To give the running order some logic I start with the introduction and explaining posts followed by the story in order of date started with the oldest. Scroll down or return to the home page for the most recent episodes.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Its true, we live in a visionless period. After a century of battles for social rights, equal rights, basic surviving rights, religion rights,….. we land in a period of materialistic rights. Logic, after all these years of fighting for freedom of mind, class, race, soul, sex, religion and what so more, its simply time for some materialism.
The latest inventions are amazing. Technology supplies us with good machines. You can carry all you favorite music (including all from your lover, mom, brothers,….) in a small device that fits in your pocket. The communication possibilities are worldwide quick, easy and cheap. Electricity became more frequent and secure. Producers are more aware of environment and start to make lesser or non polluting products. You can carry your phone on you, a small handy thing, suitable for many other purposes also. Why the need to be visionary. All battles are fought. We all know that workers have rights, skin-color doesn’t matter, religion is a waste of time, politics and democracy is a joke, settled media lie and don’t manage to brainwash anymore. There is nothing wrong with the way of life today tanx to progress.
I really think it’s a great materialistic period. Not all inventions have my attraction, but I do for sure take advantages of the possibilities that suit me. Personally I am a bit old fashioned for the new time. I like the soul in live. To feel what is going on. Material is of a lesser importance. Slowly I see myself pulling out, making space for those who join the ‘new’ society. Cutting my firewood, growing my veggies, baking my bread (not in a machine), and many more basic survival needs I create myself from the basics without the help of machines. A relation with mother earth without whom nothing is possible. (oops is this a vision?)
I like this period of a natural answer to the one before. I would have liked and survived in every period as long as I am around those who understand mutual respect. There will always be the next period, a reaction on this one.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
This is how it will happen: The generation of the materialists is already taking over. They reach the age to slowly enter key-positions. In only a few decades from now even taxes will be filed by your small I-pod kinda electric device or cell phone. You have to join in. All media propaganda systems are brainwashing you that you must buy the latest electronic gag, otherwise you are against society, or in their words: a terrorist. You must purchase to let the money circulate. The only way for humans to exist. Using (news) paper, plastic bottles, oil-based cars, motorized chainsaws and such are out of order! They are to long lasting, damaging environment and society unfriendly.
Ofcourse the growing of this new society will also develop resistance, young and old. People with a vision that believe you can also have a great life without electronics. Paper can be for multiple use, woodfires are warm and suitable to cook on. Homegrown veggies and fruit are healthy. To have some rest in your mind without any form of mobile communication increases strength. With other words, preferring the soul and feel above the material. This can happen on several levels and stages.
One of the first moves will be in a ‘West’ country with a long capitalistic history. The Netherlands is a very likely choice. Some politicians will try to push a law trough that every citizen has to spend a certain % of their income on electric machines. Slowly this will integrate in the whole world and more laws will be made everywhere. Survival for visionists will be become difficult. The visionary people will group seeking support. The materialist see this as a threat. More laws will be made to make life of visionairs impossible. Meanwhile crisis comes. One of the biggest electronic device making companies (Sony) makes a technical mistake in the production of the most popular I-pod (on purpose?). It seems to explode in your pocket. Thousands innocent victims. Visionists get the blame. The dam-square of Amsterdam is packed with a crowd of insane angry people chanting ‘vision is death’. They burn books of 20 century visionists like ‘Das Capital’, ‘The Bible’, ‘Naked Lunch’, ’Hitch hikers guide to the galaxy’ and such. The president of The Netherlands promises immediate action to move the terrorist out of society. They make an appeal to international political organizations and army’s (EC, NATO) to fight this visionary scum of the planet. Visionists are now outlaws. Hunted by everybody. There appeared to be many. Children recognize visionary thoughts in their parents and report them, neighbors, sport friends, band members, school teachers,….. Visionairs everywhere. Many are arrested. So many that there is no room in the jails. Camps are set up. Surrounded by pin and electric (220 volt) wire. High watch towers with soldiers holding guns. Lights, camera’s and interrogation rooms. The leaders want to know who is behind this big movement attacking their great modern materialistic society. The camps get overcrowded. Hundreds in a small room. Not sufficient beds, water, food, clothing. Some die of starvation, others from cold or diseases. Some inbetween person in power suggests the idea to get rid of the problem easy by eliminating them all.
The movement of visionists maintains underground as a small group, hard to catch. Sometimes they leave a small sign on a wall as a spark of hope and future: V for Vision.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
For one week now I post the SF V. This story just dropped out of nowhere. Last Tuesday’s post about living in a vision-less time started the idea. I wrote these every day stories quick, within half an hour. No research, made up on the spot straight out of my mind in word. Only one proof-reading. Repair the worst mistakes and hop on the Avand Gardenist post page. Re-reading the stories I notice many other mistakes that are easy to improve. Maybe I do someday. Will get to a quick SF pocket book, or B movie script.
Since I make the story up while writing I do not know how it will continue. There is no plan or guideline. The basic is laid in the first post: ‘People with vision have a difficult time’.
I liked all V posts until yesterday. The email from the isolated visionair and adventure of the library kid are ok. I am aware of the contradictions in these stories. The isolated visionair anti materialist makes big efforts getting modern internet devices to work. Contradiction is very common in our normal live. I see it so often with almost all people. No shame or critics, the minds and instincts of humans operate like this. You can call it surviving.
Unaware I do ‘steel’. Maybe the word ‘influence’ is better than ‘steel’. Re-reading I realize today that some things might come out of deep stored memories. The old woman in the house full of books creeped in from my Fahrenheit 451 memories, I read 30 years ago. The Library I describe does exist. Last PTV3 show in London we stayed in a hotel next door. V was the symbol for ‘victory’ in a ‘body snatcher’ type of SF tv soap. Think it was on in the 80ties. Didn’t get much of it. Just a few episodes.
The post yesterday turned to much in a cheap nowadays police tv soap. Not so good for my taste. But the story is not finished yet. For sure my cranky brains move the story in unexpected directions.
Will alternate my posts but expect a few V stories per week. To write up total made up nonsense is a funny hobby.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Surprised I am reading your posts of the last two days. My life is not easy lately living hidden away deep in the forests and hills. Nearest ‘human’ activity is 7 miles from here. Taking the rough area in consideration, a 3 hour walk. I feed myself with homegrown veggies and wild fruits. Fresh in the summer, dried or self-pickled in the winter. Store supplies are minimal. With some luck I manage to carry (on my back) small quantities of flower for bread, dried beans, sugar and canned food. Water comes from small streams or melted snow.
Few winters ago I had to run from my neighbors. First very nice and helpful people they turned into a crazy wild bunch of rednecks trying to kill me because I do not owe (or watch) tv. No flatscreen, 3HD, not even view on internet. My cell phone was an old model. No extra’s like making pictures, filming or internet. Lost the stupid thing on my run to hide. The locals saw me as a dangerous terrorist because I didn’t join the materialistic rat-race. I was so ignorant to talk with them on summer barbecues about my vision: sober, but therefore so fulfilling, lifestyle.
My awareness about the state of mind the majority is in, brainwashed by the business freaks, came too late to me. Lucky I manage to escape through the toilet window at the back of the house while an insane crowd tried burning the house. With only clothes wearing and some cash in my pocket I got away. On a bus stole someone’s ‘blueberry’ phone hanging half out the poor guy’s coat-pocket. After some strolling around in waste land I found this hiding place, a forgotten mountain shed. In the corner under dust and grease was an old car-battery I load with electricity by a small self-made waterwheel and rusty bicycle dynamo. That gives me one hour a week to check and contact the world (randomly) on my stolen device and so I found your posts.
From here I would like to thank you so much for taking it up for our case. Those who manage to survive with vision live difficult times. Bringing this under attention on public pages like your website is what visionairs need. You must have a lot of courage going public. No need warning you to be very careful. The world is mainly populated with materialists now, and they are dangerous! Better start looking for a good hide out.
Have to finish, the battery runs low. I wish you a very healthy, long life and that your vision might become real truth. You understand I cannot sign with my name, instead the well-known symbol of hope and future. Let our inner strength last forever,
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Since he was 8, Johan liked reading. The smell of bleached sawdust combined with ink felt comfortable. The stories separate him from the outer world. As if a surround magical protection shield kept reality far away. For Johan the stories are real. He just finished two books: ‘The Virus Chest’, a story about viruses that manage to crawl out of the chest-box of your anti-virus program, and change unaware computer users to bloody killers. And ‘Rommy’, about a deaf, dumb and blind girl that becomes a world star because she is unbeatable in every thinkable Nintendo game. Johan is good in Nintendo too. His father regularly updates the game purchasing new releases in the online store. Lately this goes with some mooning. Johan is now 14, its time to concentrate further than children games.
Johan was thinking about this while walking to the library on the end of the street. An old big white corner house built early last century. Every room has a spacey bay-window. Glass reaching almost the ceiling. On top little balcony’s to be entered from the second floor. Outside looking in you can see many rack-shelves with books. The building is surrounded by a small garden and steel fence. Johan considers himself lucky having the library so close. Just before the Library is a similar aged, but smaller, house. Johan knows that an older woman lives there. Often she sits in front of the window nodding friendly smiling to passers by. Today the lady was outside working the little garden. “Hello Johan” she says, “getting new books from the library?” Surprised Johan stopped. “How do you know my name?” he asked. “oh well, I live here all my life. After such a long time you know everybody’s name in the street. Pity, nearly anyone walks in, only passing by. Maybe you like to visit for a cup of tee one day?” “I don’t know…maybe” Johan stuttered and disappeared quickly into the library.
One day Johan had to get some sugar from the store around the corner. Mom normally places supermarket orders over internet, but as happens more often, the line was down. In the small convenience store the owner gave him the sugar. “Are you not living around the corner from the library?” he asked. Johan confirmed. “Can you deliver something for me? it is on your way. Mrs Slater is very sick and my runner is already gone for hours. Can you bring this to her? She lives around the corner next to the Library.” ‘The old lady’ Johan thought. ‘Hmm she is kinda creepy, but I can ring the door bell, give her the bag and go. “Ok, I do this” Johan replied. “Very nice, and here something for you” The store owner gave him a small round badge in the size of a Euro coin. “Wow” Johan said, “a digimarb”. (One of the latest toy gags from Sony, you can roll it on its side meanwhile it plays a tune of the players choice. The digimarb can store 200.000 tunes you can load yourself).
On his way home Johan stops at Mrs Slater’s home and rings the door bell. Nobody comes. He rings again. A short click opens the door a bit. He pushes till he has a full look over the hall. “Step further Johan, come in”. He hears her voice. Careful and curious he slowly moves into the hall. “Got your groceries Mrs Slater” He says. “Second door on the right”, she responds. Johan opens the door. “Holy shite”, he says and immediately slams his hand in front of the mouth realizing the words just used. The walls of the room are covered with books. Large book piles on the floor. Mrs Slater lies convenient on a small sofa by the window that looks out over a backyard. “Just put the bag on the little table over there” she says while pointing to it. “You have many books” Johan replied, still dazed by this impression. “Oh, this is nothing. Upstairs I have a lot more. Feel free to look around”. Still a bit shy Johan looks around standing still on the same spot when entered. Most of the books are very old. Getting closer, reading the unknown book-back titles and names, he only recognizes a few vaguely. These books are not available anymore in the next door library. Reading or possessing some of these books is dangerous. Due to freedom of speech no law is made against, but reading, carrying or having is considered as a crime against society. The last few years Johan always wanted to know what these books are about. What makes them so dangerous. Curious he opens one of them. A red book-mark falls on the floor. In the middle is a little symbol printed, a letter: V.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Kate shoots straight up in her bed. 5.30, damned! Only 30 minutes left, she thinks. I should change my alarm-tune. Since a few months she tries to wake up with a tune of her favorite band The Day Batchers. She likes the smooth easy listening pop of the four good looking student boys. Too easy for a wake up alarm. While the sweet cords fill the room she mostly slumbers back asleep.
