Turn That Music Down

When you walk past the coffeehouse in district 3, there is a big monitor streaming video of Earth. People walking by stop and stare longingly.

They chat amongst themselves, "On Earth, we lived above ground." "Yeah, we could breath the air and drink the water without all these machines."

What is forgotten is that the drinkable water and breathable air were only abundant in ancient times. The industrial ages built on fossil fuel all but destroyed those valuable resources. I teach Earth history, so I can sympathize with their nostalgia.

Still, our underground cities seem to be in harmony with this red planet. Heat from the core warms better than electricity. Sound powers ours machines without exhaust. There is no money, volunteer labor creates everything our society needs.

There is a theory floating around that Earth rejected humanity because of the sound we were making. Our poverty, our greedy, our endless wars were noisy and disturbed the song of the planet. Earth forced us to leave until we grew into a more peaceful species.

That video stream at the coffeehouse is feed by a radio telescope on the Martian surface. Maybe one day, when humanity has evolved, Earth will signal it's time to come back home.

.fin

photo: my vinyl of Miles Davis "Bitches Brew" taken with iPhone and its on board camera app.

 

Posted with Blogsy

the Specialist

There's a faction in the Martian community that wants to bring back hierarchy. Not satisfied with hard work and progress, they want to control people. My mother says these men didn't get hugs when they were babies. Now we could all suffer for it.

I overheard this forty-ish guy talking to a group of teens, trying to inject discontent. That's hard to do around here. All our work is voluntary, every service or product is available without charge. It is known that these.. 'gentlemen' don't always contribute the full three hours a day to the community works. Instead they spend their time recruiting others to join their loitering.

Their rhetoric goes like this: "Aren't you tired of the town hall meetings cutting into your leisure? Of coarse you are, I specialize in politics, let me represent you in those meeting. Tell me what you want and I'll get it done. Stay at home longer and still get all the services you're used to. Work less and get all the products you're used to. Let me represent your interests and together, we' ll make this place paradise!"

This place is already paradise, a WORKERS' paradise. But as Don Juan said "a picture gallery is a dull place for a blind man." There is discontentment inside these folks. We have farmers, engineers, artists, philosophers, but no psychiatrists. Maybe if they could heal themselves, they could start the new specialty.

.fin

Photo: my sink taken with iPhone 4S and it's on board camera app.

 

Posted with Blogsy

The Sensitive Husband

She was a cashier just getting off work when she was taken. I was waiting in a car half a block away. We were going to marry.

Six lights appeared in the sky above her. I thought it was a police drone since there was no sound. A purple light shone on her and she began to rise. I ran toward her, but she was gone in an instant with the ship. That was ten years ago...

A lot has transpired in ten years.

This embassy librarian isn't very helpful. Ever since the Earth joined the union of planets, humans have been able to discover the whereabouts of abductees in alien embassies like this. My fiancé is still missing. I've found no mention of her abduction amongst the Nibiru, the Xylanthians, even the reptiles from Thuban have no record of my Mara.

I worked very hard to get the kind of access needed to find my love. I've made sacrifices. I have even brokered illegal abductions, to be granted above security clearances to these aliens' files.

She would ashamed of what I'm doing, but these deals happen all the time. I might as well benefit from them. The irony is part of my job is investigating post-treaty abductions. I have become a devil, but since Mara was taken, I stopped believing in god.

Ahh, here's something, in the records of the people on Juno. This translates to the same date and time as Mara's abduction. It mentions a human female was taken for breeding. Oh, this is bad.

The Junoians are the only species in our solar system that can mate with humans. They are humaniod, but can self-fertilize. Hundreds of years ago they've taken to kidnapping Earth women to procreate, instead of using their more solitary method. It's become a rite of passage on Juno to take an Earth woman as a wife.

I finally found Mara on a farm on Juno. She had been made a wife of this tall hairy Junoian named Scratch. When I entered their residence, I saw her surrounded by these funny looking children. She didn't recognizeqq me at first. The husband, greeted me in Swahili, an Earth language easy for aliens to learn.

I told them my story of looking for Mara these ten long years, Mara and her husband wept bitterly. These Junoians are more sensitive than Earth males; human females found them more attentive husbands.

Mara said thorough her tears that she is a different woman now and the little cashier I knew was gone. She is Junoian, a mother and a wife. There was nothing for me here. The husband hugged me with tears in his three eyes as I left for my ship.

Now I believe in god, he just has a terrible sense of humor.

.fin

photo: up escalator taken with my trusty iPhone 4S and it's on board camera app.

 

Posted with Blogsy

Library Card

 I had this dream. I was in a library built inside a song. The more I listened, the more books I found. These books were made of people, the leaves of the books were memories, the text were lyrics. Books of moments in my life with lessons I never learned.

The librarian said "What you don't know could fill up this world and another one." So this is the world I occupy - ignorance. The other worlds of mastery were left behind in my previous incarnations. I create new planets when I learned something that intriqued me in the beforelife. Something important enough to endure the trouble of being born.

Not just pleasure of the body, but something that will bring me closer to the whole. Something that will help me realize my completeness in this broken dream. That's the paradox, leave the whole to become a part just to remember I'm the whole. Rend Osiris into pieces and become Isis to reassemble.

