stratocaster86
08-17-2010, 06:42 AM
Sorry if this may be too long........
Blue
0
And someone said.....
Would it be that bad if it went dark?
On your first day in school the teacher turns out the lights and shuts the curtains. She says this is what it’s going to be like for the rest of your lives children. Could you give me your thoughts? Could you write them on the board please?
Turn out all the lights and watch the photoreceptor cells in your eye change right in front of you. Would it be better to not get used to the things you seek so much pleasure in staring at, analyzing. There’s that possibility that you’ll see bad things, there’s always that.
You seem to be forgetting the blind.
To love someone for a day and let them go, would you feel that empty? Is creating positive memories all that good when you’re crying out to your family at the side of your death bed? The slow process of thought. The Chinese water torture. The thinking about death and forever just before you go to bed, switching on the TV because you thought about it too much, convincing yourself that there is a place where bad people go. Having people tell you to lighten up when you rant about things you shouldn’t. Telling friends all your theories and being all excited about them. Wouldn’t it of been nice if your creator didn’t design you with the capability of these thoughts? “This evil isn’t my fault.”
Your two-month-old is crawling around like there’s nothing wrong and you’re apologizing because you think it’s your fault and you’ll do anything to help her. But that child will grow up faster than you ever did; it’ll wonder what all this ‘light’ malarkey is about, what everyone’s complaining about, why her parent’s vision never adapted like hers did. She will never understand you people. And every time you light up your torch you avoid swinging it past her face because her giant beady eyes scare the **** out of you.
The big event will have a name that gets round, and it’ll be sponsored by corporate companies because they just can.
The kids back in the classroom are thinking it’s a game because when you don’t have responsibilities everything is in fun format. It’s ‘hide and seek’ forever. She’ll never find us. They always want things to last forever; you’ll notice them say that; they’re not educated in forever. Even the adults nervously joke about it. The thing is never taken seriously. But why take something inevitable so seriously, laugh whilst you still have the ability.
Scared isn’t good, it’s the other end of the long line spectrum of life. You’ll have to thank the guy who came up with ‘I’ll cross that bridge when I get there’ because without him you’d be taking death seriously.
No one will age, because they’re trapped in time. Relativity and indifference are no longer needed. People are dead before they’re actually dead. You don’t know when death happens because you insist you’re not living.
If this is all you’ve ever known, just like the girl, will you be disappointed with change? Is it good or bad? You simply won’t be able to work it out. You’ll go back to what you’ve always known and play it safe because the ‘long run’ requires safety and you’ll be happy again. Then pessimists and philosophers will ask you to ****ing ‘define happy’. All you’ll be able to tell them is that happy is normal. Regular. Safe. Experience. Lifetime. It doesn’t really exist then, does it? They’ll say in your face. You’ll be hurt, but you won’t cry because you get to go back to paradise.
In years to come they’ll have machines just like photo booths where for a small sum of money you sit down and watch somebody’s life from beginning to end with headphones on. Your life is one shorthand monologue. You’ll select lives from a gigantic database; you’ll be in digital format. They’ll have more on you than the great explorers, scientists and monarchs. It’ll make you feel important for a while then when you’re about to lose your virginity it’ll switch to a commercial and that feeling of worth will disappear down a great big hole.
You people are so ****ing lucky.
1
I had to land somewhere. It had to be here. On the surface of Tharro 3. The place is pitch-black. There is no contact to this place, nor has there been for years. You do not communicate with Tharro 3 you only listen to the media and stories passed down by soldiers, scientists and visitors that had been here or had claimed to.
The people only know of its death, when it died over a decade ago. The planet had its own tombstone. People didn’t like to use the word apocalypse, not when they witness one first hand. You didn’t want to see so many people die and use that word. That’s what they told us in the stories.