After throwing a splash of water in her face she crawls into the uniform. Achim is today’s office chief. A punctual strict person. Not good to even be one minute late when he runs the stress-desk. A chewing gum replaces the brushing this morning. At least you can do several things at the same time nowadays, Kate thinks while running down the stairs from her apartment, chewing and checking the latest headlines on her cell. At the entrance she noticed some new graffiti on the wall. Blotching is out of fashion nowadays. Kids release destructive feelings differently. Leaving symbols on a wall is for grannies. Having a close look she reads the letter V. must be some pubertal from next door she thinks. This movement is long time vanished. Eliminated and the few who survived stay far away or keep very quiet. She rushes to the car and drives to the police quarters, her job.
Kate is a cop. What other job was left for her if you are good in, and like sports. Becoming a forgotten one year golden medal hit-wonder is too short of a career for the long life ahead. Dealing with kids at sport-school didn’t attract either. So why not the solid career of police officer. 27 years she is now. Kate likes her job, the training and action. Sure there are also many dull moments, but everything has its up and downs. The money is good. She can afford the latest electronic hardware. Her live is therefore smooth and easy. The partner for life is still missing, but she is still young and dealing with the world independently is very satisfying.
Just before 6 she rushes in while everybody gathers for the morning briefing. Coffee has to wait this time, Kate thinks. Achim stands in front of the room already screaming for silence and order. Last night was as usual, some drunken bar fights, few robberies and killings. An 18 year old kid was arrested while he tied explosives to the old radio tower. The tower is not in use for many years. The complete network is digitalized and reaches everybody by cable or digital satellite signals. Air transmission stopped a long time ago. The tower is kept as industrial historic heritage. A museum piece where highschool kids go laugh about our primitive grandparents.
“Fancy a coffee?” Kate turns around. Nikola smiles at her holding two mugs. “Black you prefer, isn’t?” Nikola is 32 and again single. Its no secret in the quarters that he likes Kate. His former wife died in a car crash 3 years ago. A tragic accident leaving him behind alone without kids. Nikola, first depressed, recovered fast. Grateful Kate accepts the coffee. “Looking rough this morning, I thought you might be desperate for some black crack” Nikola jokes. “What are you on today?” Kate asks. She tries to keep the conversation within the field of their work. “Oh some robber chasing. Gotto arrest potential crimers. What did you get?” “I have to talk with this explosive kid. The chief thinks that he might loose up with a young motherly cop.” Kate replied.
10 minutes later Kate is on her way to the cell-block. The 18 year old bomber is stashed away behind door number 3. After she opened the door the first thing she noticed is the big sign scratched in back wall. The letter V
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
The moment you read this is not a very happy one. I know that you all 3 Natalie, Jaka and Inga are in a sad mood. But do not despair There is always light on the end of the tunnel.
First of all I apologize that I leave you behind in the world of ‘the living’ without ever sharing my thoughts and plans concerning this subject with you, my family. I will try to explain how and why it came to this.
My job was a great one. I am a technician till deep in my heart. From my childhood on the prints, condensers, transistors, wires a.s.o. drew my curiosity. There was always something to repair. Tinkering on neighbors and aunts broken radios, toasters, sewing machines and more fulfilled a satisfactory youth. Obvious my study choice was technical. Grandpa (dad) saw a Nobel-price winner in me, although we never had the money to buy ourselves in. I graduated university ‘summa cum laude’. Entering the world of labor, multinationals where competing offering high positions against enormous wages. Naturally I choose a job that was most challenging at the biggest and strongest. My career at Sony started high up in the research-lab. Soon I became the supervisor of this electronic advancing team. There I met you, Natalie, brighter than the morning sun on a winter day, at the entrance reception desk. Mom can hook you two kids up from here with the rest of our story accept for one part. There was something in my life I shared with nobody, not even the closest loved. Not to keep a secret, but out of protection.
Besides my electronic interest I had another goal. Since my childhood what I felt and how I lived wasn’t matching. I thought it was strange that only diodes and electrons affect humans. Their little machines and toys seem to divide them. Make them anti-social loners. Tanx to my job working with and in a team I could gain a certain need of social behavior, but most people faded away like zombies only capable to communicate with their neighbors by email and phone-messages. Yes I know what you think. My mind was roaming in a dangerous territory. Non-materialistic thoughts could be seen as terrorism. Now I am not a part of the human world anymore I can speak free. Imagine how great it would be if neighbors help eachother. Supporting eachother in thoughts, feel and emotions. That humans can gather to discus the importance of money. Criticize bad or unwanted electronic devices. Spend time on enjoying real live landscape, sunshine, stars wood-fires and more instead of watching it at home on a wall-size 3D screen. There was a period that social communities existed. Most didn’t go well, but is our material always functioning perfect. Life is to learn from mistakes and move on to the next step. Material is a standstill.
Meanwhile I failed also in my successful unreal ‘real’ live. Ironically the exploding I-pod that killed so many was a mistake of my department. I prefer not to go in technical details, nobody would understand them. It was simply a miscalculation that created a destructive little device. Not on purpose, but I was and also felt responsible. Ironically the visionairs titled as ‘terrorists’ got the blame. They didn’t do it. How could they? Those with a vision are not organized. Its to dangerous exposing yourself to others. But I, responsible, had a vision. A vision of life, not death. The pressure was too high living on with this knowledge so dangerous it couldn’t be shared.
My will is simple. All my belongings go to my beloved family with my dear wife as entitled owner accept for one thing. On the loft behind the dark brown wooden screen that covers the low part you find a box. Don’t open it. The box contains dangerous books. These books about humanity, soul, feel, despair, love, emotion, sociality and many more non-materialistic experiences should be available to read by anyone interested in them. The box is a danger for you all to have in the house. Send it to the library not leaving an address of consignor.
Leaves me to say goodbye forever. Don’t be sad, I am much better of now. All I hoped for in my last second is that you will see (and feel) the day humans are allowed visions!
Ps: burn this letter.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Natalie wrapped the box up and dumped it at the post office. No tear, no sadness just functional. She didn’t want to discuss her husband death. Not with anyone, not even the kids. Buried and gone was maybe the best for him. She felt it as a relief. Since they where married she knew about his vision. In the many moments they where together his complete attitude was clear proof. How he organized the family looked like an old socialistic state. This was not what she wanted. She married one of the best technicians in the world. She was supposed to be updated with the latest hi-tech before anyone else. Showing off with new gags to her friends and neighbors before anyone ever heard about it. None of all ever happened. Her live with him was miserable. As a good wife she never showed it, also afraid of the position he was in. Divorce would mean loosing her job and status. ‘What the fuck, he is gone and I got it all’, she thought. On her way home from the post office she stopped at the BigMediaSatBang. A huge wholesale supermarket in cheap electronic gadgets. There was always something attractive to find. Finally she could let loose. When her husband was still alive it was risky coming home too often with gadgets. Even for christmas he could not restrain himself spreading negative vibes towards overwhelming electronic presents. ‘I got his money and I will spend it well’ she said to herself filling up the shopping car with the one useless electronic toy after the other.
At home she found the kids still mourning. Natalie immediately jumped in her act of the sad widow. She got good in this after loads of practice at work. Her boss promoted her to head of the secretary staff. This means making money with doing nothing more than to be present and yell at your inferiors. A perfect act for Natalie.
“Come on lets go to SpaceTech3000” Natalie said to the kids. “We cannot be in grieve all the time. Daddy won’t come back, live goes on, lets have some distraction”. The kids where surprised about mom’s mood swing but also glad to step out of their funeral mood. SpaceTech3000 was an amusement park based on high technology fun rides like ‘SpaceJump’ and ‘DigiDrive’. For a couple of hours they forgot their sadness and where a happy family again laughing and enjoying the good things of life!
Saturday, January 23, 2010
“Fuck this shit”. The deliverer was cursing on the doorstep of the library. A sign on the door said: ‘Open every day from 10 AM till 8 PM. Closed on Sunday’. It was 8.45. He started at 8. This was the third address. For the rest of today he is busy on the other side of town. No chance coming back later. The box is heavy. ‘Probably books’, he thought. ‘Maybe I can leave the parcel somewhere and call them later’. He took a walk around the corner. The building ended at a small alley. On the end behind the usual disposal containers was a little garden with wild bushes and a backdoor. ‘Perfect’ he thought, and dropped the box on the doorstep.
Mrs Slater usually sleeps in. Sometimes even until 10 AM. She is retired for 20 years, so why not! It shortens the day where is nothing else to do than bits of cleaning, cooking, and reading. Too old being a member of society-events plus most of her social contacts passed away. Gardening was not her thing. To keep peace with neighbors she does maintain the basics on the front, the back-garden she left to grow naturally in a wild jungle of bushes.
This morning she woke up earlier because of some sounds in the backyard. Not unusual, in the last 20/30 years the back alley was incidentally in use by drug addicts and criminals, never bothering her. Good locks on the doors kept them out. After a cup of tee she looked out of the backroom window. Nothing to see, as usual the uninvited visitors only stayed short, leaving fast after finishing their business. Mrs Slater always checks the bushes after she noticed someone was there. Even in a wild garden junky needles and empty whiskey bottles are untidy and dangerous incase children would play. As she opens the door to check there is a box on the step. Curious she looks at the address. Hmmm, its addressed to the library, this is the wrong door. Mrs Slater realizes why the box on her doorstep, the library is still closed. Meanwhile it starts to drizzle a bit of rain. Assuming there are books inside she thought it would be better to get the box inside and walk over to the library later. A box full with books is too heavy for her she realizes trying to pick it up. Lucky the parcel is set on a doormat. With all the strength available she pulls on the doormat. The parcel slides inside.
Although they are neighbors, the relation between Mrs Slater and the library became shaky after the ‘book reforms’. She accused the library of censorship and not following the basic Freedom of Speech rights!
Watching the box she got curious what kind of books where in it. There was no address of a sender, no company stamps or papers. That made everything even more suspicious. The sender took no effort in packing. The box was closed with a loose rope holding the top lit. ‘I can remove the rope and seal the box later with tape. What does the library know.’ While thinking that she did so. Surprised she looked at the first books on the top. All ‘unallowed’ titles.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Johan moved his t-shirts back on the bottom shelf. Lucky they all fit, he thinks with a grin. A week ago, just before spring-break, Mrs Slater called him in on his way to the library. “Got something for you” she said. Inside Johan was amazed by looking at a big pile of books on the table. “Got these ones double, take what you want”.
Mrs Slater kept the origin of the books for herself. Curiously unpacking the box book by book she placed them on the table. All common titles she already owns copies of. The library would annihilate every issue. ‘What a pity. Maybe I can give these books some use. Its risky passing them to someone else. Why so shy? Not much to loose at my age.’ She overthought. ‘Lets do some more good in my life before its too late. That bookworm kid from down the street, maybe I can talk him into taking few. A good investment in educating the new generation.’
Astonished Johan looked at the books reading some titles. Albert Camus ‘The Myth of Sisyphus’. Ramashray Roy ‘Self and Society, a Study in Gandhian Thought’. Alexander Herzen, ‘Letters from France and Italy’. Xaviera Hollander, ‘The Happy Hooker’. Arthur Schopenhauer, ‘On the Will in Nature’. And so on. Some titles he vaguely heard of. “But all these books are forbidden” he says. “That’s not true Johan” Mrs Slater replies. “They are on the ‘improper list’. That means these books are a danger to society, but according to the ‘freedom of speech’ not against the law.” “But I can become a visionist!” Johan remarks. “Do you think reading books is criminal, like steeling or killing?” Mrs Slater asks. “You can have them all but promise me: never mention the books and where you got them, to anyone”.
