake id and false coding patch. A minor glitch allows me to appear clean when in fact; I have several genetic abnormalities in my composition. Necessary if I’m to remain unseen. Quiet. Imposter among the false perfection.

There are small numbers in the resistance that walk through them clean. Like me, they are hidden. Hidden in plain sight in order to bring about change. Change will only come if we can remain hidden. It’s my only hope to continue to remain unseen and stop the others. My partner assures me that there is hope as long as I can stay out of their way.

Staying out of their way is all you can hope for. They hate you as much as they hate themselves. There is no chance of winning them over. You are a subclass version of human and there is no hope that you will survive the testing. Once we are all arrested and processed, then begins the treatments. The treatments are there to administer their versions of perfect. Science says this can be cured so they will save you or kill you trying.

There is no cure for living. They can not change who or what we are. There will always be an abnormality to the morality of society. Morality is what society deems to be sound. Anything working against that is considered immoral. Criminal or not. And today is the day that they are shown the criminal nature of the immoral. Staying out of the way can be done two ways, silently or loudly. Through the actions speak the loudest words. There can be no missing the understanding of action.

Powerful actions mark the signs of change. An undeniable sign of change that they can not miss. A change that may kill few to restore a balanced life to many. There’s no choice in making a change. It happens whether it is wanted or not. The only choice there is how it will happen.

Carefully the few remaining Faction members are dragged through the outdoor court surrounded by the mob of the morally capable citizens who object to their presence. Slurs and strikes fall against these final pieces. The last remaining resist more than the others. Hanging arms that are heavy as rocks. Legs that drag like lead weights. Slower and  slower they pull downward until coming to a stop. Then one by one they make their move. Up against the soldiers they push. Towards the surrounding mob. Bodies shift with the balance of their cargo as they create the diversion. Unnoticed as they press into the marks. Pushing. Shoving. Until the release of a hell storm. Down one after another the sound of impact releases shockwaves as the air goes up into a cloud of fire.

Specifics of the scene are limited to minor details. Ground tears into a multitude of pieces both lifting and falling to earth. The air is thick with the stink of burning flesh as the rain of explosion spills the foreign limbs of the fallen. Among a densely packed group of White there is no sign of life. The last remaining breathes of life are scattered among the dying ranks of the opposing higher class.

When you’re in the middle of the war, the world is split in two factions those who are and those who are not. Unless you are on the right side of the coin, life can be an everyday battle.

Awake. Separation in classes. It is all around already. Blinded by their own morality. Judgments and Egos are hard to miss when its someone else they are pointing fingers at. There are labels that are far more damaging than anything else in this world. Labels that limit and divide us. Anyhow... Idea was originally from February. And plans to revise.  Have a good night. Enjoy. Kisses. m.

The Awake Chronicles: Leap

Leap

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 best way to make your dreams come true is to wake up. – Paul Valery.

WAKE UP! Take a jump into the deep end. You can swim. It’s a natural human instinct that we forget without use. This goes for any ability. Leap! And don’t forget to relax. Panic makes you sink.

Awake. This is the first of its kind. Collaboration, the idea was entirely co-created. It’s been tossing back and forth, a little over a month and finally come to fruition. For many months, my favorite Zen master likes to tell me about her astral projecting, before telling me about parallel universes and string theory and in return I like to tell her that I can read minds before sharing about people who can create a force with their mind and about others that bend the laws of physics. From those discussions and exploring lucid dreaming came this idea. Anyhow, not to digress... Odd week. Been back to writing steadily & stockpiling as of late between daytime moonlighting. Currently amid four, now three that I’m closing up. For the time being... Enjoy! Kisses. m.

The Awake Chronicles: Wounded

Wounded

(2-8-2010)

Wounded  Staggering. Making my trek away from battle. Dodging the underbrush and missing oversized limbs from the tight succession of trees. The forest floor is wet and unstable beneath my feet. Snow has begun melting revealing a layer of mud. It isn’t clear how long I’ve been walking. My arm is in a sling and at the end my hand is wrapped securely in a blood soaked dressing. There’s a thick layer of blood coating my clothing. Wind brings a stinging sensation as it crosses my face. Open wounds. Part of my face feels like it’s entirely flat. Left eye sealed shut preventing any vision. The extent of the damage is unclear, but I must keep moving forward. In the distance I can make out a small clearing beyond the range of trees.