Tharro 3 became legend the day it died. Nobody blamed anybody for its death, there was no trial. The first experimental utopia was thrown under the desk. So right away we started looking elsewhere for something beautiful to **** up. And we found something. We found it. And it is already dying. Hopefully Tharro 4 will die a quicker and a less painful death than Tharro 3. But we will always keep looking as long as we exist because we have to learn, more and more and more..... Our goal is ultimate intelligence. We have to know everything, that way we can find out what happens after death whilst we live. The men, women and children that lived here on Tharro 3 now know more than the smartest of scientists.
The Thanatologists on Peh are gods. They are Gods. They are in the media. The International Intelligence prize is dominated by Thanatologists and will continue to be. Each one is crowned some way or another. Each Thanat has made some contribution, little or small, to the discovery of what will ultimately destroy the way we live and plan our lives. The future is ourselves manipulating ourselves to the death.
The parents only want their children to grow up and become famous Thanat’s like Grilê, Sämborn and Frelé. They push their kids into University so ****ing hard. And what comes out is unemployment, protests, anarchy, chaos. We all want to be Thanatologists because sooner or later someone is going to get the answer. It will pop up they say, and we will be reduced to nothing. Each year the Thanat’s tell us we are getting closer.
“Its infinity,” is read on the people’s placards. These people are the people who believe in human rights. They turn up at Human cloning centres and brave the weather outside. They want you and your project dead. To some extent everyone is a murderer, therefore we all should be in jail. Thou shalt perish a horrible death when it comes, and come it will. I am afraid it is that way.
“For the love of god,” you hear people say. The very people that spit on religion will say this. Their god is waiting on them, each person with their own private god they’re ashamed to admit to, ashamed to admit they pray to a god, the god for when their loved one is in grave danger.
Everyone has their own god. I have mine. It is the best way.
2
After the crew died on impact, after the miracle of only me surviving because the pilot is offered the best protection, after I tried for hours on the radio using up the precious batteries, after I’d slept inside the wreckage for one month and drove myself dry with silence for company, after I’d considered death an option I stepped outside. I stepped outside with my wind-up torch, the simple technology. I tied it to my hand with a short piece of cord. It was best to get out. No one was watching as I stepped out onto Tharro 3. You could not see me through the black but for my torch. Turn it off and I would be gone. I would be dead. I kept the thing on and searched the ground. All I found was a charred substance, no colour showing up from the torchlight, just black, crumble carbon. No moisture here on the surface, no plants, no life. One big playground; a forest for me to go out and discover; to run around in because I could do whatever I wanted to in my own special space.
I sniffed the rocks and they smelled black. Black from the dusty wind that filled my nostrils with char. Shining the torch in the air showed the dust as fine snow in a fast blizzard. The snow was super fine, fine like dust in your bedroom floating around in the sunlight. All this depressed black and I chose to be poetic. Every now and again, the stars would rip through a hole in the sky.
When I first met Tag, when we met with my torch grabbing his attention and Tag all of sudden appearing out of complete nothing, we’d decided technically I was the alien. He told me humans are always different. They all looked different he told me, through the pictures. Whenever he saw a zebra they looked like all the other Zebra’s, they we’re too hard to distinguish. Tag told me he was fresh out of the colony so he hadn’t become cannibalistic just yet, like the others. He told me that eventually if we lived for long enough then we would meet them. Tag told me several times that he was glad he’d found me. He said, “Humans are the best predators.” I couldn’t let Tag down with the truth, but coming from a synthetic race as young as his it would be like speaking to a child. “I mean, what are the chances?” He said. Tag had been banished from the colony for what he thought was two days. He told me this was the longest he’d been without sleep. Tag was a scientist, he worked on technology in water recycling, the colony’s essential demand. He told me they discard you when you’re not needed anymore or when the vacuum city of glass chambers under the ground needs one less occupant. I asked Tag if he thought it was worth him living knowing full well what was out here. I asked Tag if he’d thought suicide was an ideal. When he replied, “What’s that?” I told him what it was. He then asked how in the hell I would go about doing it here. I soon realised that Tag’s race were born happy regardless. All these people didn’t know how to be negative. It was this synthetic property they held that must have been why they were put here. A world without negatives.