There have been talks on school about ‘forbidden’ books, especially by senior students. In the last year Johan desired reading one or a few of those, just to know what the big fuzz is about. Funny how wishes, faith and luck come together. A few days before Mrs Slater gave him the books Johan was late at school due to an accident. One delivery van crashed into a steel garden fence evading an upcoming vehicle backing up out a driveway. The van driver was seriously injured and taken by an ambulance. Like more kids on their way to school, Johan watched the sensational scenery. A note for his parents from the teacher got him house-arrest for the complete spring-break vacation. For educational reason he was only allowed visiting the library.
By small quantities Johan transported the books from Mrs Slater’s to his room. The many ‘library’ visits would not be noticed. What else can you do than reading if you have to stay in? The perfect hiding spot is under the bottom shelf of the cupboard invisible from the outside, reachable by lifting the lowest plank.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
‘Twinkling, twinkling, twinkling star, spread the dust but not to far’. Yaliophysipa inhales deeply the powder she just threw up in the air. She sight relieved looking with relaxing eyes through the setting twilight introducing the end of this day. ‘Made it through another day again’ Yaliophysipa thought. ‘If people in the old days only knew how realistic the term angel dust got materialized after some decades’. The drug is the only way to escape the reality. The world she rather not wants to live in. Born 50 years too late, is often an introduction of herself at a handshake. Every evening of all weekdays, coming home from her miserable job, she throws up a handful. Penetrate ejaculation……filled fertile seeds…..fade extreme shifting train…..separate infinite pit…….embrace compact awareness…..sweet dreamer clouds drifting……runner riots of radio’s…..wax burnt cannonnizing…..gracing gronology……ritual guardian….. birth plant messina……social break slow…..baptism mathmatics politricks….crazy horizontal hands…..nodding blades bloom……bulb bands milk amour…..vulcano visage vanish verse virtual vamoose voracious vigourous victory valourous verdict vision visio visi vis vi V
Saturday, 06 February 2010
Isol swung around mom with pram, bounced of the footway crossed the road, bumps on the pavement (her father told so often not to do that), and throws the bike against the steel fence closing in the small front yard. ‘Where the fuck is he’? She thinks. The house looks deserted. Isol is used to spend most weekends and vacations with Johan. They are a strong unity, best friends, sharing many interests and hobbies. She opens the low gate and rings the doorbell. After a short wait Johan’s mom opens. “Johan has house-arrest” she says bitchy, looking rigid to Isol. “But…uhh, can I come in than”? Johan’s mom hesitates for a moment and steps aside to let Isol pass. ‘What the heck, as long as he doesn’t go out’ she thinks.
Upstairs in his room Johan hears the voices. Quickly he hides the book he was reading under the bottom shelve, takes ‘War on Mars’ by Dolby Thorston from the pile and lays on the bed. “Youre nose in a book again” Isol says entering the room. Reading was the only thing they didn’t share. Isol hated books, doing exciting activities was more her style. “Why are you inmate?” Johan tells her about the crash and consequences. “Shit happens, downloaded a new game on my donky, lets play it”. A donky is a little one inch square thin digital device that can have 1 billion games stored. “what is it?” Johan asks. “Galaxy Guts 18”. “Wow, you have Galaxy Guts 18?” Galaxy Guts is a popular game amongst teenagers. Number 18 is the follow-up of 17. Improved and more exciting. The game is about surviving in space. Excited they play the game handing the donky on turn to each other. After a while Isol asks Johan what he is doing inside all that time. “Reading”, is the obvious answer. “You become lonely like that woman next to the Library” Isol replies. “You know Mrs Slater?” Johan is surprised. She never mentioned Mrs Slater before. “Mom helps cleaning houses of old people. She comes there one morning a week. You know she has many books, maybe even more than the library”. “Wohoho”. Johan smiles. “The Library has a lot more”. “What do you know. And how do you know her name?” Oops, that was not very careful. “well…uhh…the library is so much bigger building than Mrs Slaters house. Her name is on the mailbox. I walk by there every day”. ‘Phewy….. that was close. Better change subject’, Johan thought. “Do you hear that ‘The Wumble Wides’ are coming to play at the school party in June?” “Oh Yeah? Is the program known now already?” Isol asks surprised. They would go together, no asking, arranging, questioning about this. All out-books activities are done in dual. “Hey, in the old days there was a band called ‘Public Enemy’. You know that?” Johan asks.“Public what? Enemy? What a weird name. What are you talking about? Are these names allowed?” Isol is confused. She feels dizzy. Doesn’t understand the strange words from Johan. “I don’t feel very good. I go home. See you later”. Isol leaves Johan in his room. After hearing the frontdoor banging he lifted the bottom shelves and took out ‘Rap Attack’ by David Toop.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Most patients have to share. Lucky the single room is one of the many privileges coming along with the job. While zapping the 400 channels on the screen-wall nurses functionally work their routine. Walking medium-fast up and down the hallway, door in and out carrying medicines, doctor’s files, medical equipment, food and patients to sick to carry themselves. Uncontrolled shady-dark blue uniforms are the certificated nurses. Those in rusty faded green are the students or unstudied. They mostly sweep the floors, empty dustbins, clean toilets. Doctors wear the old-fashioned white coats, sloppy unbuttoned hanging open carelessly showing daily ‘civilian’ outfit expressing their untouchable position.
The jump of that 6 feet wall went right. Often practiced in trainings. It was stupid not noticing the old rusty bad folded rabbit wiring hiding in the fence shadow. Stumbling and falling twisted the ankle and broke the leg. Colleagues cached the fugitive. Stupid me is in the hospital. Bone fractures are still treated the same as always. Like everything that breaks, it has to be glued together and rest for awhile to harden. You are better of with a heart attack. An injection and home you go. Next day back at your job. Medical knowledge improved a lot in the last decennia. But that doesn’t help me. I am doomed here. Boredom for weeks. Few days in the hospital, than at home.
Kate’s mind went over the last few days. What a week it was. Somehow she is happy with the extorted rest. That bomb-kid in cell 3 confused her. He didn’t answer any question. Just dropped a mix of entangled statements. Bunch of scrappy nonsense. Poor boy, only 18. They locked him up in a rehabilitation centre. He would be better of in mental institutions. Rehab is for making real crazy more insane. On her notebook she registered his jabber. Notebooks are small digital devices that record the interviews. You can playback by listening or read from a display. At headquarters you stick it in the ‘keeper’ (small machine that holds all files), type in the file number and it copies your latest questioning session in the file. Most officers don’t bother to empty the notebook immediately. They press ‘delete’ before starting another interview. The encounter with the kid was her last one. Bored in bed she started to read his incoherent talk. ‘And in the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years’. ‘Hope is the worst of evils, for it prolongs the torments of man’. ‘The price of apathy towards public affairs is to be ruled by evil men’. ‘The difference between what we do and what we are capable of doing would suffice to solve most of the world’s problems’. ‘You can have power over people as long as you don’t take everything away from them. But when you’ve robbed a man of everything, he’s no longer in your power’. ‘Anyone who conducts an argument by appealing to authority is not using his intelligence; he is just using his memory’. ‘Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness’. ‘After all manner of professors have done their best for us, the place we are to get knowledge is in books. The true university of these days is a collection of books’. ‘Civilization can only revive when there shall come into being in a number of individuals a new tone of mind, independent of the prevalent one among the crowds, and in opposition to it — a tone of mind which will gradually win influence over the collective one, and in the end determine its character. Only an ethical movement can rescue us from barbarism, and the ethical comes into existence only in individuals’. ‘Love the animals, love the plants, love everything. If you love everything, you will perceive the divine mystery in things. Once you perceive it, you will begin to comprehend it better every day. And you will come at last to love the whole world with an all-embracing love’. ‘No snowflake in an avalanche ever feels responsible’. …………….
The words made Kate dizzy, still she couldn’t stop reading…
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Girls of 17 are very busy. Keeping up with latest fashion, new pop bands, social live and study makes 24 hours a day insufficient. Inga is very busy lately. Within a few months she will leave her elderly home. By that time she is 18, finished highschool and moves on to study industrial art at the university.
Inga likes the idea of leaving home. Since her father died, 5 years ago, live became a hell. Mom was very into her company career. Always brought the latest technology gags before available in the store. Sure when Inga was 13 and 14 it was great impressing girlfriends at school with it. She gained a lot of status and managed to get elected as chairman of the student-board. Now few years older she misses her dad. He was much more social. Paid attention to Inga and Jure. Took them to the park to play funny old-fashioned games like badminton and soccer. Dad always talked with them about school and such. Mom didn’t care at all. She came home and dumped a pile of electronic gags on them. She made all memories of dad disappear quickly after the funeral. Relatives and friends saw it as a reaction of grieve. My brother and I realized than that mom never loved dad. Like a true materialist she married him for status.
Lucky I saved some pictures and conversations on my cell. I stored them on my hardfile. Everybody has a hardfile nowadays for storing essential private information like birth-certificate, tax and insurance files and such. The hardfile is nothing more than a one by one inch square box. Communication goes wireless. You access it over the infraray. Every information device has an infraray. Access is protected by personal codes. Set a code and you can connect the device with any other. To avoid abuse you keep the code personal.
Industrial art is not in the package of the local university. The nearest college is 400 miles further. Inga planned this having a good excuse leaving home. Regularly she travels up and down making necessary arrangements finding a place to live and making usual study preparations. Only few more months left leaving this horrible place. While most of her classmates are nervous about life after highschool, Inga feels confident about her direction and is absolute sure making the right choice.
She can already guess now what her 18th birthday present from mom will be. For sure a new, not yet available for purchase, Sony gagged. Probably something trigital. For days mom is bragging during dinner about this latest invention that is suppose to replace digital. ‘A major change in society’. Inga doesn’t care. She wants to move on with her life.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The evening dinner finished in a severe silence. The argument increased during meals last two days. Johan is in his final year of secondary school. Time to make future choices. Most teenagers move on to highschool to be prepared for a university study. The parents of Johan thought similar. After all that reading he must be a successful student. Talented to reach high jobs like top manager or professor. Johan has different thoughts. He wants to join technical school. His dad finds it to low of an education. Especially after secondary school technical education is nothing more than training for the factory assembly-line. Ofcourse mom agrees totally with dad. After all he was only child, and they invested so much in him. But Johan has the feeling he knows already everything that is to learn on university. Probably even more after reading books nobody ever gets to read. It is the knowledge out of books that makes him want to go into a technical direction as soon as possible. Many smart writers were inventors, chemists and scientists. An (improper) book he got from mrs Slater, ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’ by writer Pirsig was a clear example how you can make philosophic studies while working an ancient engine. Johan is anxious to learn something technical. Starting at basics, a simple technical education is the best fundament. It will always be possible to study further after this. Anyway, the goal is to become a writer. Writers should have knowledge about all kind of things.
If only mrs Slater would still be alive he had at least someone to talk with who understands. Mrs Slater past away 8 months ago by natural cause. Her heart stopped. With tears in his eyes Johan watched special police forces removing cases with books from the house to be burned. An unreplaceable archive of knowledge destroyed for the sake of materialism.
Isol is not much support either. Although his best friend she clearly stated to prefer marrying a rich successful manager than factory worker. Two months ago they where hanging around in an abandoned factory South of the neighborhood. Plans are made to replace the old building for housing. Isol and Johan come there often to be alone practicing their dancing having their J-Tof’s (the follow up of I-pod) in sync with infraray. While moving around Isol almost stumbled. Auw she yelled. A loose plank flipped up and scraped her ankle. Johan noticed the hole first. He pulled out more rotten planks of what used to be a hatch. Below was a small space no more than 6 by 6 feet and only 2 feet high. The space was filled up with many small cases of 10 by 15 inches and 3 inch deep. With his hands he removed the dust. These are here for a long time. Forgotten when the factory closed? Carefully Johan wiped some dirt from a half rotten label. He barely managed to decipher ‘C3H5N3O9’ and ‘KNO3’. The rest of the label-text soaked in brown moist and was unreadable. “This is a scientific formula” he said to Isol who half bored watched his moves listening to the J-Tof. Johan stashed one box away between the school and library books in his back-pack. At home he moved the package under the bed for later examination. School and family stress made him forget about it.