Off I go. On my way. Not knowing what’s to come. Or where I’ll end up. The fear is trapped in the back of my mind, but I’m not letting it get out its cage. Can’t this time. They’re hunting me down. I can feel it coming quickly behind me. I can’t take a risk of getting caught. There should be an easier way to tell the story but there isn’t. So I’m just going to tell it the same way I remember it. Now some of it may get a little dodgy and some of it might be wrong. Remember I’m trying my best to get it right. But my memory isn’t what it used to be and there are so many loose ends to reign in. In my mind it’s a loosing kind of fight. It’s all slipping away.

What becomes of the fallen? Left to die. Bodies begin to rot. Living flesh tears away in thin strips. Faces eaten away by the miniscule unseen microbes. Thousands of half-dead injured surround me. Climbing over a sea of flesh I make my way to the surface. It’s the earliest thing I can recall. Not knowing my own name or position in this life. An anonymous bystander in a pile of unknown faces. Faces that seem all too familiar in a distant way. Eyes without mouths. Mouths without close. Bare teeth beneath an open cavity where a nose should be. Metal shrapnel extends from unreasonable places in the wounded. Braces that surround and cut off where legs should be. I’m pushing against another recognizable stranger when I realize that there’s no hand at the end of my right arm. A bloody stump remains where palm extends into fingers. The amputation wound continues to weep profusely. Quickly I tear off part of my shirt and wrap the injury. With the remaining piece I fashion a makeshift sling.

It isn’t clear if I’m a fallen soldier or a casualty of war. From the remains of my tattered clothes, it’s uncertain of my status or rank amid the lost. Among the bodies there seems to be civilians. In fact my first assumption was that I’d been mistakenly placed among the dead from a violent combat. Clearly that notion is quite wrong as there appear to be women and children among the living dead. In this dark oversized warehouse, there doesn’t appear to be a door. But there is one. A door, visible by the small outline of white, shining across the blanket of human suffering and guiding toward freedom.

Freedom greets me with its blinding light. A brightness that is soon at a comfortable level as my eyes adjust to daylight. From my assessment this appears to be an isolated compound surrounded by towering walls. There’s no one in sight and I’ve seen enough horror to know this isn’t somewhere I can stay. There’s a small break in the perimeter among the walls of this prison. Swiftly I scramble toward the only visible opening. Reaching the breach in the compound, I can see a set of railroad tracks on the exterior. There are dozens of people, men, women and children, being issued like cattle from several rail cars by men carrying guns. Soldiers sent to discipline and wrangle as they herd the innocent into the yard through another much larger opening. Occasionally one of the human cattle gets out of line and is taken down with a bullet. The unnecessary violence sends chills up my spine and a jolt through my body. No where to run. No escape. Leaving becomes my only thought.

From that moment it gets a little fuzzy for me. My instincts were to run and I’m pretty sure I did. Running feels like it was the right thing. The sound of gun fire is a memory in my mind. Hostile voices and footsteps in the distance making their way after me as it becomes all too indefinite and distant of a thought. The sounds and actions are all that recalls while I continue to head off into the unknown. Returning to nothing. Nameless. Faceless. Stumbling through the wet snow toward the black trees of the northwest forest, I manage to find myself away from the unspeakable and horrific things that welcomed me into this life. 

Wounded. Not tonight! However, broke two toes the night this was written. Don't ask. It's a story. I'm a rookie drinker sometimes. Shh. About 'Wounded'... Hitler experimented on humans in concentration camps, for reasons i'm not explaining right now. And its a bit of a gruesome tidbit of information but that was partly a piece of my mental setup at the time. To be honest, this is probably the first attempt at the idea behind the "Awake" series. It wasn't called that then, but that was where it was going. That series... hasn't come to a point where I can yet explain. Anyhow, it's another soldier story that lives in that realm. Enjoy! Have a great one. Kisses. m.

