This doesn't scare me; all this nothing. It doesn't effect me a bit; not anymore.
It doesn't make me wish I could dive headlong into that void and embrace that inflated
emptiness. It used to scare me. It used to make me hope for death; to leave this
dilapidated physical existence behind and solve the mystery. The mystery doesn't scare
me anymore, but it does interest me.
Sometimes, I think I feel the wind rattle. I think I feel the moon shake. All this
darkness; raging, roaring. It twinkles and cracks. It breaks and yawns. Glorious,
thunderous sleep. Why do I sometimes feel like a monastic poet and others like a
downtrodden soul awaiting martyrship? Why is it that we see night follow day rather
than day follow night? I know the world is defined only by interpretation, but what's
interpretation without inspiration? In this silence which spawns all form I see nothing.
But my first question is not why do I see nothing, but that why is it that something
deep inside me says it's that same nothing which incorporates all form? I don't want
glory, riches, fame and luxury. Many things are built for many people. Nothingness can't
be built, yet it can't be escaped by any of us.
And here I am drifting in a cruel insomnia; wondering what emptiness is.
This world is a calculable one, that's the problem. Alice doesn't see the fault;
she says I'm making something out of nothing. She doesn't realize how profound such a
notion is. I tell her she's got that natural mind which many of us envy; that beginner's
comprehension that really is the perfect comprehension; the unadulterated one. She
says I've got it too, which I don't take as flattery from an eleven year old. At that
juncture my sister arrives, which is strange since she's been dead for some thirteen
years. Just as strange that she's still a kid; she should be what; twenty four by now.
Perhaps worryingly, neither conundrum bothers me. Jannie comes over and prods me in
the ribs like she used to, but she was, well; older than me then. Birds and other unseen
creatures scrabble about in the windswept bushes of central park, but I would rather
not deliberate too much about that. Jannie reminds me that there is a trend of thought
which says that when you differentiate you loose the principle. Maybe that's my
problem with emptiness. "Emptiness;" Jannie always could make a single word sound like
a death sentence; "what do you mean 'emptiness'?" I told her that was the whole
problem; what did I mean? "Well sis;" I say; "do you understand the puzzle of
emptiness?"
"You shouldn't be worrying about things like that;" she says; "a twenty two year old man
worrying about emptiness; what's wrong with you?" At this point I cower a little;
afterall, she is my big sister despite her size and, well; age; and she always did have a
habit of hitting me a little too hard, to which mom and dad would always say; "don't
fuss; when you grow up you'll be a big strapping lad and she won't stand a chance",
which is exactly what dad says right now as he strolls past strumming that gun with the
cartwheel motif on the handle which if memory serves me correctly isn't his but
someone less sightly's. Still, it didn't turn out like that, did it? If I wanted to exact
revenge on Jannie it'd have to be via a graveyard and a rusty spade; a declaration she
doesn't quite appreciate as she kicks me in the shin. One good thing about being an
adult is that such things don't hurt anymore.
Anyway, I was digressing, so I let her continue. "Don't you know Nargajuna says
emptiness wrongly viewed destroys the feeble minded like a mishaped serpent or a
misapplied spell?" Yes sis, we've had that already in this little adventure, and it made
no more sense the first time. If she was calling me feeble minded, well; in our parent's
eyes she was always right.... Come to think of it though, I wasn't under the impression
that Jannie knew of the writings of Nargajuna. "I don't, stupid." She kicked me again;
this was starting to get irritating, but mom would have my head if I hit back, which she
reminded me with that feared matriarchal stare. Alice pulled me aside with a miniature
hand and displayed no less philosophical insight, which made me worry even more about
my intelligence, and you know me; I very seldom worry. "In order to thaw out our world
of appearance and to regain the 'knowing' that has been somehow frozen in the process
of building this world, we need to learn what we ourselves are. According to Tarthang
Tulku." At this I gawped. Not only had Alice surely not read, let alone understood the
works of Tarthang Tulku, but more to the point neither had I. "Form is emptiness"
"And emptiness is indeed form." the pair intersperse their apparent sermon just to
baffle me further; "Emptiness is not different from form."
"Form is not different from emptiness."
"What is form that is emptiness."
"What is emptiness that is form." Perhaps they are eluding to the fact that it would
probably be a good idea if I was to understand the real nature of this universe;
especially the concept of emptiness. Going back to the beginning before by sister
interrupted me; an observation at which she sighs like a dying swan; which perhaps was
an inconsiderate analogy given both her dress and the way in which she met her end; I
was about to say that perhaps the key to understanding such things is to not try. Gladly
I receive no further cajoling from either super intelligent eleven year old at this
pronunciation. You see, emptiness is one of those concepts which turns your entire
scientific, rational, physical contemplation of the universe on its head. You can't imagine
emptiness because it's devoid of everything; because it doesn't exist. But you can
imagine emptiness. I don't know why it bothers me but it does; an understanding of the
universe where all things are fundamentally empty; where nothing is 'real', as we might
put it. I've never been convinced that this is the only reality; I'm not an empirical
thinker, I'm an idealist. But something inside me wants to hold on to at least a vague
notion that this world really is what it seems to be; that our lives and what happens in
them is actually real. I don't know if the apparent fact that everything is empty means
that nothing is real, but it certainly throws everything into a different light. When you
can see through things; even if it's for a passing moment; they never really seem the
same again. It's just a game; a realization that would turn some to suicide and others
into fits of hysterics.