After the dinner Johan decided to take action himself. This was his future, not his parents, so he has the right to take the decision alone. Tomorrow he will visit the ‘High School For Advanced and Historic Technology’ to register.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Snowcrystals twinkled in the midday sun announcing the end of the winter. Galar moved a chair on the west side of the cabin. Self-complacent he sat down eyes closed listening to the babbling streams fed by melting water, enjoying the first sun of this year.
Every year when first signs of winter-end appear, Galar visits the family mountain cabin. Ofcourse to repair unavoidable damages caused by past rough season, but also to find few days of rest. To be away from daily hectic live.
The cabin was owned by his grandfather and moved from father to son. In the summer he must allow visits from other family members. His parents had only 2 kids and they both where only child. From his wife relatives is only a far away aunt still alive. Galar’s sister comes every summer for one week with her husband and kids. Always a fun week with lots of chatter, barbecue’s, drinks and games.
The first weekend of the year Galar is always alone. The dirt-road to the cabin had still 2 feet of snow. He leaves his car behind in the nearest parking, an old bar/restaurant/store mainly visited by local farmers, hunters, forest workers and in the summer few lost tourists. From there it’s a 3 hour difficult and dangerous walk up the hill through untouched snow. With bag-pack, mainly containing food and drinks, Galar makes his way in an almost unrecognizable landscape. The cabin stores all his further needs, tools, wood-oven and working clothes.
There is another reason why Galar likes to be in the cabin alone. In the furthest of the 5 rooms his dad stashed away all grandpas’ belongings after he passed. The 5th room was small. Single bed, chair and wall completely furnished with one big cupboard mainly empty except behind a locked double door where the boxes and bags are stored. Every year when Galar comes alone one of the first thing he does after settling (connecting water, electricity, start woodfire for heat,….) is unlocking the cupboard. Carefully he takes out an ancient machine, nowadays only to see in museums, a recordplayer. He switches the converter to 220 volt/50 hertz (voltage changed into a different, lower, current), plugs in the player. Galar knows all the records. Played them all dozens time. He likes old things. They seem to feel and sound more organic. That’s why he called his son after his grandfather, Johan. An old fashioned name hardly used anymore these days. A friend visiting for summer vacation advised to sell the complete dusty collection including player to freak or museum. He had only ironical remarks “Who calls himself Berry?” “What kinda name is that? Black or Blue Berry?” “And look at his given name, Chuck!” “That’s like choke.” “Did he choke on a Berry? Ha ha ha.” After that Galar never showed grandpa’s heritage to anyone. Later his son will own it.
The dark of the evening comes quick. Its still late February. Winter finished early this year. Galar switch on a few atmospheric oil lights, opens the bottle of vodka brought up in his bag-pack. Carefully he unpacks the box of records and put one on the player. Eyes close relaxed, leaning in a chair while the needle crackles the grooves. After 4 records plus half a bottle Galar rises lighted up accompanied by ancient rough sounds. He is dancing, rocking, shaking, twisting……twisting the night away.
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
The air-codes blanked out again. “Shit” Royan said to himself. “Have to get this thing right!” Royan purchased the other day the latest J-Tof, the T-Tof. Saving many week allowances he finally could afford the newest of the newest. Ok, J-Tof’s are around for ages, but this one goes further than digital, its T for trigital! Anxious to get familiar with the new advanced technology he is endlessly pushing the sensors comparing with the manual. Trigital is so new, nothing looks like the good old fashioned digital. New (better) ways of storing, sharing, hearing, watching. There is no display. Just a small flat silver shiny box, two by one inch, with only two touch ‘sensors’. With the T-Tof comes a little wireless in-ear phone to listen. Visuals appear 3D (3T?) in the air, not limited by screen borders. Pointing to f.e. a screen will show the requested visual on that screen if it would be installed with trigital. Touching the sensors creates codes that give operating commands. Learning these codes is what occupies Royan since yesterday. The new technology is not easy. Asking friends is useless. Almost nobody has trigital yet. Will not take long before it takes over like digital did with analogue. To be one of the first is always difficult. Royan imagines that early analogue and digital pioneers had similar problems. He likes to discover and explore. His room is full with recent and old tools from analogue to digital. Besides taking electronic machines apart for investigation, he also likes to build new ones.
Obsessed he touches another code nowhere mentioned in the manual. Suddenly a bright yellow beam shoots out of the T-Tof hitting the on-switch of the (shelf stored) laser-flex by coincident. The laser-flex pointed out the window, cuts a lamppost in half. The upper-half drops on a loose piece of scaffolding half constructed. The steel scaffolding bar swings over a house roof hitting tree branch that breaks and falls on top of a young lads head. Sadly an immediate fatal deathly hit!
Thursday, March 04, 2010
Isol felt a bit uncomfortable ringing the doorbell of Johan’s house. The funeral was only 2 days ago. That was a very tragic day. Johan’s complete class was there plus all teachers from school that had no lessons at that hour. Johan’s mom collapsed during the ceremony. For many other friends and relatives the grief was too much. Nobody was chatting or mumbling like usual on funerals. After the ceremony almost everybody left immediately to avoid socializing. This was too emotional to digest collectively. (Yes dear reader, it was Johan who got hit by that branch. Unintentional indirectly killed by a T-Tof. I know he was until now one of the main characters in this story, but what do you expect, a prefab story a la average Hollywood shite where life has to be nice, sweet, protected and main character is not allowed to die, especially not this early in the story! Fuck that! This is my story! Expect the unexpected. The only way to survive today’s slavery.)
Johan’s father opened the door. “Oh hi Isol, come in.” He said with a cheerful twinkle in his eyes. Galar was happy someone from Johan’s past had the courage to visit. Inside Mom was sitting quietly at the table dazzling stirring a cup of tea. Obvious she was still trying to cope with the facts. “Um, uh, eh…..” Isol falters. “Oh Isol, its you. Hi” Johan’s mom says turning towards her. “Do you want a cup of tea?” Isol hesitates. This is not why she came but it would be rude to refuse. “Yes please, but only one, I do not have much time. Lots of homework for school, you know.” While zipping the tea Gallar tried to keep conversation going mentioning unimportant details of the funeral day. It is still to soon talking about what caused Johan’s dead although on school everybody thinks it was an unfortunate accident. (Nobody links the tree branch with by T-Tof caused domino effect)
“Uh, I do not know how to ask this and don’t want to be impolite, but can I have one more last look at Johan’s room?” Isol asks suddenly in a shaky voice. “We spend so much time together there and I would like to have a last glance for my memory?” “Well ofcourse” They both replied simultaneously. “You want to see the room right now?” Galar asked. “Yes Please”. Isol got up and walked the stairs with Galar following her. “Uh.. do you mind if I am alone for a moment?” Discrete Johan’s father turned around. In the room Isol immediately went to the cupboard, emptied bottom shelf, lifted plank and took out that little package they found together at the abandoned factory. She raised her eyebrows reading the booktitles on top, but didn’t bother any further. Quickly moved everything back in place and putted the package in her shoulder bag she carried all that time with.
Downstairs Isol didn’t want to go back into the living room. “I have to go now. Thank you very much. By.” She yells while rushing to the frontdoor. “You can always come to visit Isol” Galar screamed after her. Relieved Isol jumped on the bike. ‘Phooh, got that package’, she sighted. Checking the label codes on Digipedia she knew exactly what is in that package. These are old-fashioned explosives. It doesn’t need much to set this of into a big bang.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Behind the abandoned factory the city suburbs slowly fade out into green incidentally interrupted by houses. Trees and bushes start to form the regular landscape until nature overtakes all. An enjoyable wilderness. Steep hills, wild forests, deep lakes. Barely used dirt roads facilitate bumpy access. Isol likes to ride her bike into the wilderness and spend much time there alone. Now Johan is not anymore, she doesn’t have anyone close to share secrets with. At least not someone comfortable. Parents don’t understand and girlfriends at school are more for gossips and girltalk.
It’s a nice warm sunny spring day. Isol went to bike ride into the nature and landed relaxing on a small beach formed by curved mountain stream. All she hears is soft wind rustling leaves and babbling water. ‘Better enjoy now I still can’, she thinks. Like Johan, also Isol is in her last highschool year. After the summer she will start working in Yamson, the local electronic factory. ‘System controller’ will be her function. A boring job for lower studied. It means nothing more than watching robot-machines operating at the assembly line. Everything goes automatic today still programs and equipment can mal function. Isol’s future looks boring. Job- partner- marriage- kids- mom- grandma. Pffff, she doesn’t look forward to this.
A shadow overthrows the small beach. Isol opens her eyes. The sun disappeared behind the hills, its getting chilly. She jumps on the bike and cycles direction town. A strong western wind came up. Isol pushes herself leaning forward against the wind. Suddenly a shock, the bike slams on its side and Isol rolls into the road ditch. Crawling up she sees someone else flat with bike on the middle of the dirt track. “Can’t you look where you going, dumb-ass” she yells at the person while getting up. “Why don’t you look forward instead to the ground, stupid bitch” a guy screamed back. “Fuck you ashole, why didn’t you go aside”. “I did, but you where swerving like a drunken old fool”. “Shit, the front wheel is bend” Isol says while picking up her bike. “Maybe I can help you.” The guy walks to her. “Ohh get lost kid”. Isol is pissed of, picks her bike up and starts walking.
She is going to miss the quarter finals of Portentous, an open digi-game on the 3hd screen (tv). Everybody can join in. Its massive popular and Isol loves it. Ofcourse she joined but got kicked out already in the first round.
‘I know that face from somewhere’ she thought while dragging her bike. The guy that just drove in to her looked familiar.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Almost every afternoon, if the weather allows, Royan cycles a round from the suburban house through nature and back. ‘What a dumb bitch’ he thinks finishing the exercise. ‘Chicks from higher classes always show attitude to younger students’. Royan knows Isol from school, not by name, but often saw her in corridors and schoolyard. Moving his bike into the backyard shed he forgot about the incident. Anxious he rushes to his room. Royan became handy with his T-Tof. Inserting certain codes creates a 3d image in the air. Like ghosts from old movies when still made in a place called Hollywood. An object hanging in the air. If you tried to catch, your hand slides through, as if nothing there. Royan is figuring out a way to catch the 3d object to take with, like paper photo prints, but than in original 3d format. On his computer he translates and investigates the T-Tof’s program codes. Not long from now Yamson will come up with new developments, probably waiting on company shelfs.
Royan has a talent for technology. Already on the age of 8 he designed his own computer games. When 12 he re-programmed his pc to own convenience. Now 16, teachers predict a glorious career in near future as high up technician/inventor. Although obsessed by new technologies, Royan has problems concentrating this evening. His mind drifts back to the bike crash this afternoon. She was a close friend of the guy that died recently. Everybody on school knows these kinda things. He should talk with her tomorrow. This poor guy was smart. He was always reading. Maybe there is interesting information to exchange.