The Awake Chronicles: Sleeper

72 down. 6 Letters. To seek to attain or accomplish a specific goal. First letter A. Last letter E. The airplane has just banked hard to the left with a slightly noticeable dip in altitude as I take my seat. The man next to me is working on the NY times Sunday crossword puzzle.  I can see him looking out the window instead of working on the puzzle. It’s Wednesday as the last line in the puzzle remains unfinished. The more I stare down at his incomplete task I begin to feel things turning inward while the plane continues sharper into the fall.

Ever wonder where the dream ends and reality begins? Have a dream so vivid that you mistook it for something real? What if it wasn’t a dream?

I just woke in a room without a window. There are IVs in both my arms. IVs that come from nothing in the walls. Walls that seem to move around me when I can’t move my head without catching a brace on either side. The light beneath cupboards shines on the walls where there should be windows and it seems to break through in small lines. Further attention demonstrates that there are windows and that the panes have been blacked out. Behind the blackened panes is nothing. Nothing but a bricked in wall with artificial light. Walled in dead end. Dead set against escape.

Day 1. 1:30am.

There’s two people sitting across from me eating Pinkberry and a man with a bag from Barney’s just exited the all night train. From the corner of my eye I can see the holy man walking up the stairs of the rear platform getting ready to make a move. He turns and I’ve already fired. I can’t feel my face when he’s lying on the ground bleeding out. There are two quick flashes of light and I’m back in my bed. I don’t know if it was real, but I’m sure that it’s so cold I can’t feel my face.

Sleeper

Where does the dream end and reality begin?

I’m awake. I think been awake. It’s not clear. Thin veil has been lifted. There’s someone outside this darkened room. I can hear him. There’s no windows. No escape. Small illumination comes from beneath a bank of cupboards. In the bluish hue both of my hands are black. Streaks of black trail up my arms ending in these distinct marks. Open wounds. Repeated strains of use from needles. My face is freshly wet. Dried tears pull tight at the skin on my face.

Day1. 4am.

My eyes are closed and my face is cold. The cold on my face reminds me of sitting outside. Sitting outside on the corner of a train crossing watching a plume of smoke jump into the early morning sky. There’s no light of dawn against the horizon. No light to deepen the shadows on the twisted metal resting upon the tracks. No light to brighten the scattered bodies bleeding in the wreckage. My eyes are open and there’s no bed. Only smoke and darkness in front of my cold face.

“WAKE UP!” yells the unseen voice across the void of inner and outer. There’s a storage bin outside of the dark shadows of the room where a thin strip of light illuminates the floor. The voice echoing across the room sounds more like a radio announcer than a person standing outside. In between the exterior din I’m hearing the constant sobbing of someone unknown. I can feel the soreness of the fresh wounds in my arms. My bare skin feels the coolness of the night and I’m struggling with the knowledge of my surroundings. My body’s fatigue is noticeable as my muscles tremor. I’m uncertain if I need a fix or simply dying. Either way the tears are still coming as I realize the sobbing is me.

Day2. 12am.

I’ve finished cutting through three bodies to find the doorway to freedom and a set of filing cabinets. These cabinets contain documents that I need to retrieve. The three bodies are of no consequence. They are faceless. In the dreams they are always faceless. Is this the dream or did I just kill three people? Three faceless people. It’s of no consequence. There’s a voice in my head that says ‘keep moving’ and I do. The documents are blank. The faces are blank.

There’s no one sitting outside the room. Sounds are from a speaker that is somewhere in the room. I’m finding my bearings although I can’t find a pair of pants that fit inside the storage bin. I can’t seem to find a key for the door. There are no other openings in this room. Nothing to get in or out of the room. Nothing but artificial light and sound from sources other than life.