Wait a minute; what was that? I saw something out of the corner of my eye; a
dark shape hovering. Some ghostly form determined to take me from this world into the
next, provided there is one. That deplorable despot Volscenzi turns up like a torrid
tuma backed by the figure of death. A sprawling black cloak bearing the faintest
glimpse of a charnel skull; crooked scythe in hand as if a poverty stricken farmer
waiting patiently for the harvest, standing on that grand stone walkway; unnervingly
close. Volscenzi is a young man; late teens, I would imagine. Admittedly that's how I
remember him, which would explain why this is how he appears in this dream; for I have
just realized this is what it is. Either that or reality is playing some devilish tricks on
me, which would make it even less of a 'reality' than I imagined. These are my
memories, evidently. I suppress them I know, but in comfort or in sleep when my
mottled membranes can't tense and shut them out, they flow. Symbolic; I'm sure; of
things I hardly know I know.
Alice whispers that a person can take one of many paths. I know that; man is
free, isn't he? Jannie seems to want to go back to the subject of emptiness; quite
desperately it seems. She appears troubled by the countenance of death, and turns
away like a vegan in a battery farm. I look at death head on, but something deep within
me wants to make sure my big sister looks the other way, even though I know she's
already gazed idly into his eyes. Death doesn't seem to recognize me. Alice; thankfully;
doesn't notice the specter at all. Neither does Volscenzi, despite the fact that the
thing is standing right behind him. But in a moment Jannie has changed the subject back
to the problem in hand and I couldn't see death or her own private executioner; my own
gnarling nemesis; if I was interested enough to look. "Emptiness is everywhere" she
points out, which makes a little sense. Afterall, no object is entirely 'full'. Everything is
made up of tiny microscopic parts; even cells aren't solid. Something's solidity is
determined by how close together the particles which make it up are. The particles of
water are far apart; there are lots of spaces between them. The particles of lead are
close together; but even they don't equate a solid object. But objects 'exist'; space
does not. OK, this is acceptable. Space is the absence of things, right? Alice and Jannie
nod profusely like those little dogs people used to put in the back of cars. I just ignore
them and continue my dubious thesis. Space doesn't do anything; it can't purpose and it
doesn't act. It's the absence of everything. This is a little confusing. I can contemplate
space, as in 'up there' space; the black stuff with stars in it. Alice makes the irritating
point that it isn't black at all; which makes me wonder why it appears to be, and Jannie
chips in that I can't really say that stars are 'in' space because a thing can't be 'in' a
nothing. I ignore this; I know what I mean.
But if objects are 'full', for lack of a better word; which they certainly seem to
be; of space; how can they really 'be'? They are objects which depend on space; they
wouldn't be the objects they were if they didn't have spaces in between the molecules.
All objects would be 'solid'; the particles would be so tightly packed that not only could
they have no features and couldn't even act or move because no inner 'mechanisms' in
them could move, but they would also all be the same; every object would be identical.
Objects need space to exist. The solid and the empty are intertwined so intricately
that they can't even exist; or not as the case may be; without non-existence. While my
sister nods I grow all the more confused.
OK so we've concluded that everything is simultaneously empty and full.
Fullness; solidity; existence cannot even exist without emptiness; space; non existence.
It's a contradiction; a paradox. I shudder; I don't think my crackpot brain likes them. I
don't think I do either; unintentionally assuring myself of my dualistic existence. "Or
non existence." I would have hit Jannie back had she not been my little sister. "Big
sister." These contradictions are starting to eat into my head like an acid.
Actually, maybe that's the whole point. The contradiction is at once puzzling
and pleasing. It seems to work itself out. My initial response is to reject the paradigm;
the paradox. Existence and non existence interacting like a pair of simbiants. In actual
fact it's quite a nice notion; that nothing in this universe makes sense, and at the same
time makes total sense! In the realization of it's profound unsensibility, it seems
entirely sensible. So everything falls apart.
Objects can't really be said to exist; they're firm but unreal; solid but full of
holes. This can only be if.... "If our ordinary ideas of empty and full are misguided."
Alice provides the answer, which I'm sure was intended to make me kick myself for not
having produced the solution to a problem which had plagued me for so long faster than
a little kid could, although on past experience it appeared that Alice knew exactly what
the solution was right from the beginning.
So, in conclusion; there was no solution, and that was the solution. Since I
myself had not had much of an education it was nice to think that knowledge gets
people nowhere; that natural, instinctive understanding; a sublime lack of
understanding; is the best level of understanding that a human being can achieve, or
should that be unachieve?