Next day on school during the morning break Royan walks up to Isol. ‘Oh god, there is that technical smug who drove into me yesterday’ she thought. “Hi uhhhh” Royan didn’t know how to start the conversation. “What do you want?” Isol snarls. “Uhhh just wanted to say I am sorry about yesterday and about your boyfriend”. “Johan was my friend, not boyfriend.” Despite Royans attempt polite seeking contact Isol stays bitchy. He sees that she holds a donky in her hands. ‘that’s an ancient toy, who carries this still around’ Royan thought. The donky is around for a good decade now. Upgraded versions from the first release are still a popular purchase in stores. Its not silly to have one, but for technical advanced persons, donky’s are from ancient times. “I know how to program that thing so you can much faster make higher scores” Royan said pointing at the donky. ‘hmmmm, he is known to be a technical wizard’ Isol thought. “Oh Yeah, how?” “Well, uhhh not here ofcourse. I have to hook it on my computer. Lent me the donky for one night and I do this at home.” “Borrow you my donky just like that! I don’t know you.” Isol replies indignant. Royan didn’t know what to say. He acted with good intentions. “Just want to make up with yesterday. If you don’t want to leave it with me you can come tonight or when you have time.” Isol didn’t know what to say. Socializing with someone from lower years gains much disapproval from classmates. “I will think about it” she replies and turns away from him indicating the conversation is over.
Later at home Royan was thinking about this little talk. What would his friends say, that he is trying something with an older female? He hopes not many noticed the brief encounter. It was stupid talking with her in the open. Somehow she has something attractive. It amuses him she was a bit bitchy.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
The old stereo amplifier called up from some historic site smoothly appeared as 3T image in the room. Transferring to trigital equipped electronics is easy. Royan wants more. It would be very handy if the 3T image can be taken with. Like any real hard-existing thing. Fold it up in your back-pocket like paper-sheet. Its still impossible for him catching the image. Yes, visual the amp is there, but no turning buttons. His hands wave through air each time he tries to touch it. Ok, its possible taking the T-Tof along where ever you go and call up any 3T image. But Royan challenge technology, there must be a way to bring only the 3T image with. Nature calls and Royan visits to the bathroom in the hallway. Coming back the 3T amplifier has disappeared. ‘Hmmm, did I forget to switch the timer of?’ he thinks. After checking all settings Royan is a bit worried. The image supposed to be here. Nothing got touched, the cat is downstairs and electricity drops are old stories from grandpa. ‘Hope I didn’t overlook something’. With one push on a button he re-calls the 3T image. The doorbell rings.
On her way home from school Isol had second thoughts about Royans offer to upgrade her donky. After some research with few lower grade students she learned that he is to be trusted. No one would notice if she visits him at home. Anyway, Royan is a technical wizard and showing of with a donky will increase her status. He owes her after yesterday’s crash! She picks her bike from the repair-shop and rides direction Royans house. Figuring out his address was easy. What else to do now there is no other to hang with?
Royan rushes down the stairs. His parents visit grandpa. He is alone. Surprised he looks at Isol after opening the frontdoor. “Well, want you let me in?” she says brash looking at him. “I changed my mind. Got the donky with me.” “Uhhh, yeah sure, come in.” And he opens the door wide. “Upstairs. My parents are gone.” Isol follows Royan upstairs in his room. “What the fuck….” Royan yells. The image is gone again. “What’s the matter?” Isol asks. “Oh nothing.” Quickly he presses a button on the T-tof and the 3T image appears again. “Cool” Isol reacts. “How do you do that?” “With the T-Tof.” “You have one? Wow. What is that image?” “An old amplifier from long time ago?” “Looks primitive.” Isol response and tries to touch it. “I don’t feel anything, just air.” She says in surprise. “It is a 3T image. The T-Tof projects it in the air. Nothing needed, no screen or such” Royan explains. “Lets look at your donky.” Royan connects the donky to his computer, changes some codes and returns it back to Isol. “Tanx” she says. “Are you going on a bike ride today?” “No time. Lots to do” he replies. “Tomorrow again.” “Maybe we can ride together” Isol propose, “but I like to go earlier.” “Tomorrow its Friday. School’s over early. Ok lets meet at 3 pm behind the old factory” Royan suggests. “Ok, 3 pm tomorrow. I know my way out.”
‘Well goddamned’ Royan mumbles to himself while he hears Isol running down the stairs. The 3T image is gone again. Annoyed Royan calls the image back up, connects his T-Tof to the computer and starts checking. After a few minutes he hears a scratchy noise behind his back. While turning around he thinks its probably the cat. There is nothing to see. Back concentrated into the T-Tof program he hears the sound again. ‘Maybe she needs to be fed’. Downstairs he finds the cat peacefully in a deep sleep on the couch. Back upstairs the 3T image is gone again.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Royan learned quickly how to operate the T-tof . He figured out that visuals appear in the air because the T-tof activates atomic masses in the nitrogen. Almost 80% air is nitrogen. Sufficient supply of atomic masses to project images.
After calling up materialistic objects, Royan would like to try how it works with ‘alive’ material like plants, animals or even humans. He had to think of a good test-person. Somebody who didn’t bother or hurt too much. ‘Hmmmm maybe ‘Catpiss’ is a good try’ he thinks.
Kitty ‘Catpiss’ Borghouts was Royans grandma. He never liked her, nobody did. She was a mean sour moody old woman. Never positive or helpful to anyone. Bitching all the time. Worst was that she smelled like cat piss, that gave her the nick name ‘Catpiss’. Kitty ‘Catpiss’ Borghouts had a meaningless life. As child she was an average unnoticeable personality. With mediocre marks she finished a reporter education on an uneducated highschool known for its low standard. In that time Catpiss was jealous on a creative cultural active group in town. She always wished to be creative, but she simply didn’t have the gift so her life was doomed to middle class boredom. The town she grew up in was provincial and empty. Besides few interesting cultural activities of a small group in her college years (1980-85), there was nothing going on than a carnival organization called ‘Jocus’ who carried a cock as club-symbol. Afraid for the unknown of the young cultural advanced ‘scene’ she avoided their ‘headquarters’, the local rockclub. Although wanting too she missed the courage joining them. Envy developed in her small mind that through years turned into hate. For Kitty ‘Catpiss’ Borghouts it was safer dreaming about ‘Jocus cock’.
Lack of talent left for Kitty Catpiss only a career in the local town newspaper, De Limburger, national known for its ‘paparazzi’ style. Uncreative made up nonsense’s news items to please local readers, mainly older people who maintained subscribed keeping up with the death-adds. A shit job, not good for your cv, but what else if brain capacity is limited?
Why grandpa married her and never got divorced was a big question for everyone. ‘When young she was beautiful’ is often his reply on the question, but these words echo regret to every good listener. Anyway, grandpa is doing much better now Catpiss is gone. After her death he lived up and became a warm human personality. He must have had a horrible time with Kitty Catpiss, who kept him down and miserable.
Kitty ‘Catpiss’ Borghouts died a slow and painful death after a long horrible disease. Some whisper that she was cursed by a spiritual conspiracy of those who hated her (almost everybody who knew her).
‘No one would give a shit if things go wrong experimenting with Catpiss’, Royan thought. ‘If her molecules dissolve, explode or blow away, nobody gives a damn, she is death anyway’. So far his experiments didn’t had results, but Royan keeps trying.
Monday, April 26, 2010
The last vision story was some time ago so lets first look back what happened so far to refresh our memories: It all started with Johan getting some books from Mrs Slater and steeling forgotten dynamite with his friend Isol from an abandoned factory. Meanwhile I receive an email from escaped visionair living in solitude. Kate broke her leg in a chase jumping of the fence plus she wasn’t successful interviewing a young prisoner who tried to blow up the old transmission tower. Meanwhile Johan, Mrs Slater and Natalies husband passed away. Later her daughter Inga wants to leave home. Yaliophysipa is still high on angel dust. The new technical invention Trigital gets introduced by YamSon. Galar visits the old mountain cabin more often. Isol meets a new friend, Royan whose 3T images called up by the T-tof disappear mysteriously while his room starts to smell like catpiss.
Confused? Well, I am! And me supposed to be the writer of this chaos!
Did Isol and Johan had a more close relation ship than just a friendship and is she now trying to hook on Royan?
Was the old transmission tower almost blown up by the dynamite Johan stole?
Is there more behind the deaths of Johan, Mrs Slater and Natalies husband?
Does Galar discover new interesting material in the old mountain cabin, or will he keep playing with old, forgotten, records?
Will Royan figure out were and how the 3T images disappear and start a relation with Isol?
Will catpiss be the new popular perfume odor for middle class housewifes?
Tune back regularly with www.limbabwe.com to find out.
Royan managed to call up a 3T image of Kitty ‘Catpiss’. With twitched face, not amused by the horrible smell, he turns away from the image. The smell slowly fades. Looking back he sees that also ‘Catpiss’ did not survive very long as 3T image. He doesn’t understand. The molecules in the air form the image. Molecules do not dissolve. These images must be somewhere. Snap! Suddenly Royan has a very ‘organic’ idea: follow the nose! ‘Catpiss’ 3T image carries that strong smell. Immediately he starts to sniff the corners in his room. Inbetween cupboard and window edge the smell appears very strong. Royan turns away his face, ‘horrible’ he thinks.
In the garage among dad’s tools he finds a protection mask and that pare of gloves can be handy too. Well equipped Royan goes back in expedition. ‘Catpiss’ smell comes from behind the cupboard. Carefully he shoves it a bit aside. There is something in the plinth. Royan pushes the cupboard rough aside. The plinth had a big opening, to big for mice, to small for humans. He bends over and drops the mask. Quickly puts it back. The smell is killing. ‘How do these images get in here? They cannot move themselves…I think….although…..or someone, something takes them in there. The frontdoor bell rings.
It is a great sunny spring day. Warm like a summer day. Isol is cycling around. ‘Let me see what Royan is up to’, she thinks. In front of the house she parks and locks the bike. Cheerful whistling she jumps the front door steps and rings the bell.
Friday, April 30, 2010
After the highway turn-of its at least one more hour country side road to go. First a long dark forest that slowly opens to make space for farmer’s fields approaching houses with small church. Than a long curvy down the hill road until reaching the river. In the deep valley driving becomes easier due to by water created flat surface. After 20 miles turn left over the bridge and uphill again. At the hamlet, in front of the local service station also local store, postoffice and bar, Galar parks his car. From here further by foot. Galar enjoys the beautiful spring weather while climbing up the rocky path to the cabin. In his backpack he carries all necessarities for a week in total solitude, mainly food and alcoholic drinks.
The landscape changed totally since last visit. It was mid-winter than. No green leaves. Ground covered with snow. The open wide white winter landscape is now smoothly closing-in with blooming bushes and young green. An eagle floats in the sky detecting food. Rough broken young trees, big footmarks in the grass and shitheap indicate recent bear activities. No worries, bears don’t like people in these surroundings. They mostly run if humans come close. In the distance he spots some deer urgently skipping through the trees.
The trees widen. Early spring flowers are in bloom. The meadow in front of the cabin colors fresh yellow and blue. At a bench half way the field Galar takes of his backpack and sits down. Satisfied he enjoys the whispering wind and zooming bees watching the gently waving weed. He sights and thinks about it to stay here forever, away from the hectic and mean human civilization. Life can be so great if people would stop to be greedy and competing eachother. There is so much more and better to gain from life than just materialistic covetousness.
Galar’s plans are to first fix up the cabin, repairing the usual winter damage and arrear maintenance. Hopefully he has some time left for hiking, exploring the surroundings. Slowly he gets back on his feet. Picks up the backpack and walks to the cabin. After entering he notices an unpleasant smell. Something he smelled before but he can’t think of where or what. Quickly he removes the blinds and opens all windows. The smell is intrusive. ‘Its not a death animal corps’ he thinks while looking around. Suddenly he realizes it’s the smell of a cat. Its cat piss! ‘Weird’ he thinks, ‘there are no cats here in the wilderness. Cats are social and live where people are’. He searches, but doesn’t find other traces of cats. The cabin was well sealed by the blinds. No holes or rotten weak spots in walls or floor. No animal that big could enter.