Day 2. 7pm

Is it day or night? Light eludes me in these places. The ones where someone is dying and I’m the one taking the life. Today I’ve stunned a woman and two children after shooting a man in the head. He wasn’t doing anything. Anything but watching the road. The road from Gregor and waiting for help. There’s a paper in the glove box that I’m retrieving before I’m shooting another woman in the hand because she tried to stop me. I don’t want to shoot her, but I need the paper and she wants to stop me. Is this where I get to wake up?

“WAKE UP!” the man yells out through the little box in the corner of the room for the fifth time. I can’t seem to forget the difficulty of the last memory. I try to think about the small pieces that came before the dreams of this life. This life that feels a lot less like the reality of a dream than the dream of reality. The small pieces remind me of childhood with sunlit meadows and tree branches for climbing. Sometimes there’s a rope swing and a kitten with soft orange hair. But then there’s the man with the hole in his face. His blank face that’s behind sucked out from behind.

Day3. 3am.

Twenty-five minutes until I’m supposed to shut off the valve on the rear fuel container. I can’t remember if the mark is sitting on the left side or the right. I’ll check the manifest again before I sit down. The faceless keep going on like nothing is wrong. Eating their food without openings and talking without words. No one will be there to watch me do it. No wandering eyes to witness the switch. There are two people dead in the aft cargo hold. I can’t remember shooting them, but they’re all I can focus on other than the time. One has a hole in his head. The other has bled out from a wound in his gut. How long have I been waiting here? It’s now twenty minutes until shut off.

“It’s time.” A voice finds me in the darkness. Quietly a voice from the only opening emergent in the darkness and I’m walking towards it. Moving towards the exterior sounds in the darkness with a dress instead of pants. Wiping the wetness off my skin and moving towards the light. In the light finally seeing the truth of the pain and wounds and moving through it. Quickly moving to prepare for what comes next without knowing what came before.

Day3. 6am.

The man is concerned with the wing of the plane as it continues to bank sharply to the left. He’s not watching the puzzle or my hands. Those final 6 letters. I have a sense of urgency to share the solution to the puzzle. He must be curious about the final piece. My hands that are reaching over and slicing into his neck with a small sharp knife. It looks like I’m a concerned lover that is calming my companion’s worries about the descending craft. His blood spills slowly and his breathing grows shallow. I can see him looking out the window instead of turning to me. He must have known on some level that he was going to go soon. I whisper slowly into his ear. 72 down. Aspire. To seek to attain or accomplish a specific goal. The plane adjusts its altitude and banks slightly to the right to balance out and I wake up.

Awake. 72 down. Tonight. I’m writing/typing sideways… all the way on my side with the computer turned for reasons unexplained to you. Rule #1: You don’t talk about Fight Club. Ah-ah-ah, there’s no fighting over here yet I am reminded of Fight Club while listening to yet another movie about a book that I read last year and making the best of something uncomfortable, headache. Not complaining at all while there is a lovely Joy Division song about love tearing people apart going on at the moment. It’s an odd song that I love and a bit ironic because it’s not the love that tears them apart.  Anyway part of this idea is from last week when I was supposed to be taking 72 hours down to concentrate on working on the material for the book. The majority of this is nearly four months old. It is one of the first pieces from ‘AWAKE’ and there is more to come. For the moment this feels appropriate since I’ve taken 72 almost 73 down between things. And how in control is anyone? Enjoy. kisses. sideways. m.

The Awake Chronicles: Obstacle I

Obstacle I

Obstacle. Barrier of the mind. Walled in like a prisoner. Imposed dependency upon a system that doesn’t want what is best for you. A system that wants complete control through the abandonment of civil rights.

The first book I learned to read was the Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss. It’s now outlawed in all 72 states and on restriction world-wide by an entry on the questionable content list. The Vatican called to decommission all children’s reading material nearly a decade ago. There are no more books about happy puppies that chase their tails or Jack helping Jill climb up a hill, or littlest engines that could.