Nothing is real; it can't be; not in the sense we're used to. Nothing is solid or
empty. Nothing exists or non-exists. Everything is transparent, which makes me shiver
with both trepidation and delight. The world, we assume, is real, but in being so it must
also be unreal. And the alternative; something like this dream; is unreal, and in so being,
does this mean it's also.... real? At this point, the whole thing dribbles away in front of
my eyes like a shower running down when the hot water tank runs dry, leaving me none
the wiser, but in being so surely all the more enlightened.
"So you see, Al; emptiness is so empty that it doesn't even contain the concept
of emptiness. In being so it's entirely empty; it's the only way it can be. But in being so
empty; in not even containing emptiness, there must be something in it. And since it's so
empty that it can't contain the concept of emptiness, it can't contain anything else,
which means it must contain their opposites. It's so empty that it's full!"
Iron soon realized the fallacy of attempting to put the unsayable into words, and
also that the real life Alice was not as apparently educated as the counterpart he had
come across in the dream. The concepts of shunyata and tathata, if Iron had realized
this was what they were; had come to mind. "So that's emptiness like space?" Both
belonged in a primary school, but at least Alice was the right age. Perhaps her
misunderstanding of his verbal thesis was an indication that language indeed makes a
nonsense of concepts; a Yajnavalkyan 'neti neti!' which again he may have been able to
quote had he been less bitter not to mention skeptical in those years in the institute
which he wasted away doing God knows what and instead motioned towards studying
to prepare himself for an unlikely reintegration into human society. Then again,
philosophy; if he had indeed studied it; would probably have isolated him rather than
enabled a smooth integration. Afterall, that was what had happened to Lincoln. Too
much nihilism, she would have commented with only a dabbling of regret. "Well, in a
way...." ringing his hand along a thick wire basketball cage which made him tremble at
the memory of incarceration, Iron had bowed to the fact that a young kid was probably
not the best person to debate such ambiguous issues with; at least not in such way. If
the notion of 'Zen mind; beginner's mind' was correct, she knew all about it already; or
'not know' as the case may be. "I saw a UFO once." This was not exactly relevant to
the case in hand, but Iron allowed her the detour baring in mind that they had been
talking about space. He looked through the skies like a maid searching through a sink
full of grubby washing for her mistress' car keys which had neglectfully been misplaced;
"do you believe in all that; UFO's, aliens and the like, Al?"
"Yeah, sure; why not?"
"Well UFO's maybe; all a UFO is is an object we can't verify the nature of, but that by
no means implies aliens." He led the way up a bullet encrusted stone stairway which led
onto a grand plateau; the scene of a notorious triple murder which had forced the now
defunct authorities to concede that Manhattan was in no fit state when it came to
security; an event which the donut factory turned military junta presented as their prize
case study in the court which eventually and regretfully deliberated that the financial
exchange of power was indeed for the good of the people, not to mention exiting
governor’s bank balances. A ripped piece of police tape wrapped around a mourning
beech still flapped in the wind as a prolonged reminder of the dreadful scene. The
craterous stone reminded Alice of the moon; which brought her back to the discussion
like the attention seeking shriek of an infuriated teacher; "Yeah; why would aliens
travel so many light years just to come and abduct a few people?"
"It's arrogant of us to think we're that interesting, although if our governments knew of
the existence of creatures on other planets they'd probably do exactly the same to them.
Abduction would also be a good tool for gaining the advantage when it came to the all
too certain invasion. Governments are run by consumer dollars. Imagine how valuable
it would be to the infernal businessman to own plots of land on another habitable
planets. And what's the cheapest way to gain that land? Conquest, of course. It's hardly
an 'alien' concept; to overwork the pun; the richest most powerful nations even do it on
earth. Even putting aside the pretty poor treatment of animals and their habitats; all the
while baring in mind that they evolved from the same ancient sulpher pools as us; look
at what human beings do to eachother. The Europeans wanted the luscious lands of
America, so they killed off the Indians. The British empire wanted Australia, so they
murdered the aboriginals. It happens all the time, and we're of the same species."
"Imagine what they'd do if they wanted another planet that was inhabited by an alien
race."
"They wouldn't even have evolved from the same stuff as us; animals did and look how
they suffer."
"Human beings shouldn't explore other planets until we're responsible enough; until we
can treat all the other species; not to mention human races, on this planet as equals, or
at least stop massacring them." Alice's parents had always been environmentalists, and
their philosophy had been instilled in her from an early age. Admittedly, that particular
age had only been a short time ago, but she had felt as if she had always seen things this
way; like it was natural, which realistically it was, and regardlessly, this achievement
had undoubtedly been their intention. When her parents started something they
immediately became reluctant to let it go. This was why they stayed in Manhattan after
the takeover, and why they were so dedicated to Chen's hospice movement. This fact in
mind, they had been grateful for the admittedly wacky and wayward duo who the
perhaps overly familiar Chen called 'friends' to look after their daughter for a few days
while they busied themselves with the unenviable task of relocating the entire
enterprise. This move would have seemed irresponsible, Alice thought; trusting your
only child to a pair of certified lunatics; if they had not as evidence suggested lost any
savage streaks which may have once consumed their characters like your final few
coins down a drain as the last bus pulls up. "You have to know your enemy if you want
to get into a war;" continued Iron oblivious to her appraisal of his personality;
"abduction and experiment would be a good way of achieving knowledge."