Tag told me his knowledge of the outside, here. The creatures that thrived. “They look just like your spiders,” he told me. He told me they were the last animals alive along with his people. The Cax is what they are called. These too relied on cannibalism.
Tag told me the water we needed was in the underground caves deep beneath the surface. This is where the outcasts lived; this is where the Cax lived. From inside the colony Tag told me he often saw the outcasts pawing on the glass, unrecognisable to those inside covered in black lit up by the blue light shining through the colony. He told me that eventually I would get to see the colony in all its beauty.
Tag told me that if the Cax were to bite, you would die. If we were to drink from the water the Cax had contaminated, we would die. Tag told me the Cax were an experiment gone wrong. Tag told me everything he could as he still thought I was the one that was going to save him. “Maybe you are the Messiah Jack? Maybe I don’t need the water gods anymore?”
When we’d ventured into the deeps of the planet, when my torch was still working, when I could eat just about anything and when Tag kept shouting through the underground lakes we met the outcasts. The group gathered around us. Tag said the best hello he could and they didn’t kill us. The Din welcomed me and Tag into their cave and guided us toward one who demanded the respect of the lower Din. The Din I labelled as the special one asked about my torch. My clothes had long gone; I was as black as everybody else and was not a recognisable human. Tag had kept it within him to tell the rest.
“Will you be one of us?” The special one asked. He was over seven foot tall. Where was I to go?
The lake where we resided to was to be our temporary home. Just like Tag the Din couldn’t help tell me everything. “Here we sacrifice,” they told me. I’d always seen sacrifice in books I read, made out to be honourable and not madness. The Din, despite their living conditions, their life, drank out of the glass half full. For them this was an opportunity, it was a reason; suffering was just a new direction. Tag didn’t stir when they mentioned sacrifice.
Every so often, what I thought was an hour, the Din would pray. It was to the Cax. They were thankful for its constant tests. Its chasing them through the caves, the death they brought, the reason that they were forced to survive. I said out loud to Tag that this was crazy but he didn’t understand the word. Tag told me that the Cax were to be his new god. He told me you always needed a god to believe in. He no longer prayed to the water gods that kept his race alive but the Cax that forced them to be. He insisted the Cax be my new god because me- being the messiah, hadn’t yet shown my worth, until then the Cax were to be god. Without the Cax the Din would lay down and die.
Technically I was eating an animal. Though this meant I was now a human in Din clothing. The Din were of low body fat and the raw meat laced in blood was to be my means of survival. Being part of the Din meant survival tagged up a whole new level. Tag was Din the moment we met the group. My transcendence into the Din wasn’t as instant as Tag’s. Though it was essential.
When a member of the Din keeled over and died whilst cupping mouthfuls of water by the lake it was time to move on. The leader walked us for a long period of time until we were met by a blinding blue light that I had only met in small doses through caves we had walked. This was the city. Though the other Din continued walking, I wandered to the glass along with Tag. “I am now on the outside,” Tag said. Tag told me about their creators, how they failed poor Tag and his people, how they were gods before they relied so heavily on the water. He told me he was one of the few that were picked for the city that was labelled as ‘The protection project’. I told Tag he must’ve been lucky to have been chosen. But he didn’t understand the word.
Tag told me if I let the Din know who I was there was a possibility I would become a leader, a god, then I would live for eternity. I said I would let them know at our next home.
I stared down into the city below and watched bodies moving around unaware of me at the glass, unaware of what was going on outside. My father was right about Utopia, it wasn’t possible. A world with peace wouldn’t be a world at all. “Animals are born stupid Jack.”
Tag asks what is happening to me, what I’m doing. I tell him I’m crying. When I stop I tell him what it means. Tag says, “Why? We could be next.”