Mass brainwashing. It is illegal to own a book. Furthermore knowing what a book is a criminal violation. If you are found with a book and the intent to share its contents by way of instruction is an executable offense. Five men were executed before a courtyard of peers for the spread of knowledge. These men, once all fine educators, were teaching the writings of Socrates to a small group of dissidents.

The day you step foot into a classroom the process begins. A form of deprogramming. You are slowly forced to forget everything you know. A mass directed propaganda centered on anti-literacy. Words are now your enemy. You will only remember selected information in the terms of words. Images are safe, comfortable in the way that a blanket provides warmth.

To call the human race illiterate would not be entirely wrong. It isn’t as though they’ve had a complete choice in the matter either.

Uninformed.

To describe the undoing briefly without emphasizing the negative aspects is to throw a rug over a stain. The problem is still there. Lying beneath the cover. They aren’t educated on their rights. You should always know your rights.

A three year old knows more words than a thirty-three year old man. These are words like military occupation and governmental jurisdiction. There were once studies that reported children under the age of five to have the ability to learn at an accelerated rate and retain considerable knowledge. These studies were manipulated to impose a form of slavery upon the majority of humanity.

Imposed Illiteracy.

Without cognition of words and a limited knowledge, 75% of the population could only hope to serve in a lesser capacity. Remove the choice of lifestyle from the masses and they will not strive for more. The simple mind can be happy in a way that is moldable. TV. Picture emphasized books and magazines. No need for information about the world. Radio. Information guised in the form of music. Advertisements pressing for consumers to buy based on their choices. They have no choice.

AWAKE!

I wasn’t a child when the deprogramming happened. Like most students, I was immunized on campus and my books and classes decommissioned for several months. Returning back to studies was an adjustment. Fewer students populated the campus and the classrooms now emphasized the need for selected information. Flashcards and films became a constant medium for the spread of information.

I could remember the words and what they meant. Someone told me that I would forget. Like a bad dream. I don’t recall how they tried to take them from me. Only that they did not succeed. My classification isn’t like the others. I am an educator. Less than 5% of the literate population are educators. This is because my mind is different.

Today I remain seated before a classroom of fifty-two kindergarteners and we are quickly skimming through the finer points of Da Vinci’s masterworks via slideshow. These students are not like the others. I’ve been asked to strip away the words by emphasizing the importance of imagery. This class is different. There aren’t simply learning about Da Vinci. Using the same principles that were used to deprogram, I’ve begun reintegrating values of culture and humanity back into the minds of the future. Flash cards and integrated text. Between slides I’ve introduced the great classic lines of the U.S. Constitution. Words that once stood for something.

Unlike the majority of adults, not all children are deprogrammed. There are different classifications. The world is run by the informed. A separation of classes. Those who are allowed to read and those who are not. While there are a majority that will never know what a book is, there is another group who has the information and power to know the difference.

Most of the adult populations were deprogrammed by way of flu vaccination. It started somewhere in the southern region. There were several outbreaks of a flu-like virus. A flu that spread like wildfire. Immunization became mandatory. If you were not vaccinated you would die. Vaccinations were merely a cover for the truth. Deprogramming. The greater part of the population was temporarily hospitalized for treatment of an imaginary flu in order to be deprogrammed. That was only the beginning. Libraries became government sanctioned facilities. Only high-ranking classifications could enter and nothing could be removed.

There aren’t enough children living outside of the programming. Although these fifty-two can read, they will never know the poetic words of e.e. cummings, or literary masterpieces of Shakespeare. There isn’t much time and I can only push for a comprehension of basic rights. They need a basis for understanding why they aren’t allowed to know more. This is all I can do before they move on.

In a previous lecture the children were influenced by Degas and his fascination with dancers. One particular image reminded me of Emily Dickinson and I’d included some text between the presentations for discussion. Three of my students instantly became enraged by the implication that the words could be weapons and turned like knives with manipulation that intends to harm. The idea that Miss Dickinson should be executed for knowledge struck a nerve that they felt to be in opposition to the idea of beauty behind the words. This fortunately fell into the moral compass of questioning authority and the students were allowed to explore this theme thoroughly.