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
Zilsten walks cool on the sidewalk. His dreaded hair waving in the wind. Barefoot in sandals, dressed shaggy in light brown vest and torn jeans he trudges on, his skinny body floating along with the music from his J-tof.
Few months ago Kuni, Zilsten’s girlfriend, catched an old picture in her J-tof from a man with strange hair. It was long and knotted together like thick ropes. She showed this to Zilsten who found it cool. Zilsten likes ‘different’ things. ‘Why do like everybody else?’ Is his device. He loaded the picture in the infocom at the library. It took a search since the digital infobank didn’t know where to go. The archive offered large range of selections. Zilsten tried politics, inventors, athletes, hairdresser,….. Nothing worked. ‘Hmmm, maybe something artistic’ he thought and clicked on programmer, zero results. Writer, animator, painter all nothing. ‘Music, maybe music’ muttering to himself. Bingo! ‘Kravitz L, famous rockstar end 20tied century’ the screen said. ‘Rock, bleeeeh boring shit my grandpa used to listen’. ‘But that hair!’ Zilsten searched further in music. After some time the infobank screen pooped up a strange word: ‘reggae’. Clicking on the word showed many pictures of people with that hair. Quickly he figured out the style is called ‘dreadlock’. Pity, no instructions how to make this but Zilsten, who had already long hear, decided to let his hair grow even longer from now on.
‘Auw, don’t pull that hard’, Zilsten yells. Kuni tries to knob his hear like on the picture. She twists two bunches and starts to plait the hair. They are in the kitchen of Kuni’s house. Her parents are in the garden enjoying the first nice spring days. “Be careful that you don’t hurt him dear”, Kuni’s mom says walking to the fridge. “More lemonade?”
Dreading the hair took the complete afternoon, Zilsten stayed for dinner. His new hair style was ofcourse the subject. “Think I still have some sandals on the loft. Leftover from my younger year, they might fit you”, Kuni’s father offered. The parents of Kuni thought it was best to support youngsters in their creativity, as long it is harmless.
Next day in a thrift store they bought the vest. Old jeans finished Zilsten’s new outfit. On the schoolyard Ziltjen was the centre of attention. Everybody thought he looked cool. Teachers raised eyebrows and looked critical. Now, a few months later, his look is settled in town. Nobody stares at him anymore.
Zilsten had problems finding the right music. He did learn from the infobank that music fitting his wear is called reggae. But this was nowhere to find. Clicking on ‘reggae-music’ a big red warning plopped up on the screen saying ‘access not allowed’. But his curiosity was activated. Anyway, he wanted to be real cool. After an extended search Zilsten managed to download some reggae music on his J-tof. Something from the real old days but still very dynamic sounding in the latest AP6 format.
(After MP3 and MP4 came more MP formats until MP8, all mediocre to bad sounding due to the compressed low bit sampling until a small company invented a new sampling system more equal to the dynamics of analogue sound called AP. AP6 is the latest development).
Sauntering with his gangling body Zilsten moves slowly across the street humming along with his reggae tune ‘By The Rivers Of Babylon’ from ‘Boney M’.
Friday, May 07, 2010
After Galar opened all windows the smell became more bearable. Feeling uncomfortable that something could enter the cabin, he started a search. In the furthest bedroom, the storage of grandpa’s stuff, the smell appeared very strong. The soft spring breeze improved the air after opening front and back window. A good search in and under cupboards was without results. Galar didn’t want giving up this easy. For the first time he felt sorry not following the latest technology trends. A rayvisionizer would be handy now. The rayvisionizer is a small device sized one square inch with a little display on top. It shows what is behind walls, under cupboards and such. Very handy if small things get lost like rings or little screws. Hiking all the way back to ‘civilization’ borrowing one didn’t attract him. Some furniture (few cupboards and bed) was built in the room during cabin construction. Further search needed some tools. Armed with hammer, saw and crow-bar Galar came out of the barn’s workshop. It took some effort, but after about half an hour he managed to move the bed away from the wall. ‘Gotto build a new one’ he thought looking at the mess. The front plate of the bed-construction was one inch from the wall. The smell of catpiss got very strong. Galar rushed back to the barn. He remembered an old gas-mask hanging on a rusty nail. Back in the room with gas-mask and gloves on, he pulled firmly on the bed-front-plate. With loud cracks the wood broke of the wall. Galar stumbled backwards over some loose bed-parts hitting his head on the plank floor. In the seconds before he passed out he saw people escaping from a hole in the wall. One of them looked very similar to his late son, Johan. Everything turned dark.
15 minutes later Galar regained his consciousness. Dizzy and confused he pulled himself up, threw the gas-mask of and sat on the old bed mattress. ‘What happened?’ he wondered.Everything was still clear in his memory. The bedplate, the crack, the hole, the people…….Johan. Johan? It must have been a trick of the brain. Johan passed away some time ago. The fall shook his memory. He carefully touched a soar spot on the back of his head. That will become one big lump.
Galar is a rational thinking person. He was never busy with life after death, religions, different time dimensions or whatever people find excuses for their fear to die. Remarkable, the strong smell of catpiss disappeared. For sure he saw something coming out of that hole. His eyes clearly registered people. Still a bit unstable on his feet he walked to the gap in the wall. People would fit through the crack although the opening was not a comfortable walk in. Some cranky body moves would be necessary to get trough. ‘Hmmm, first a drink, than look further’ Galar thought. Anyway, he needed a torch to see what is in the hole. Exhausted from excitement and tension he sat down at the kitchen table and poured himself a whiskey. After 3 shots he slowly slumbered asleep.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Surprised and annoyed Royan opens the frontdoor. “I am very busy” he says to Isol who stands cheerfully smiling on the doorstep. “But its nice weather. Come, lets go somewhere” Isol reacts. “No no no, I am working on something very important, no time”. “Can I come in? Maybe I can help you”. With a sight Royan widens the door, turns around and rushes back upstairs. He hopes the 3T images are still behind the plinth, and that they didn’t decide to go somewhere else. ‘oh, what am I thinking, that 3T images can move? I am getting crazy’ Royan mumbles to himself. “What are you saying?” Isol followed Royan upstairs and enters his room. “Are you refurnishing?” Royan blushes a bit and moves the cupboard back in position. “I was repairing something” he answerers. “What a horrible smell. Is your cat decent?” Isol pulls a dirty face. The smell of catpiss got stronger again but no visual sign of the images. ‘Maybe it is better to go somewhere. I can use some fresh air. These 3T image experiments can wait’ Royan thought and asks Isol “Where do you want to go?” “Yeah, lets get some fresh air. Lets ride to the lake” she suggests. Royan grasps the T-tof, sticks it in his pocket and both leave the room. “Wait in front of the house, I get my bike out of the shed and come around from the backyard”. It is a nice warm sunny day. Both ride direction forest, passing by the old factory. In the forest shadow of trees and bushes create pleasantly cool temperature. On a crossing they turn left direction lake. Somehow exaggerating calling the waterpool that suddenly appears in an opening between tall pines lake. It has a diameter of 30 feet and is partly overgrown with big leaves from waterplants. Comfortable shoring on a small grass meadow where Isol and Royan sit down. “Its nice here” Isol says. “Yes, very peaceful and quiet, plus the flowers smell nice” Royan replies with a smile. Isol lays down in the grass and closes her eyes. ‘What are you thinking of?” Royan asks while he (almost automatically) takes the T-tof out of his pocket. “I was very often here in the forest with Johan” Isol replies. “We went bike riding together”. Royan switch on his T-tof. Like many digital machines, it makes little beep sounds when activated. Isol looks up “Can’t you leave that thing alone for 5 minutes” she says loud. Royan doesn’t react. He rotates the control and takes a little ‘headphone’ looking thing out of his pocket that plugs in the T-tof. “Come here, lets experiment” He says. “According to the manual its possible to catch visuals out of peoples brains on the T-tof”. “Eeehk, that’s scary. I don’t want you to know what I think”. “Its nothing extreme. These are just static images that are stored in your brain memory. We can see them. I don’t know what you think. Anyway, you can control what will show up by thinking strongly of something”. “All sounds freaky to me”. Isol is not much in the mood for experimenting but Royan tries to convince her. “Come on, this is harmless. Just put these sensors on your head. Its fun”. “You first” Isol demands. Royan puts the sensors on and moves T-tof’s control circle. Suddenly an image appears on the display. Its miss Duvola, the English schoolteacher. Isol burst out in laughing “You think of her?” “No, I only called her up in my memory to show you how it works. Now you try”. Royan puts the sensors on Isols head. “I do not know what picture to think about” she says nervous. In her mind she tries to find a harmless image while Royan is setting the T-tof to the right frequency. The display shows a wooden mountain cabin. “What is that?” he asks quickly storing the image. “Oh it’s a mountain cabin of Johan’s parents. I was there one week on vacation. Its in the mountains. Totally deserted. Nothing around. Had a great time here”. Meanwhile the sun sank behind the trees. “Lets go, its getting late” Royan says. Both jump on their bike and ride back into town.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
The many empty hours, days and weeks recovering in the hospital gave Kate lots of time thinking things over. The radio tower bomber spooked her mind too. She listen the interview on her notebook over and over. She felt sorry for the kid. He was obsessed by that ‘vision’ thing. Crazy, people still go for something unreal. Life is good. Everything you need is here, what is not here will be invented. Darwin was right, technology evolutes with human needs naturally. Nothing wrong with that. It makes all our lives comfortable and easier. You don’t need to have stupid ideals about better worlds. We live in the best world free from sorrow, wrong influences, different systems, inequality and fear. The state takes care of everybody and everything supplying large quantity of technological comfort. The state are we. We created a much better world through time. Read the history books. You want to be in violent wars killing eachother like these dumb idiots did in the past? Life got so good even thinking became unnecessary, and you better don’t if preferring a smooth time.
Because of her optimistic view ‘life is good as it is’ Kate didn’t bother much about others, especially those who seem to have problems or misery. ‘There is no reason too, we all can have an equal comfortable life’ is not only Kate’s thought, but also an accepted social view in society. Kate remembers her grandparents talking about social-workers and soup kitchens for the poor. It must have been primitive life in the past.
Today is her first day back at the force since she broke her leg. Colleagues waited outside cheering and joking carrying her up the entrance stairs. Ofcourse inside Nikola was sliming offering coffee and doughnuts. That creep, he visited the hospital every other day. With intentional fake smile she accepted the coffee and rushed to the commanders office. “Welcome back Kate” he said, “What gets you in here?” “What happened with that kid who bombed the old radio tower?” “Tried to bomb” the police chief improves. “He went to a rehabilitation centre. Why do you want to know?” Kate got nervous, her interest in the bomber was not professional, more an unexplainable feeling of being worried. She didn’t really know how to handle these unknown feelings, neither with who to talk about it. For sure not the commander in charge. “Uhh, I am a bit worried where he got the explosives from. Maybe there is more going around in hands of unqualified people. Since this is my case and I like to sort it out. Which rehabilitation centre did they brought him?” ‘Pfjew, that was close’ Kate thought. “Yeah maybe not a bad idea to look a bit further in this case, you never know. Plus you can use an easy start slowly growing back into daily routine” the commander replies. Kate hands over her notebook to the chief so he can load the filecode. “Keep it cool and easy Kate” he says giving it back to her.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Dinner was ready as Royan gets home from his cycling trip with Isol. “Do you have a new friend…… Girlfriend?” His mom asks at the table. “She is not my girlfriend” Royan mumbled and quickly finished his plate to rush upstairs leaving mom and dad behind with raised eyebrows. “Its good he has someone” she says, “gets him out of the house sometimes. He is too obsessed with electronics”.