"So you think the conspiracy theories are true?"
"The thing that worries me is that governments have always been incredibly blasé about
us concocting conspiracy theories. They seem to want us to believe in alien abductions
and UFOs."
"How do you mean?"
"If they really didn't want us to know about something, rest assured we wouldn't know
about it. The fact that these conspiracy theories swamp the commercial world; that
documentaries, movies, eye witness testimonies and so on and so forth are so common
makes them hard to believe for the very reason that they're so easy to believe." The
confusion Alice was beginning to experience reminded her of the emptiness argument
she had so skillfully avoided; "You mean there's too much evidence?"
"I'm not saying aliens, abductions etc etc aren’t happening, just that if the government
didn't want us to believe in them the evidence wouldn't be so forthcoming. The
apparent 'bungling' of UFO affairs; the alleged 'mistakes' over whether something is a
weather balloon or a mothership from Venus; the stacks of confidential documents
released with all the lines blacked out so that they raise more questions than they solve.
It all stinks so much of a cover-up that the detective's nose would smell not a true odor
but a deliberately planted perfume." Alice picked a leaf off a wizened oak as she passed
it and quickly admonished herself; this went against the family ethic; "You mean they're
covering something else up by feigning a cover-up of the original thing?"
"Well... yeah. Governments are stupid, but not that stupid. They want us to distrust
them on this issue; it's a double edged plot. If we don't trust them and they say aliens
don't exist, what are we going to believe."
"That aliens exist."
"Which probably means they don't; at least; that they aren’t interacting with us."
"But what about UFOs?"
"If they aren’t alien, they're something else. Strange lights are seen in the sky. Objects
that move at impossible speeds. People have horrible experiences; have experiments
done on them. People working in government installations die at the hands of unknown
chemicals. Aliens would be a great cover. Afterall, since the breakup of the Soviet
Union nobody has been able to blame the commies. Abductions would be a prefect
cover for a more terrifying concept; human experiments on humans. Afterall,
dictatorships experiment on their publics openly, and that's often how they develop
advanced chemical weapons and are able to do high tech operations and so on. But it's
worrying that the 'democracies' always had the same or even superior technology.
Where did they get it from; where did they do their experimenting?" This insinuation
made Alice shudder. She was glad she was here in central park; surrounded by trees.
Maybe it was just her upbringing talking, but they appeared far less sinister than human
beings; "and UFOs?"
"Aren’t they the perfect cover for dodgey government aircraft; maybe ones which use
particularly environmentally unfriendly propulsion, or simply ones that eat up tax
dollars which the public were being led to believe would be spent on solving the real
problems of society?" Conveniently Iron had dismissed the reality that personally he
had never lived in a society where he was eligible to pay taxes; or even one in which
such experiments would contravene any humanitarian directives for the basic fact that
no such directives existed. "You think all UFOs are government experiments? But
most UFOs seem to be seen in Mexico and South America."
"Which solidifies my point. Where were the US government; the only ones with the
cash and the gawl to try it; most likely to test their illegal experiments? They wouldn't
have wanted to be seen to endanger their own people. So it's either the desert or less
'advanced' countries. If the US deny these things exist at all, they can't be prosecuted
for violating anyone else's airspace, and if one crashes and lets off deadly chemicals,
who cares; it's only the Mexicans, or the Brazilians. If Cuba wasn't so small and if the
US weren’t in actual fact so scared of them; or more likely of their perceived allies; that
would be the world's UFO hot spot. We've seen from history that the government never
shied away from endangering the peoples of other countries. Remember the nuclear
tests near inhabited pacific islands? Remember them scheduling the Somalian offensive
for prime time TV?" Alice most certainly did not remember, but then neither did Iron,
so that fact was unlikely to stem his tirade; "OK; lots of people who observe UFOs
make mistakes. Granted; some may even be alien spacecraft; the universe is a big place.
But the majority can only be man made, or else there would be more evidence of ETs
by now; irrefutable evidence. One day maybe, but the majority of these things can only
be government made; they are UFOs, but are not alien."
"But why is this technology so bad nobody wants us to know about it?"
"Not necessarily 'bad'; damaging. There are two reasons as far as I see it. First, all
governments want to protect their establishments; the powers that be. In the past,
religion was the core of the establishment. The church owned all the land. But since
you can't make a great deal of money out of religion with its uneconomic anecdotes
about not being greedy and helping out your fellow man, business and consumerism
took over. Science was preferable because it didn't have that niggling moral dimension.