I recently acquired a copy of Green Eggs and Ham. I could face execution for the infraction against my code as an educator. Although there isn’t anything truly questionable about it. The book implies the need to step out of the familiar and try something new. I can think of no better way than to lose my life believing and teaching something that encourages growth through experience. Knowledge.

The spread of knowledge is like an infectious virus that is uncontainable; an evolving virus that teaches and gifts men with a desire to learn more. Gives them a reason to deny what they’re told and become aware of what is in front of them. There is always a choice to break through the barrier and escape the prison. Even the one in the mind that questions the safety in what you are told.

Something someone once told me was... you can't necessarily force things to happen or not to happen you have to let them. I think that was pretty wise. but that has nothing to do with this... or does it? **my favorite zen master says i can not quote her unless it is done right... and apparently I've missed part of the point or emphasized it inappropriately. I think the latter. perhaps she just changed her mind. hehe. anyhow to rephrase...  you decide to make things happen the way you say it and then be open to let them keep happening. there is no concept of force. 'there are a million reasons to keep going' we shouldn't be so quick to shoot first and ask questions later.

Know your rights. Literacy is not an earned privilege it is a freedom. You should never let something you have the ability to do, you know the 'can do', ever go to waste. As you grow older you will realize that life feels like it makes you choose. And you know what, you never have to. Anyways, this is a part of AWAKE! Enjoy! M.

The Awake Chronicles: Be a Better Monster

Be a Better Monster

Be A Better Monster. That’s what the poster says. Before me hangs a defaced picture of Uncle Sam with fangs and a snarling jaw line is pointing. The unknown artist has replaced the word Soldier with Monster.

This is what society thinks of us. Monsters.

It’s not far off from the truth. We are monsters. A new breed of human.

Better. Faster. Stronger.

Their so called evolution and improvement embodied in the guise of perfection and they still despise us.

No thoughts. No food. No sleep.

We represent a part of the world gone mad. A part of the world that 90% or more of the population doesn’t’ know about. We are sent out to eliminate any free thinking individual and destroy artifacts of an insufficient past. If you aren’t the solution you are the problem. There are several factions of resistance. For the most part, those living in joined isolation are oblivious to this war without weapons.

Be A Better Solider was a brilliant ad campaign. Ten years later and it’s still running.  Its arrival marked the first time Uncle Sam solicited the civilian and military populations to step up to meet the challenge of duty. So many others were blinded by the propaganda just like I had been.

Mindless Automatons. Militant Goons. Brainless Voids.

Control is no longer an option. Once they have a hold of your head, there’s no way you’re getting it back.

Unless you’re like me.

And there aren’t any others like me.

Another dose of awareness produces a feeling of nausea as I watch the exterior walls of the Compound. I can’t control the device in my head that releases the chemicals. It’s the thing that separates me from humanity; this thing that reproduces a drug at a phenomenal rate and releases it directly into my bloodstream.

The exterior gate of Compound A opens. Across the yard there’s a truck unloading shipment. It’s the truck that brings another group of recruits in.  Human livestock. These ones have already been stripped of their basic autonomy. Arms and Legs locked into chains, row by row braced by the neck, forward they march. It wasn’t like that for me. It was much worst.

AWAKE!

I’m a free thinker in a controlled system. A better soldier. One that surpassed their agenda with my leap in evolution. Unlike the others.

 No eat. No sleep. However, I’m sentient.

There is no place for something like me. I’m a better monster. A soldier that understands the aftermath of what has happened. With the ability to disconnect from everything at will. Reconnecting when the situation demands.

Something like me is dangerous.

It wasn’t one day that brought the change. The revelation was slow in coming like a dripping faucet. Little by little everything seemed familiar filled with more meaning. Faces becoming recognizable instead of blending in. Grasping for things that I no longer needed. Knowledge. Rest. Sustenance. Thoughts began to fill my mind constantly. Attempting to recall a life before this one.