Blue
0
And someone said.....
Would it be that bad if it went dark?
On your first day in school the teacher turns out the lights and shuts the curtains. She says this is what it’s going to be like for the rest of your lives children. Could you give me your thoughts? Could you write them on the board please?
Turn out all the lights and watch the photoreceptor cells in your eye change right in front of you. Would it be better to not get used to the things you seek so much pleasure in staring at, analyzing. There’s that possibility that you’ll see bad things, there’s always that.
You seem to be forgetting the blind.
To love someone for a day and let them go, would you feel that empty? Is creating positive memories all that good when you’re crying out to your family at the side of your death bed? The slow process of thought. The Chinese water torture. The thinking about death and forever just before you go to bed, switching on the TV because you thought about it too much, convincing yourself that there is a place where bad people go. Having people tell you to lighten up when you rant about things you shouldn’t. Telling friends all your theories and being all excited about them. Wouldn’t it of been nice if your creator didn’t design you with the capability of these thoughts? “This evil isn’t my fault.”
Your two-month-old is crawling around like there’s nothing wrong and you’re apologizing because you think it’s your fault and you’ll do anything to help her. But that child will grow up faster than you ever did; it’ll wonder what all this ‘light’ malarkey is about, what everyone’s complaining about, why her parent’s vision never adapted like hers did. She will never understand you people. And every time you light up your torch you avoid swinging it past her face because her giant beady eyes scare the **** out of you.
The big event will have a name that gets round, and it’ll be sponsored by corporate companies because they just can.
The kids back in the classroom are thinking it’s a game because when you don’t have responsibilities everything is in fun format. It’s ‘hide and seek’ forever. She’ll never find us. They always want things to last forever; you’ll notice them say that; they’re not educated in forever. Even the adults nervously joke about it. The thing is never taken seriously. But why take something inevitable so seriously, laugh whilst you still have the ability.
Scared isn’t good, it’s the other end of the long line spectrum of life. You’ll have to thank the guy who came up with ‘I’ll cross that bridge when I get there’ because without him you’d be taking death seriously.
No one will age, because they’re trapped in time. Relativity and indifference are no longer needed. People are dead before they’re actually dead. You don’t know when death happens because you insist you’re not living.
If this is all you’ve ever known, just like the girl, will you be disappointed with change? Is it good or bad? You simply won’t be able to work it out. You’ll go back to what you’ve always known and play it safe because the ‘long run’ requires safety and you’ll be happy again. Then pessimists and philosophers will ask you to ****ing ‘define happy’. All you’ll be able to tell them is that happy is normal. Regular. Safe. Experience. Lifetime. It doesn’t really exist then, does it? They’ll say in your face. You’ll be hurt, but you won’t cry because you get to go back to paradise.
In years to come they’ll have machines just like photo booths where for a small sum of money you sit down and watch somebody’s life from beginning to end with headphones on. Your life is one shorthand monologue. You’ll select lives from a gigantic database; you’ll be in digital format. They’ll have more on you than the great explorers, scientists and monarchs. It’ll make you feel important for a while then when you’re about to lose your virginity it’ll switch to a commercial and that feeling of worth will disappear down a great big hole.
You people are so ****ing lucky.
1
I had to land somewhere. It had to be here. On the surface of Tharro 3. The place is pitch-black. There is no contact to this place, nor has there been for years. You do not communicate with Tharro 3 you only listen to the media and stories passed down by soldiers, scientists and visitors that had been here or had claimed to.
The people only know of its death, when it died over a decade ago. The planet had its own tombstone. People didn’t like to use the word apocalypse, not when they witness one first hand. You didn’t want to see so many people die and use that word. That’s what they told us in the stories.