So society has a lot of money riding on science. If science was to fall, governments
would fall. Consumerism would fall. Of course you and I know that in the real world
out there it did fall; but that was of its own doing. US policy was to protect the
scientific establishment. They remember the chaos which took place with Copernicus
and Gallelio; and again and again throughout history. What if governments had
developed the ability to break the light barrier? It would be a death blow to Newtonian
physics; and to Einstein. The whole scientific community would crumble."
"And that would cost a lot."
"It might just spark revolution. Scientific theories were turned on their heads all the
time in the past, because that's what they are; theories. Unfortunately, the human mind
likes to attach itself to fact, so since science tends towards physical probability, we like
it, but our affections don't make these theories fact."
"What's the second reason they create this cover-up?" Iron was amazed Alice had
remembered that far back in the conversation; a talent he had apparently lost baring in
mind his own failing recollections of the past; "they want to protect themselves from
us. From law. Imagine how dangerous these technologies could be. We know about the
atom bomb, and there's outrage. If governments weren’t well aware that if they
revealed more dangerous weapons we'd be even more angered, we'd already know
about them. Efficiency; when it pertains to weaponry; almost invariably indicates
environmental danger. How much worse must these things be? A big budget spent on
faked alien autopsies, false extraterrestrial ships and computer enhanced 'home videos'
is no great loss if it solidifies our belief in aliens and directs our attention away from the
real issues. If some evidence is clear and distinct, even if false, the rest; the real footage
of UFOs; of dangerous government technologies; is just bagged with the rubbish; with
the hoaxes and the honest mistakes. It makes the whole thing a convenient science
fiction which at heart contains the most unsightly facts."
That darkness thundered in her soul as if she stood in the eye of
the storm with no protection but her own emotions. She pulled herself
around her savaged form like a scant jacket in a winter frost. It was her
meeting herself; Lincoln knew that well. The fragile body which was
uncontrollably tossed and flipped in the wind was her, but so was the
darkness. In wakefulness she could keep it in check; barricade it like a
dam against a heavy tidal torrent, but in sleep it dominated her;
surrounded her. It was cold; unfeeling, but it was her own mind; her
own creation. It was that void; that gushing nothingness which she so
feared. But she understood it. She knew the nature of the beast, and that
was what made it so angry at her. It was huge and at once nothing; a
large nothing is no bigger than a microscopic one, but it is a hell of a
lot more intimidating. But she fortunately held all the cards.
Unfortunately, since that spacelike beast was indeed a part of her,
perhaps it held the cards too, but at least it was too busy barracking her
to realize it.
Then a cursive light appeared; a tiny bright form springing across
the dark landscape like a comet in an endless sky. It bounced and
zipped in and out of existence as if a negative electron; at least that was
how she imagined a negative electron might act. It appeared and
disappeared and aligned and misaligned itself as if a figure placed by
computer onto a prerecorded set; the technician not quite sure where the
CGI character was meant to stand and thus waving the cursor; and
therefore the image; all over the place while the eccentric director
debated its positioning. She squinted and ignored the beast for the
moment; which was not easy since it encapsulated the majority of her
vision and awareness in the same way as the sea makes up the
surroundings of all forms of aquatic life. She almost didn't notice it
anymore; this new participant was far more worthy of observation.
As she drew closer she could make out exactly what the figure was.
The blob had become a miniature lamb, if lambs were not miniature
enough already. It peaked its innocent eyes towards her as if peaking a
cap and fizzed a little more accompanied by chattering static just like
an image which really shouldn't be there being interfused onto the film
reel in an act of either shoddy workmanship, sophisticated sabotage or
vivid symbolism. As it leapt and frolicked into a mincing dash she
followed it down a corridor in the blackness which really wasn't there,
and ended up watching the pristine creature pause and look back at her
as it reached a long capillary shaft of light which appeared to emanate
from nowhere; a sight the blackness did not appreciate; a fact it voiced
with a cerebral rumble. Lincoln was no longer concerned with its
protests, and instead stepped towards the light. It appeared that she had
traveled down an invisible path made of and lined with pure
nothingness; pure darkness; but that at the end lay this harshly
contradicting corner. She watched the lamb hop, skip and hover with a
final electronic fuzz wrapped around it like a cut finger in an
antisceptic doused sprig of cotton wool before venturing down that path
herself. As she turned into it, she was confronted with a strange sight
which she could not equate with sight at all. It was two things at once;
more than that; it was everything at once. It was pain and ecstasy; death
and life. It was at once darkness and light.
The symbolic nature of that cloudy encounter still awaiting a recognition it
probably would never receive baring in mind that her mental cognition was nothing
more than a semi paradoxical cassata casserole; a lacerated mash which when she was
lucky barely worked at all, she lay back woefully and veered towards a state of
relaxation which in sleeping she had for some reason been unable to achieve. She felt
like a wet sponge on a draining board; the weighty waters of a day bathing in the
corroded cesspool of life dribbling ever so slowly from her aching body as if she was
the blood bag on a hospital drip; the heavy liquid dropping away at a barely noticeable
pace as if it had been placed into a bathroom basin with a lost plug; brutal and elegant
in one fatal swoop.