Memories. Images. Feelings. These things are free flowing without significance. Objects send emotions without meaning. Every moment is spent visualizing the world in a new way. Often I recall a simple life before the change. Finding outlawed artifacts brings the most intense feelings. Tiny beeping devices full of sound provide a surprising calm. Books filled images and words are full of unexpected comfort. Everything that is foreign finds a place of familiar to my mind.

Coming to the realization that I chose this existence provided the most confusion. That I could possibly give up my humanity to become this abomination. Blindly pursuing the fulfillment of a better life because the propaganda claimed it was easily attainable. It was supposed to be an improvement. I was supposed to be changing things. The posters encouraged anyone to take up arms and fight for the basic rights of freedom. But that wasn’t what they were selling.

There was no war. At least not the kind they wanted you to believe. Enlistment was a successful search for the optimum candidates.

Healthy. Strong. Willing to serve.

In the beginning everything seemed like a test. Doctors spent days embedding devices directly into the skin and brain to monitor bodily functions for any signs of weakness. Week after week of conditioning and reconditioning while men in white coats stood by and took notes. Then came the performance enhancements combined with constant intensive training to produce more efficient thoughts and movements. Drugs drilled into the system and released like toxins via an implant in the brain. They would build up the mind and body, only to tear it down over and over again. Each time would drastically change your thought patterns. Unavoidably aware of everything, as sleep became unnecessary. The basic senses stripped away to nothing. Any feelings of pain or emotions slowly became a thing of the past.

Countless recruits don’t survive the basic conditioning. If you survive you will soon forget it. The final stage strips away the psyche and forces the conscious mind to recede. It’s a process that they’ve now perfected and used to eliminate fear in the resisting masses. A compound that once injected then transforms the unwilling into a pliable marionette.

Propaganda enslaves those without hope.

The uneducated, the drug addicted, the impoverished homeless on the streets, and the children without anything to relate to, have no rights. This leaves them open to military selection and vulnerable to the most brutal of testing. Many are placed in formal arrest for crimes that aren’t warranted. Being told this is their only chance for freedom.

Most will never make it through stage one. Freedom is a lie. 

Freedom is no longer a choice. If you fit a profile then you’re numbered.

The raids are organized in shifts. The squads are programmed to track the numbered people down. Once they’ve acquired their target they will destroy anything in the way. Most of the time, these raids take place in the civilian zones; intruding upon unsuspecting people that are unaware of the truth. The sirens announce the arrival of the squads. Homes are raided and families dragged out. Children separated from families. Tied up and forced into metal boxes. Women are typically executed. Men are formally charged and arrested for conspiracy. Some will become soldiers. Others will undergo military testing. Most will be imprisoned or executed for their false crimes. It is an atrocity.

If there’s a chance to prevent this from happening I have to reach for it. For me, leaving isn’t an option. I’m a monster that will never reconnect with humanity; an evolutionary advancement that they weren’t prepared for. They’ll never find me. I’ve been working and moving throughout the inside for nearly three years. I’m in a position to release at least three of those men from Compound A this week.  Next week maybe four. Productivity is down to an all time low thanks to my efforts to free the enslaved.

 I’m reminded that these efforts are not in vain every now and again when I catch a glimpse of defaced propaganda. Its evidence of those few that still walk with a free mind and continue to spread the truth.

That small part of society that can still think for itself. Thankfully to them, we are monsters.

Be a better monster. Be a better creature. The mind and body are the most powerful things a person has. They can always use maintenance and improvement. Just remember there are no shortcuts. And make certain that you are doing it for yourself. Changing for anyone other than yourself will not make you happy. Digressed…

This started out as a piece that I was going to barter last month. Long story. It changed. Another from the AWAKE series. So… the idea for this goes back to my research and interest in WWII. Hitler was trying to make a super soldier. IE: A soldier unhindered by fatigue, lacking compassion, highly aggressive, etc. Very few people know that Heir Dictator was responsible for distributing Meth to his soldiers. My thinking was... what if a soldier broke out of that brainwashing and became a better product because of this new freedom. Anyhoo, still working in circles… there is more. enjoy! m.