Upstairs Royan connects the T-tof with his computer. The picture from Isol’s memory turnes out remarkable clear stored in the T-tof. To be safe he copied a back up on his pc. Ofcourse Royan must try to project the image in 3-T. After a few control clicks the cabin hangs in his room. An urgent bladder pressure makes him rush to the toilet. Coming back the image is still there, but he also noticed a vague smell of catpiss. ‘Hmmm gotto check that hole behind the cupboard’ he thinks realizing that this is the first time in weeks the image did not disappear behind his back. He takes a torch, put on the gasmask and moves the cupboard away from the wall. Crawling over the floor between wall and cupboard he tries shining light in the gap. Nothing to see, just dust and loose cement. Ok, the space is big enough holding few small animals or such, but it looks like nothing is in there. To see further Royan must stick his head in the hole that will not fit with the gasmask on. He takes the mask of and squeezes into the opening. He realizes there is no smell. The air is warm, thick and dusty, but no catpiss. Anyway, the gap is similar to a small empty cave. Nothing to see. Royan pushes himself out and shoves the cupboard back in position. ‘Time for a shower’ he thinks clicking the cabin image away.
Meanwhile Isol is on her early evening cycle trip. She loves to be outside, going around seeing people. Often she is seen at ‘Spacecream’, one of her most favorite hang-outs. A futuristic looking candy and ice-cream stands parked on nearby square. Licking her desert she notice Zilsten gangling across the square. “Hey Zil” she screams, but Zilsten has headphones in his ear and music loud. Isol jumps on her bike and blocks his path. “Hey Isol. All cool today” he says taking his in-ears out. Isol knows Zilsten, everybody knows him at school, therefore Zilsten knows almost everybody. “What are you up too?” she asks. “Just going for a stroll”. “Can I join?” “Sure, hop along. Wanna hear some music?” Zilsten offers Isol one side of the headphone. “Where do we go?” “Direction old factory?” Together they leave the square in a simultaneous rhythmic walk.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Coffee made the fog slowly dissolve in his brains. ‘After this a shower’, Galar thought. He woke up after sleeping the night with his head on the kitchen table. Clearly remembering yesterday. The catpiss, crack in the wall and something that looked like humans. Inbetween two coffee’s he poked up the fire. Normally at arrival heating up water reservoir is one of the first things to do. Now he has to wait at least one hour before a sufficient amount of water reaches comfortable temperature. ‘No hurry’ he thinks. Have another coffee, maybe make something to eat now the fire is on. Relaxed Galar walks out on the verandah. The air is still cool and mist slowly evaporates in first bright sun-beams. ‘Johan always liked it here, nature drew his interest’. Galars mind drifted to the days they spend with the family in grandpa’s cabin. Great time they had together. Relaxing, hiking, barbequing, the evenings at the fire. With a sight he walked back in to the fire and whipped an egg in the pan.
After some food and shower he felt a lot better. Time to investigate the crack. With a torch he shined into the hole. Empty! Ok, big enough for some rats or two dogs, but no group of humans. ‘Something was in there but not people. Must have been my imagination’ Galar thought. He moved the furniture back in position. ‘Some repair to be done here, or maybe a good reason rebuilding this space’.
Galar had enough of hanging around in the cabin. He came up here for nature and fresh air enjoying the surroundings walking long hikes. This time he planned to go north. Most hikes he did went other directions. The north seemed colder with the sun always in your back. He prepared his backpack with necessarities for a one day hike. Food, drinks, knife, first aid kit and binoculars. Locks the door. ‘You never know maybe someone is here’, takes his walking stick and starts heading north. After a forest with high pine trees he reaches a higher part of the hills. Lesser vegetation, more rocks. The hill becomes steeper. Galar feels good. This is why he came. The open landscape, wide views, fresh air. The world on your feet. Reaching the highest level Galar sits down on a flat stone. After some food and zip of water he unpacks his binoculars and watches an eagle hanging in the air, hunting for food. ‘What’s that?’ Quickly he turns the binoculars more left and zooms in. A thin cloud of smoke rises from some bushes and trees down in the valley. Its too far to see what it is exactly. ‘Someone must be there, this is smoke from a fireplace’. Galar makes calculations. The fire is far. He would never get back to the cabin before dark. Its too risky hoping for a safe sleeping place offered by strangers. ‘Whoever it is must be camping too have a fire going middle of the day. Will still be there tomorrow’. Galar returns to his cabin and collects the necessary gear for overnight hikes. Sleeping bag, small hikers tent, torch, more food, drinks and grandpa’s old hunting gun. ‘Let’s see tomorrow who my neighbors are’.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
The steep high rising rocks on the east side of the cabin sink away in the dark shadow of the morning sun. Galar is already on his way north. With his backpack loaded for few days survival hike in the wilderness he climbs the steep hill opposite side of the valley where grandpa’s cabin is. Its time to find out who his new discovered neighbors are. After a while the sun in his back heats up rocks of the trail. ‘It must be around 9’ Galar thinks. Half an hour later he reaches the top where yesterday the mysterious neighbors got discovered. Galar sat down and took his binoculars. The thin smoke is still coming up from a hidden place behind bushes. ‘They are still there’. Galar eats half a sandwich, drinks zip of water and puts everything back in the backpack. Carefully he starts with the downhill. Down is more difficult and dangerous than uphill. With great caution he chooses his steps. Slowly the tree level is reached. From here its easier. Optimistic in a good mood he makes his way through the trees, bushes and streams. Galar loves to hike like this. The rough nature, young green and fresh water gives him a feeling of being alive. On his way he sees damaged bushes and trees, traces left by bears. Snakes rustle sliding away in tall grass. ‘What if these neighbors are unfriendly’? ‘They could be fugitives hiding’. ‘I should be careful with unknown strangers in the wilderness’. At the next rest-stop Galar unpacks and loads grandpa’s hunting gun. ‘You never know. Better keep this handy’. Around midday Galar stops to have lunch in the bend of a creek. He checks direction climbing a tree. The smoke is much closer. ‘About two more hours’ he thinks. ‘I will be there before dark’.
After some miles Galar let himself sink carefully on the ground out a big oak tree. The smoke is close, he can smell it. He sneaks closer hiding behind bushes and tall grass. The forest opens and growth becomes lesser. Within few 100 yards Galar spots a half stone/half wooden cabin. Smoke comes out of the chimney. ‘Must be an old shepherd barn or such’. He takes the binoculars. Its safer to watch the situation from a distance for some time. After few minutes somebody comes from behind the barn and walks in. ‘Must be between 30 and 40 years old’. The person comes out again, takes water out of an improvised canal next to the barn, and disappears inside. After 30 minutes the man comes out again and sits down on a bench in front of the barn with something small in his hand. ‘A cell phone, J-tof or so’ Galar thinks. Obviously the man is alone. No sign of other people around considering his behavior, unless they would not be there now. Galar puts the gun back in his luggage. Better approach unarmed. This is a friendly visit’. He makes a bow to the west. From there Galar can approach the barn over a path. Coming out of the bushes might scare him. The man on the bench didn’t notice Galar until he reached him in about 60 feet. Frightened he jumps up dropping his cell phone. “Hi, I am Galar. Think we are neighbors” Galar says in a loud voice approaching the shed. Anxious the man looks around as if he expects more people. “I saw smoke out of your chimney. I have a cabin a day march over that hill there”. Galar points east. The man revives. “S….Stolby, uhhh, Stolby is the name” he says reaching his hand.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
The Keeper didn’t supply much information. The kid was picked up clearly confused without ID. He got a file number: PF7629. Since he only talked gibberish, no name was known. ‘Estimated age 19. Confused and disturbed’ Date arrested, name and address institution locked up in. Under treatment of Dr. Munsstein. ‘Something to start with. Lets give him a visit’ Kate thinks after checking files. The institution is in town, just 10 minutes ride away. In the car Kate starts to wonder what questions to ask the kid. So far only confused talk formed answers on the regular questions who and why. Maybe she should approach from a different point of view. Ask him about books he read, where he got the quotes from. Friends! Yeah, maybe he has friends, a girlfriend or such. He must react on something.
Kate turns in the street of the institution. Suburbian situated. Green lawns, gardens, trees, space inbetween the buildings. The institution was based in one of those old concrete/glass structures. Typical designs from 50/60 years ago, when architects thought they made something futuristic. The result is captured in one word: ugly. Half round building. Soft grey painted concrete circles indicate the floors (4). Inbetween darkened glass framed in reflecting aluminium strips. A designed garden, trees and bushes well maintained vary with rusty or green copper statues, forgotten heroes by forgotten artists.
Kate parks and enters through the automatic doors. White interrupted by soft blue lines colors inside design. Bright emptiness accents the entrance hall. She walks up to the reception desk. “Like to talk with Dr Munsstein please”, she says showing her police ID. “I see if he is available” the receptionist replies. She types something in a computer. “He is in session with a patient. Done in 10 minutes. Can you wait? I will announce your visit to him on his buzzer.” “Ok, 10 minutes is not to long”. “There is a waiting room down there through that glass door on the left” the receptionist says friendly.
Kate sat down in the waiting room. The usual magazines about psychology on the table and coffee machine in the corner. Kate pours a cup and sits down. ‘Maybe I should first talk with the doctor. Figuring out few things. Make the conversation with the kid more natural’ she thinks. An older man, approximately 60, Kate guesses, comes in. “Police?” He asks. “Aha, Dr. Munsstein I presume”. They shake hands. “What brings you here?” The doctor asks. “I like to have some information about and conversation with patient PF7629” Kate says in official police tone. “The young kid. A sad case. Why don’t we go to my office”. In the main hall the doctor opens a door with his security code. In his office he offers Kate a seat. “You probably know that juristically this case is closed. Confused, no name, nobody looking or asking for him. The judge convicted him to here indefinitely” the doctor opens the conversation. “I know, but he was carrying dangerous explosives. This must be researched for safety of the people. There might be more. I like to interview him again”. “Again? You interviewed him before?” “Yes, after his arrest at headquarters. This is my case”. The doctor raised his eyebrows. “Than you must know that this boy is incapable to talk sense”. “Yes, but I like trying again. Of the official talk doctor, there must be a way to get some information out of this guy. Maybe if I approach him different, more personal and friendly, you know… like a buddy who is on his side”. “hmm, don’t think it will work. I tried everything”. “I am not in doubt of your professional skills, but you see, I am young. Just little bit older than him. That might work more confidential”. The doctor looks at Kate. ‘It might work’ he thinks. “Ok, I am never against trying something else that can work. Doctors like to cure patients. When do you want to start?” “If possible now”. “He is at group therapy in the main room. What about after lunch, that’s when he has a few hours by himself. Lets say 2 pm?” “Great doctor, thanks, I’ll be back at 2”.
Satisfied Kate turns out of the parking. She got her interview already today plus few hours to prepare.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Back in the office Kate played the only interview she had with PF7629 (from before breaking her leg) over and over again to find some clues. She made a few notes, words that maybe might stimulate the kid. After lunch she came back, arranged a few things. At 15 for 2, just as she wanted to leave Nikola walked in. ‘Blurgh’ she thought ‘what does the creep want’. “Hey Kate. I saw on the schedule that you have Wednesday off. Me too! Fancy doing something that day? Fishing? Movie? Dinner? You say it”. “No thanks Nikola, I have other things to do”. “Like what?” “Uhhh… that’s non of your bizznizz…something with the family”. Kate noticed the time, 5 to 2. Shit! “I am in a hurry”, she yelled at him and rushed out. ‘That stupid creep, I miss my interview because of him’. Kate jumps in the car and races down the street, turns right and just after the bend a young girl is on the point crossing, one foot already on the asphalt. Kate tried to hit the break but her right, just recovered leg, refused function. Quickly, in reflex she turns the steering wheel left. In high speed the car bangs against a big old oak on the side of the road. The emergency ambulance arriving 6 minutes later returned in an easy pace to the mortuary. Kate didn’t survive the crash.