Her eyes closed again in static stages each of which seemed to last an eon; the
labored waring down of an abominable machine whose only rest bite from the
tribulations of an existence of servitude would be observed only by the master who put
it to sleep; the robot itself doomed to experience its supposed end of day comfort only
in a brief moment before being sucked violently back into consciousness for another
day of mechanoid purgatory; the pitfall of having a simple 'off' switch being that
dreaming became an impossibility. 'Verily; an impossible dream' remarked Lincoln to
herself in her semi trance state not realizing the logical incorrectness of her statement.
Her dreams at least seldom dealt with the rationally plausible. Thankfully, humanity
was equally cursed and blessed with the at least apparent fact that they determined their
own destinies, although Lincoln often wondered if the robot's existence was preferable.
Afterall, there was a shade of reassurance in the predictable, however dire that certain
predictable may be. It was human kind's fate to never know.
But all at once; while remonstrating this particular point; she lapsed
embracingly into that ponderous twilight between waking and sleep where the
exhausted mind is not certain where it's headed; even what it is. In truth, she could not
have known she had fallen into this realm as the mere awareness of self and location
whether spatial or otherwise would negate the very nature of the state itself. The mind
only realizes sleep is upon it when it is already there; almost as if the moment when
waking becomes sleep was an imaginary one. This is where human beings differ from
robots; states of minds interfuse; they overlap. There is no 'off' switch. It was a state of
mind where reason appeared to turn in on itself; became warped. It seems to function,
but when returned to waking any rational conclusions which may have been reached in
sleep fail to meet the criteria which reason dictates of such conclusions. It's no longer a
logical digression but something more; as if a house plant growing too big for its pot.
Sleep 'cheats' when it comes to logic; or maybe it just bends the rules a little.
She breathed deeply as if exhaling a haggard spirit as her aches and pains
appeared to fly away like an army of insects which having leached their fill of her
lifeblood, swarmed away in one black clump to seek another victim. At this point both
pain and empirical sensation made way and all at once there was only mind.
She pictured herself at the edge of a black hole; swirling violently
before her while the space blank background sang in some sort of silent,
transfixed harmony; still and empty like the idle daydream of an
imprisoned claustrophobic. She felt tiny in this gaping expanse; an
atomic plankton in the belly of a huge fish as it twisted its way upstream
in a small tributary of a little highland stream which poured down
ingeniously into a raging river which itself seeped traumatically into a
tumultuous ocean whose quivering, watery hands reached greedily
across to every distant continent like a desperate lover cradling its
dying mate in a bitter sweet final embrace.
But simultaneously she felt she was that crusted shore and that
lovesick wave; that bloated amphibian and that curving mountain
stream trickling incessantly over the volatile terrain; sometimes smooth,
sometimes rugged; towards the gargantuan expanse at the mouth of the
river where it became a full blown sea; where all the worries and
deliberations of existence became null and void as her measurable self
was swept away by an unexpectedly kindly torrent. The whole colorful
vista flowing inevitably into itself. That the stream represented life she
felt quite sure, but whether the wide open space of the ocean stood for
death or the opening of her limited mind, or rebirth, or annihilation,
or all four she would probably only recognize when she got there.
For the moment her tired head felt content to wander over the
marine pebbles and frolic with the insistent fish who busied themselves
attempting hopelessly to clamber back upstream as if forty something
depressives struggling eternally to roll back the years and all the while
getting older and yet more assured of the validity of a conquest which
carried a strenuousness which would only pile on more digits to their
age. Whether through a depraving mental affliction or some inherent,
subtle wisdom, Lincoln's mind preferred to relax and enjoy the journey;
when at rest at least. To bob and weave wherever the current took it and
never look back like a child on a waterslide in a gigantic playpark;
caught up in the thrill of being swept forever downwards with the
swirling wash; never thinking to look back to the lofty platform where
her friends waited nervously to partake of the same journey; never
casting a gaze to the poolside where her parents grimaced under forced
smiles which served to fool their kids into believing they too were having
fun.
She drifted a little as an intruding vehicle in the street honked inconsiderately
before collapsing again into a different but no less vivid illusion.
Here, she stood in an unfinished world; an undercoat of a
landscape awaiting the life giving swish of vibrant color from its
author's acrylic drenched brush. It was like a half carved log which
managed vaguely to resemble both object and subject; the intended
artistic expression interlinked seemlessly with its original nature as if
ingredients in a slow motion fruit blender. Lincoln saw around her both
the twisted New York city scene she so sarcastically adored and another
more natural, organic backdrop; perhaps the same location thousands
of years earlier. Both were interfused dramatically; reminding her of a
double exposed photograph, although here not only visual
representation but thoughts, feelings, sensations and some other
mystical quality which refused to submit to naming all seemed to suffer
from the same blurry darkroom debacle. It was one world sewed onto
another in a multitude of senses, and the awkwardness only subsided
when she began to consider that perhaps the two were co-existent in some
way; two different time zones strapped to one another with binding
tendons like a creeping ivy to a host tree, or like a pair of contestants in
a three legged race. She reached out and let her hand pass through an
almost transparent wall which felt and even looked; on closer inspection;
like soggy jelly as it flickered elusively as that self same pile of bricks
warped inconsequentially into a weeping branch and back as if such a
transition was both normal and logically possible.