.fin

photo: books taken with my iPad Mini on board camera app

Posted with Blogsy

Coffeehouses on Mars

The West was humbled. Earth was dying. Humanity needed to find out if Mars was habitable and they didn't have decades to wait. The supposedly underdeveloped countries had the answer. Medicine men, shamen and preists journeyed to Mars their way, with their minds. 

They communicated with their gods and gave the West data to plan a one year exploratory mission. The spiritual astronauts spoke to scientists from their trances, detailing suitable places to build colonies. Places out of reach of the NASA rovers.

Western engineers worked as the right-brain to build the designs of the left-brained medicine men. A ship was built that used music as fuel and traveled at one-half the speed of light. 

Three hundred couples journeyed to Mars on the Hendrix. Within a year of landing, they built an underground city. So much caffeine was consumed during this period, the place became known as Coffee City.

After one year, the three hundred sent the all clear signal. Evacuation of Earth began immediately. Within a decade, only animals, plants and the insane were left behind.

On the ten year anniversary of Coffee city, a mystic scientist was asked why we had to leave our home world. The elder answered "Earth is going through a cleaning period. She was concerned that humans would be exstinguished during this process, so she gently nudged us to leave."

Sarcastic laughter arose in the audience. "You call oxygen levels dropping, scarcity of clean water and freakish storms gentle?" said a disgruntled soul.

"Yes, that is gentle" replied the elder, "for a planet."  

.fin

photo: My Sony MDR V-6s and some vinyl. That green cable is plugged into the Aux port so I can play the mobiles through the speakers. Taken with my iPad Mini, first gen.

Posted with Blogsy

Billy Goat's Gruff

We've been here before. I am standing on yet another bridge, on a stratagem, a plan I've worked out. A plan that depends on others to plant flowers, to pull up weeds, to keep the walking paths below clear.

From my perch on the bridge, I see envious eyes below. They don't know that at the end of their overgrown path is a bridge. They can't see it because they are too busy staring at me, annoyed at my progress.

They think, maybe it's bias that got me on this bridge, maybe it's affirmative action. It's anything but "he worked hard, he's easy to work with, he advanced." They don't see it that way. But that "it's not my fault I don't advance mentality" doesn't turn off when you leave the workplace, does it? No, that troll follows you.

The "trip trap trip trap" you hear isn't immigrants or Blacks coming to take your jobs. It's that troll walking behind you. He justifies all the corners you cut, all the failures you didn't learn from. Then he generously gives away the opportunities you let slip between your fingers.

He sits with you while you gripe about management. He curses at people traveling over the bridge. He stares back from the mirror, when you ask at forty years of age "What the hell have I done with my life?"

The troll under the bridge is you, my friend.

Photo: this weary rose was taken with my trusty iPad Mini 1st gen and the on board camera app. Cropped with AfterLight app.

 

Posted with Blogsy

Sun Worship

Once I thought he was god. I watched him rise every morning and set. Others were warmed by his presence, but shadows turned away in disgust. Not everyone loved him.

You should never meet your heroes. I found out he was not the sun, a gaseous angel, but a man with annoying character flaws.

He could lead the masses, but not a family. His wife is the moon, they love, but sleep on opposite sides of the sky.

Their children tolerate their blood lineage, but are atheists. They don't believe in the father.

Spring comes, winter comes, but I don't worship at the changing of the seasons. I just clean my house, change my wardrobe and try not to be like the sun.

Photo: taken from the train with my iPhone 4S with on board camera app.

Pitted-Patter

It's not leaves, it's the sound of little pajama feet moving across the floor. Carrying a robot, believing in Santa and the goodness of people.

The wind blows toys across the room. It refuses to clean. It's a force of nature so it builds by destroying. It will take take five years to convince him to use the toy box.

It's a terrible task you know, taming the wind. I'd like to just leave him be, but once you've clean shit of a bathroom wall, you accept that even storms must be potty trained.

Photo: tree taken with my iPhone 4S and on board camera app

 

Posted with Blogsy

Sun Setting Behind my Television set

It is warm so the rain does not bother me. Against my skin, a soaked t-shirt, hoodie and heavy jeans. Probably not a good idea to stand on this pavement barefoot in a storm...

She is in the apartment, but she has left me. I left her. We are cordial and its maddening. This kindness is killing me.

Food. I always make some sort of meal on Saturdays, then I was distracted by lightning. I just drifted outside mindlessly, a moth to the rain.

Face upward, angry drops hurt my eyes. Can't look directly at the sun, can't look directly at a storm. We really can't handle the truth can we? Our friendship was to shallow to swim in. Now its evaporated.

I am out here hoping that some courage will fall out of the sky. It's my apartment, but its not home as long as she is there. I miss myself without her... the talking out loud, the old vinyl in the morning. I miss the couch and the sun setting behind my television set, but I won't miss her.

F ---. No courage, no lightning, thanks god. You're either helping me, ignoring me or not really there. Either way I have to tell her, "You've left already. Please take your body with you."

Photo: homemade salad taken with my iPhone 4S with on board camera app.

3D Printer at MLK Library

Very cool digi space at the Martin Luther King Jr Library, "Digital Commons". It's in Washinton DC. Looks righteous, man. They have classes there too.

 

 

Posted with Blogsy