“What a space…space……..space………………..space…………………….space”. Zilsten’s scream slowly echoes down in the big empty factory hall Isol and him walked up too. “Cool place for parties” Zilsten says. “Yep, I came here very often with Johan” Isol replies. “Oh the death guy! Oops, sorry, didn’t mean too…..ehhh he was your friend hey?” A bit ashamed Zilsten looked over the space. “Whats that in the floor over there?” In the middle the concrete was interrupted. Old grey/brown wood bulged up. “That’s a storage space” Isol said. “There is still things in there.” “Oh yeah, what? Lets check it”. “Be careful, it is dangerous”. Zilsten ignored Isol’s warning and walked to the half open wooden hatch. Inside where many small boxes. “What is this…let me see” he mumbles to himself. “Watch out, these are explosives” Isol says coming closer. Surprised Zilsten looks up to her. “How do you know?” “Johan found this some time ago and opened one of the boxes. He took it home”. “Hmm, this might become handy one day”. Zilsten picks up a better preserved box and carefully opens it on the factory floor. “How does this explode? It looks very old”. “Read that code there”. In the little box are 8 cigar shaped tubes. Some labels still well readable. C3H5N3O9 it says on the top and below KNO3. “These are science formula’s” Isol says “I looked them up, its explosives. They used to call this dynamite”. “Dynamite! Where did I hear that before” Zilsten whispers. He closed the box and took under his arm. “Lets hide this somewhere around here. We can come back another day when it rains so lesser people are around, and try how this works”. “I know how” Isol says. Zilsten looks surprised. “I took the explosives from a secret hiding place in Johan’s room after he died. I have been reading about it. With fire it will explode”. “Did you try?” Zilsten gets curious. “No, it seem to be dangerous, very strong. In the past people died because of explosions done wrong”. “You know a lot about this. What else was in Johan’s hiding place?” “Ohh nothing, forbidden books”. “Forbidden books? Wow, I would have never thought that about Johan. Are they still there?” “Don’t know. Suppose so. His parents keep the room untouched since he died”. They hide the dynamite outside the factory hall, under a pile of stones.
Quietly they walk home. Suddenly Zilsten says to Isol “I would like to read some forbidden books”. Isol looks at him “Boring, Johan used to read all the time too”. “Yeah, but why are these books forbidden, I want to know.” “I can go and visit the house again. They said I am always welcome. Lets see whats possible”. With these words they split. Zilsten’s home is two blocks the other direction.
Saturday, 05 June, 2010
Weed overgrows the roses and other plants. The lawn looks like a wild meadow. Johan’s mom sits on the terrace in the back yard. She never got over Johan’s death. Pills the doctor prescribed didn’t work. No energy to maintain the garden. Her husband Galar is mostly gone to the mountain cabin. Despite his attempts motivating her to leave the house, she doesn’t want to come along. The cabin is so far away from Johan’s memories. She hears the front door bell ringing in the background. Her hand reaches a glass of red wine on the table. In thoughts zipping the rich warm dark red fluid she sinks back in the comfortable garden chair.
‘She must be here. The poor woman never left the house since Johan’s death’ Isol thinks while endlessly pressing the doorbell. Finally after 10 minutes Johan’s mom opens the door. For a few seconds she stares dazed and confused at Isol, than turns around and disappears to the back of the house leaving the frontdoor wide open with Isol on the doorstep. ‘Totally flipped’ Isol thinks. She walks in and goes straight up to Johan’s room, opens the bottom shelf, puts all books in her bag and leaves closing the frontdoor.
With a heavy bulked bag hold by bungee cords on her rear luggage carrier Isol cycles around town looking for Zilsten. She doesn’t know where he lives exactly but everybody knows that Zilsten hangs mainly out on the street, in parks or other public facilities. She finds him at the skaters park, earphone in, hopping on two feed watching some skaters. “Hey Zilsten” Isol taps him on the shoulder. Surprised he looks around taking the earphone out. “Hoi Isol, all cool?” “Got you Johan’s books.” “Wow, cool, thanks.” “When are we trying the explosives?” Isol asks. “Lets go tonight. Weather forecast predicts rain”. Zilsten replies while releasing the bungee cords. “uhh, don’t have anything to put these books in”. “Take the whole bag and bring back this evening. Where do we meet?” “Let’s say 7 at the old radio tower?” “Ok, see ya at 7”. Isol jumps on her bike and cycles away.
The grey evening sky produces a slight drizzling rain. Isol and Zilsten walk from the radio tower to the old factory. “Cool books you gave me” Zilsten says. “Jumped through some pages. Read the craziest shit”. “Hope you don’t get addicted like Johan” Isol replies. At the old factory they dig up the dynamite. “Lets take one to try and hide the rest on a better spot” Zilsten suggest. He brought a plastic air-sealed food box to keep the explosives dry. They take one bar, fill up the food box with the rest and find a new hiding place in the ground under a big tree. “Cool, nobody can find this” Zilsten remarks.
They enter the forrest. Besides murmur of drizzling raindrops and soft rustling wind its quiet. Nobody around. Bad weather and late-evening keeps people from hiking and biking. The trees widen. A small meadow appears. “Let’s try here on the open spot” Isol suggest. Zilsten takes the dynamite bar. “So what now?” “I was checking things at the library. Give me that thing” Isol replies. “There is a wire connected that must be set on fire”. Isol examines the bar. “Here is something”. A short piece of kinda rope sticks out. “Let me do this” Zilsten snatches the bar out of Isols hand. “Hey, why you? I found this first”. “Do you have something to make fire with?” Zilsten asks. “Your donky doesn’t have that function. In my J-tof is a lighter. What am I suppose to do after I put it on fire?” “Pooh” Isol says indignant, “you don’t even know how to operate this”. Challenging Zilsten holds the J-tof close to the rope as if he wants to light it up. “Be careful! You are suppose to throw it away when the rope burns” Isol yells. Zilsten lights up the bar and throws it in the field and wait. After one minute still nothing happens. “What do you think?” Zilsten asks. “To old? Doesn’t work anymore?” “Lets have a look” Isol walks into the field and picks up the dynamite. “The fire went out” She screams. “Throw me that J-tof”. Clever she catches the J-tof. “Be careful” Zilsten screams. She holds the lighter on the bar. A big explosion. Pieces of Isol fly around. Air pressure caused smash Zilsten against a tree.
Thursday, 10 June, 2010
Tall weed softly waving on gentle wind, colors the green meadow yellow, blue and white. “Have to cut the field these days mom” Mortil says to his wife during lunch. “We could do with some help” Dall replies. “Wonder where Noon is?”
Mortil and Dall run a farmhouse in the mountains. Dall inherited it from her parents. After married it turned out that she was not able to get children. Away from the hectic city they live together lonesome but satisfying working land and cattle. Nearest village is 4 miles down the road, a dirt track with loose gravel and deep ditches. Not many feel invited visiting the farm. Small independent agricultural farming is rare. Long time ago food industry became big business. Veggies and meat is produced indoors with the help of hydrogrow and computers. Small farming is considered uneconomical, against the money circulation, and therefore no longer permitted. Few got maintained for sightseeing and education. In the old days regularly school-classes came to visit Dall’s and Mortil’s farm, but that stopped 20 years ago. Tourists are nowadays more interested in techno-amusement parks than nature. All fine for Dall and Mortil. Grateful for what nature brings they work land and herd cattle.
Living in solitude distanced from civilization they got used to lonely tramps knocking on farmhouse door. Mostly harmless people, confused or discontent with their life. Dall and Mortil let them in for food and shelter. They know some of them are visionairs. The farm is not disconnected from media channels. But why bother, look at nature. Everything has its way of growing. Some of them stay for a while. The couple is happy with these uninvited guests. Change of face and talk plus help is always welcome.
For two years now they host ‘Noon’. Found him unconscious lying in the yard on a late afternoon. Obvious didn’t eat, drink or shower for days. They carried him into the guestroom. That’s where they noticed the strange hair. It was tied together like knots in a rope. “The poor boy” Dall said. She took care of him. After few days he still didn’t talk sense. His only reaction was a confused mix of sentences and slogans. It was impossible to let him say his name. ‘The kid we found in the yard that afternoon’ became quickly short ‘Noon’. Noon stayed and turned out to be a good worker. Conversation was impossible, but he understood and learned quickly. After few months he reacted on his name.
Mortil grows his own tobacco. In empty evening hours he rolls small cigars. One day he was smoking a cigar outside. Threw stump on the ground and crushed it with his shoe as usual. His thought somewhere else he walked away. The stump was still glowing, wind did the rest. Within short time nearby dry hay fired up and flames reached an almost empty petrol tank. Noon worked behind the barn 30 feet away from the explosion. The air-pressure smashed him against the ground. He disappeared since than.
By fits and starts the hidden dynamite and radio tower flashes through Zilsten’s brain while pulling a plastic box from under a tree. Why going direction radio tower he doesn’t know.
Friday, 06 August, 2010
This is the final episode of ‘Vision’.
(This was an in-continuing story.)
Stolby lighted the oil lantern. He and Galar first sat outside on the bench in front until the sun sank behind the hills and temperature went down. After introduction with usual small talk both quickly discovered having so much in common talking was unnecessary. Mutual respect for reaching that goal in life others would never understand. Both know tomorrow each will go its own way. They are men who feel comfortable carrying their own responsibilities. Assumedly the one or the other will once or twice a year hike to meet for a silent talk.
Galar pulls out half bottle of whiskey out his backpack and puts it on the table. After a few drinks tongues loosened resulting in carefully asked questions about what, where and why. After a brief explanation Stolby comes to the conclusion of his story:
“Tell me what I have to do to leave the past where it belongs: behind me! Play their game? Would they finally leave me alone if I give them what they want? Ofcourse not! That is not in their nature. They will always expose their primitive instinct: fight to be right! There is no other solution than escape humanity, escape that what they call society. Its not about fear to fight. Struggling is easy living. Humans do this since existence and that’s exactly what is wrong with them. I had to move here. Besides they chased me out of the community I choose living surviving without luxury of society with only one goal: to find out where it went wrong. This can only be found here, at some basics, roots of human life.
People look for ways improving their lives since existence. Its in their instinct to form tribes (call it groups) that seek destiny by following guidance of any kind. This is not particularly about religion but concerns any group formed for whatever reason. Besides family we are all born in at least one other group. Humans think to find life solutions and destinations in joining groups (becoming new followers) or devoted stay with what offered since birth. Groupers think they reached a higher stage in life. They follow and adapt rules of leaders (teachers?). So here we are. A world full with groups filled up with superior feeling humans fighting within and without.
Why do individuals who swapped groups think they found a better vision, see themselves superior and have the urge to educate other (in their idea inferior) not members?
Why do individuals who lived their whole life with the same vision (cultural heritage) automatically assume you have to teach your new born the same values and have the urge to educate others?
Why don’t humans realize that during their existence nothing was, is or will change?
Is the urge to be superior so strong that denial became part of our basic instinct?
Being a part of society is joining a group. A group is always more than one. If not alone, you are a group. Few learn to see, gain the wisdom and abandon all groups. They are individuals, leaving humans for what was, is and will be. They know that life is not what is offered. Even the question: ‘what is life about?’ is too easy, it doesn’t bother.
My past experiences taught me to see. That’s why I leave the ‘societies’ for what they are.
No fights because there is not one to fight with.
No hate because there is not one to hate.
No love because there is not one to love.
No teaching because there is not one to be superior about.
No vision because there is no reason to have one.
Just me, with
The wind, the clouds
The rain, the sun
Not sad, not happy
In this place, this room
The soft oil light
On the table
Exposing tons of loneliness.”