It was with this that that infuriating car horn deprived her of further dreamy
adventuring. Like a superfluous spawn of satan it screeched as if its non existent life
depended upon it. "The hoofed beast may as well have come right up and slam a couple
of cymbals together by my ears." The real world was less appealing than those false
ones in which her mind enjoyed a fleeting escape. But at least now the devilish hordes
no longer seemed so infinite; so unending. Now she had met someone who shared her
cause she had been granted a glorious taste of freedom. It was as if some unauthorized
heart transplant had taken place between the two in the years of hospitalization which
had either left them sharing a heart or having one cloned from the same mold. But from
a positive thought came a negative. All this cloning got Lincoln down; it had the
darkest side of her imagination working overtime. What if not just part of her, but all
of her had been cloned in a horrendous experience she had purposefully forgotten. It
was most likely simple insanity which had decreed that she couldn't remember
everything about her past, but when the paranoid consider that they cannot place
themselves at a certain place at every point in bygone time, the notion of suppression
raises its head. "Is there a negative me; an evil me; an opposite; roaming around out
there programmed by the authorities to create a balance, or even to track me down and
take my place? That is if I am the real me at all...."
Lincoln spat a sodden hunk of gum at a prime beef red convertible and
watched it trundle cleverly under the gnostic bodywork of an acidic mouve
motorcycle frame and lie patiently still looking like a bruised and swollen lump
of brain tissue. She motioned her poppy red eyes upward to monitor a candidate
for psychopathic prey; bouts of night black eye liner masking her observation
from her partner in crime. She held her gun to her side and eccentricity cocked
the trigger as if pulling the rip cord on a speedboat as she leaned forward onto
one knee on the first flight of the craggy steel fire escape to ensure a better
view. Iron rapped a knuckle noisily on the metallic railing in the background and
sharpened a vampirious tooth with a frankensteinian finger; purposefully
creating just enough noise to drive the intended target away.
Lincoln crossed her arms, gun in hand, and kept an eye on the eerie
environment; her colleague not worth the effort of turning to offer a savage
glare. "What the hell was that?" She gnashed her teeth like a dog daydreaming of
that juicy bone her owner had locked away for a special occasion and pondered
just how strongly she wanted to rip that cretinous caricature of a companion's
spine from his sardonic form and make that the fodder of her mutt metaphored
musings.
Two floors up on an adjoining network of fire escapes, Bezeel lifted his
garish green hippie glasses in case the scene he was witnessing was merely a
cardboard cutout latched onto the backs of the lenses by a palpable prankster
and acted out an astounded acvity to his superior officer, who remained
remarkably restraintful given the supposed enormity of the situation. "What's
this? What's happened to those two?" Bezeel began to pace gingerly this way
and that in his crayon purple flared trousers which both suited him like a biker in
a diner jacket and restricted his movement no end, until Silvanus halted him with
a finger to the mouth and a brief gesture downwards. Blowing their cover would
have been an irresponsible mistake. "She is letting her own nightmare
speculations spill into the plot, Bezeel." The lordly publican; whose business had
been run ragged by the breakdown of social norms resulting from the birth of
particularly addictive technological pastimes; had never encountered this kind
of peculiarity in his countless years in the business. He watched as Lincoln
brushed her jet black hair; dyed a petrified white at the roots and constantly
niggling her naturally irritable persona to near erupting point by weeping into her
demonic eyes like a dying willow; out of her face and snapped back at Iron, who
squeezed a fist behind her and smoothed a patch of wirey stubble as if this
grooming motion would make up for days of neglect. "Curious how her fears
personify themselves." Silvanus scratched his head like a baffled chimp handed a
plastic banana and continued his theoretical thesis; "characters of the
imagination driven onto the page as if the heroine wished so much they were
there, or indeed feared so, that they had written their presence in between the
lines. Characters present on set without the authorization or, I would suspect,
the knowledge of the director, who had thankfully never ventured to include them
in the script."
"The script! The script!" Bezeel was tired of this accidental cajoling; of false
characters; of destinies; of allowing what would inevitably happen happen. He
was not employed to pursue such pretentiously unpersuading unrealities; "these
people don't go by the script, as you call it! They can't assume His mantle;
commit some transcendental slight of hand!" Silvanus sighed extravagantly like
an aged university professor having delivered a patience sapping two hour
lecture and realizing the futility of it all as his students chattered
incessantly- not absorbing a trinket of his teaching. "You're right, Bezeel;" This
was a first; "there is a time when we must act; to stem the madness- to quieten
the tides so that destiny may win back its rightful place."