Tharro 3 became legend the day it died. Nobody blamed anybody for its death, there was no trial. The first experimental utopia was thrown under the desk. So right away we started looking elsewhere for something beautiful to **** up. And we found something. We found it. And it is already dying. Hopefully Tharro 4 will die a quicker and a less painful death than Tharro 3. But we will always keep looking as long as we exist because we have to learn, more and more and more..... Our goal is ultimate intelligence. We have to know everything, that way we can find out what happens after death whilst we live. The men, women and children that lived here on Tharro 3 now know more than the smartest of scientists.
The Thanatologists on Peh are gods. They are Gods. They are in the media. The International Intelligence prize is dominated by Thanatologists and will continue to be. Each one is crowned some way or another. Each Thanat has made some contribution, little or small, to the discovery of what will ultimately destroy the way we live and plan our lives. The future is ourselves manipulating ourselves to the death.
The parents only want their children to grow up and become famous Thanat’s like Grilê, Sämborn and Frelé. They push their kids into University so ****ing hard. And what comes out is unemployment, protests, anarchy, chaos. We all want to be Thanatologists because sooner or later someone is going to get the answer. It will pop up they say, and we will be reduced to nothing. Each year the Thanat’s tell us we are getting closer.
“Its infinity,” is read on the people’s placards. These people are the people who believe in human rights. They turn up at Human cloning centres and brave the weather outside. They want you and your project dead. To some extent everyone is a murderer, therefore we all should be in jail. Thou shalt perish a horrible death when it comes, and come it will. I am afraid it is that way.
“For the love of god,” you hear people say. The very people that spit on religion will say this. Their god is waiting on them, each person with their own private god they’re ashamed to admit to, ashamed to admit they pray to a god, the god for when their loved one is in grave danger.
Everyone has their own god. I have mine. It is the best way.
2
After the crew died on impact, after the miracle of only me surviving because the pilot is offered the best protection, after I tried for hours on the radio using up the precious batteries, after I’d slept inside the wreckage for one month and drove myself dry with silence for company, after I’d considered death an option I stepped outside. I stepped outside with my wind-up torch, the simple technology. I tied it to my hand with a short piece of cord. It was best to get out. No one was watching as I stepped out onto Tharro 3. You could not see me through the black but for my torch. Turn it off and I would be gone. I would be dead. I kept the thing on and searched the ground. All I found was a charred substance, no colour showing up from the torchlight, just black, crumble carbon. No moisture here on the surface, no plants, no life. One big playground; a forest for me to go out and discover; to run around in because I could do whatever I wanted to in my own special space.
I sniffed the rocks and they smelled black. Black from the dusty wind that filled my nostrils with char. Shining the torch in the air showed the dust as fine snow in a fast blizzard. The snow was super fine, fine like dust in your bedroom floating around in the sunlight. All this depressed black and I chose to be poetic. Every now and again, the stars would rip through a hole in the sky.
When I first met Tag, when we met with my torch grabbing his attention and Tag all of sudden appearing out of complete nothing, we’d decided technically I was the alien. He told me humans are always different. They all looked different he told me, through the pictures. Whenever he saw a zebra they looked like all the other Zebra’s, they we’re too hard to distinguish. Tag told me he was fresh out of the colony so he hadn’t become cannibalistic just yet, like the others. He told me that eventually if we lived for long enough then we would meet them. Tag told me several times that he was glad he’d found me. He said, “Humans are the best predators.” I couldn’t let Tag down with the truth, but coming from a synthetic race as young as his it would be like speaking to a child. “I mean, what are the chances?” He said. Tag had been banished from the colony for what he thought was two days. He told me this was the longest he’d been without sleep. Tag was a scientist, he worked on technology in water recycling, the colony’s essential demand. He told me they discard you when you’re not needed anymore or when the vacuum city of glass chambers under the ground needs one less occupant. I asked Tag if he thought it was worth him living knowing full well what was out here. I asked Tag if he’d thought suicide was an ideal. When he replied, “What’s that?” I told him what it was. He then asked how in the hell I would go about doing it here. I soon realised that Tag’s race were born happy regardless. All these people didn’t know how to be negative. It was this synthetic property they held that must have been why they were put here. A world without negatives.