Below, Iron focused and unfocused bloodshot eyes complete with the gray
bags of two purgatoric nights with little sleep and scratched his tongue on a fin
like flicknife; barely drawing his own blood but tasting that intoxicating taste of
his own rusty life stream sipping away like a hungry ghost hovering away from
its lifelong loved one into the tunnel of benevolent blinding light which beckoned
it home. Lincoln voiced her disdain by emptying a buckling round of gunfire into
the precious convertible which somebody in a more civil but no less greed ridden
era had deemed their prize possession, which sent a violated alarm into brain
ringing riotousness. She swang around about to deck her co worker with a well
placed berretta butt; Iron having not been the least bit shaken by the premature
pelt of gunfire. "You've been that close to turning hunter to hunted all day and
you've just about pulled the final straw." She waved her weapon like an over
enthusiastic guerrilla in a canyon ambush, expecting attack from any and every
direction. "Yeah well if you weren’t so damned picky perhaps we'd have bagged
our money's worth by now and gone our separate ways;" Iron motioned a fist to
indicate that the easiest kill was standing right before him; "unless you want to
keep me around all night; wasting my time."
"Yeah, right; don't flatter yourself. If it wasn't for your constant, mind numbing
noise, I'd have got two or three today already, and I'm not talking down and outs
and petty offenders. I mean the big bucks; the real revolutionaries; the
troublemakers; the hit list."
"To finance your great escape, huh?"
"Shut your mouth. I deserve something more out of life; I've got ambitions, how
about you? I'm wasted here; blasting nobodys; its like shooting rodents. There are
bigger fish out there in the ocean, not here in this dreary puddle."
"You swore an oath just like me. You're bound to certain rules. If you don't
respect the boss that's treason in the making." Lincoln; loyal to the city state's
ethereal leaders to the point of suicide should the more enjoyable pastime of
homicide not suffice, pressed her gun forcefully like a saber toothed rubber
stamp against her despised colleague's chin and flashed an evil grin through a
mouthful of glinting teeth of alternate brilliant white and enameled gold; her
black nailed fingers wobbling expectantly on the curvaceous trigger like a
manic depressive eager to tear open a satiable sachet of class A drugs. It was
at this point that Bezeel; sliding his hands down the final set of glossy rails as
his frustrating costume carried his legs as fast as they could manage given the
flexibility restrictions to ground level. "Alright, alright, that's enough;" Iron and
Lincoln span their heads in carnivorous similarity like a scene from a cult
Twentieth Century horror flick involving the expelling of demons; which bore a
certain relevance here; as the latter began to ponder which of the two possible
victims; the military made mannequin publican or this hotch potch hippie huckster;
she would most like to leave dangling on the street corner denied the use of
vital limbs and organs. Silvanus; the sorcerer as opposed to his clumsy footed
apprentice, arrived on the scene in less of a huff but with no less intention;
"He's right, this aborration has to stop."
"Aborration?" Lincoln dusted down her dark winter coat and hastily trained her
weapon on the older and apparently wiser of the pair; "I'll make you a damn
aberration; how do you feel about missing an arm or a leg?" She began to gesture
her gun towards each of the unnaturally unfazed Silvanus' limbs as she looked
to Iron to gage his preference; well aware she would take the opposite option of
whatever he ventured to suggest just to vex him further. Bezeel; the doer as
opposed to the thinker; went to snatch the weapon out of the aggressor’s grasp
but soon found her to be irrationally quick; pulling both arms back like an
executioner retracting his ax before delivering the telling blow before firing an
embittered bullet at the crazily clad character's chest. Confused that nothing
had happened given her notoriety for having the best shot in the force, she tried
again only to watch in disgruntled disbelief as the fiery projectile passed right
through him like a rock through water and thunked unceremoniously into the brick
wall behind. Silvanus congratulated his pupil with a hand on the shoulder which
fared better in locating the disruptive apparition than the bullets had done; "I am
afraid you two are no more that vicious aborrations." Iron; unconvinced; sent a
stone skimming over the docile tarmac as if to rectify his status as a living,
breathing if not particularly feeling human being, but received no more than a
cool shake of the head from the priestly prosecutor. "You are inventions of the
mind; demons who require expelling."
"Demons, huh?" Lincoln squinted to conceal those blood red eyes; ensuring that
irrefutable evidence was not used against her. Bezeel was less enthusiastic
about continuing this cartoony calculated charade; "The boss should’ve
employed a priest to do this; an exorcist." Iron ribbed the impatient accuser with a
vengeful glare; "Boss?"
"The boss; the big cheese; the Almighty." Silvanus nudged him as if he had given
something away, but retracted his scolding as the muttering of those simple
words gifted the stentorian situation the designated divine effect. The bashful
berretta buckled to the floor and promptly went off, causing Bezeel to hop onto
one leg forgetting instantaneously that such primitive weapons could not harm
him. The fictional ferocities thus departed in a flash of invisible ether, Silvanus
turned like a bishop on a chessboard and headed off purposefully in a stern
diagonal as Bezeel chased behind like a moth to a light bulb; frantically inducing
his elder to explain to him exactly what had just occurred or, more accurately,
what appeared to have occurred.
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