Tag told me his knowledge of the outside, here. The creatures that thrived. “They look just like your spiders,” he told me. He told me they were the last animals alive along with his people. The Cax is what they are called. These too relied on cannibalism.
Tag told me the water we needed was in the underground caves deep beneath the surface. This is where the outcasts lived; this is where the Cax lived. From inside the colony Tag told me he often saw the outcasts pawing on the glass, unrecognisable to those inside covered in black lit up by the blue light shining through the colony. He told me that eventually I would get to see the colony in all its beauty.
Tag told me that if the Cax were to bite, you would die. If we were to drink from the water the Cax had contaminated, we would die. Tag told me the Cax were an experiment gone wrong. Tag told me everything he could as he still thought I was the one that was going to save him. “Maybe you are the Messiah Jack? Maybe I don’t need the water gods anymore?”
When we’d ventured into the deeps of the planet, when my torch was still working, when I could eat just about anything and when Tag kept shouting through the underground lakes we met the outcasts. The group gathered around us. Tag said the best hello he could and they didn’t kill us. The Din welcomed me and Tag into their cave and guided us toward one who demanded the respect of the lower Din. The Din I labelled as the special one asked about my torch. My clothes had long gone; I was as black as everybody else and was not a recognisable human. Tag had kept it within him to tell the rest.
“Will you be one of us?” The special one asked. He was over seven foot tall. Where was I to go?
The lake where we resided to was to be our temporary home. Just like Tag the Din couldn’t help tell me everything. “Here we sacrifice,” they told me. I’d always seen sacrifice in books I read, made out to be honourable and not madness. The Din, despite their living conditions, their life, drank out of the glass half full. For them this was an opportunity, it was a reason; suffering was just a new direction. Tag didn’t stir when they mentioned sacrifice.
Every so often, what I thought was an hour, the Din would pray. It was to the Cax. They were thankful for its constant tests. Its chasing them through the caves, the death they brought, the reason that they were forced to survive. I said out loud to Tag that this was crazy but he didn’t understand the word. Tag told me that the Cax were to be his new god. He told me you always needed a god to believe in. He no longer prayed to the water gods that kept his race alive but the Cax that forced them to be. He insisted the Cax be my new god because me- being the messiah, hadn’t yet shown my worth, until then the Cax were to be god. Without the Cax the Din would lay down and die.
Technically I was eating an animal. Though this meant I was now a human in Din clothing. The Din were of low body fat and the raw meat laced in blood was to be my means of survival. Being part of the Din meant survival tagged up a whole new level. Tag was Din the moment we met the group. My transcendence into the Din wasn’t as instant as Tag’s. Though it was essential.
When a member of the Din keeled over and died whilst cupping mouthfuls of water by the lake it was time to move on. The leader walked us for a long period of time until we were met by a blinding blue light that I had only met in small doses through caves we had walked. This was the city. Though the other Din continued walking, I wandered to the glass along with Tag. “I am now on the outside,” Tag said. Tag told me about their creators, how they failed poor Tag and his people, how they were gods before they relied so heavily on the water. He told me he was one of the few that were picked for the city that was labelled as ‘The protection project’. I told Tag he must’ve been lucky to have been chosen. But he didn’t understand the word.
Tag told me if I let the Din know who I was there was a possibility I would become a leader, a god, then I would live for eternity. I said I would let them know at our next home.
I stared down into the city below and watched bodies moving around unaware of me at the glass, unaware of what was going on outside. My father was right about Utopia, it wasn’t possible. A world with peace wouldn’t be a world at all. “Animals are born stupid Jack.”
Tag asks what is happening to me, what I’m doing. I tell him I’m crying. When I stop I tell him what it means. Tag says, “Why? We could be next.”