No Dreams in Digital

People speak in romantic tones about dreaming. Losing the ability to have dreams while sleeping is one of the trade offs of brain augmentation. The best time to back up the day’s data is at night when you’re asleep. Your subconscious is suppressed so synchronization can occur efficiently. So you could dream or learn something once and keep it forever.

Nowadays, if you want to dream after you’ve had the surgery, you have to go off-line when you sleep and that’s illegal. Besides being fined, you could lose some of the data you collected during the day. Depending on the job you have, that could a disciplinary offense.

I’m still paying off my cyberization loans, so I’m glad I got a descent I.T. gig. My parents got me augmented after high school, so of course college easier. Teach me once and I got it. I remember the ‘stock’ (un-augmented) students struggling in class, looking at me with envy. Some families abstain from augmenting their children for religious reasons.

The Anti-Facebookists or Christians look at me like Frankenstein. I’m not even a cyborg yet. The surgery just installed a stimulator for the brain to enhance its performance and recall. Other implant provides constant connection to EchoNet for data back up. If I get sick or damaged, my memories can be retrieved.

The stock kids used to tease me about the dreams they had the night before. They said I had to “turn myself off” a night. I would’ve resented it more, but I had so many benefits they didn’t. No exit exams, all A’s and guaranteed employment after graduation. I see why my parents got into so much debt to get me super-sized, so fuck the normals.

Five years after graduation, I was picked up by a data storage and recovery company. After some intense training, I was given a bank of whispers to support. Apparently I’m doing a pretty good job.

My apartment was near a budding arts district, which is to say close to the ‘hood. A place where artists and young entrepreneurs were rehabbing buildings once boarded up. When I wasn’t on-call, I’d hang out, read and slip overpriced coffee.

There was a buzzing in the base of my skull in these places, which meant folks has ad-hoc networks near by. One of the side effects of being connected to EchoNet all the time is sensitivity to data moving around at different frequencies. I can’t “see the data”, but I can feel it’s motion.

For fifty years it’s been illegal to be disconnected from EchoNet. Once you turn 18, you either have an selective service beacon, a EchoNet capable smartphone or have your brain augmented like me. Hanging around these underground nets might be a problem, but the Homeland Security doesn’t come down here much. Don’t see working CCTV cameras around here either, so I’ll risk it. There’s also rumors that folks go offline on a regular basis down here. I ask the brewista why folks risk a DHS visit for going dark illegally? 

“So we can dream.” One of the café regulars told me. He’s wearing shades sipping tea. “We can be free here. In that back room there is shielding from radio waves, so no EchoNet. Theres a few cots too. You can catch one or two dreams in the space of an hour. You should try it.”

He turned went into the dark room, still with shades on. I could see through doorway what looked like an opium den, but instead of smoking they were sleeping. I see now, all of these people had been augmented, but went offline to nap. Hmm, if you go dark (offline) for less than an hour, it gets reported as possible system failure. As long as you don’t do it every day, no flags get raised. These guys are having their cake and eating it too.

I turn my head as not to record (remember) any faces. It’s a pretty good life I have, but what’s this business of dreaming? I was taught it was a relic of the past like eating raw meat. But these people would risk jail time and possible data lost for something arbitrary as dreams...

Photo Caption: My New Balance 475's taken with my iPhone 4S w/Hipstamatic app (Loftus lens, Blanko Noir film)

copyright 2012 Johnathan Clifton Harding

2012 is a Joke

Emergency! Market forces extracted wealth from the working classes then dropped it on a bad spin at the roulette wheel. Now they want Geico to recover their losses. The Tea Party (serfs that protect wealth of landlords) toast the idea.

The Democrats realize their President is a better conservative than the Blue Dogs ever were. I'm not making this up. Obama was vetted, like all candidates, on his willingness to protect status quo. He knew he could deliver the Dems, the Blacks and the Liberals to Wall Street in a nice neat package.

The Corporate powers do their part by painting the rational republicans, disgruntled democrats into a corner with tea party red; figuring they can keep serving poison economic policies as long as Obama is at the counter.

That stratagem will get most of us in 2012. But there's a few hardcore thinkers that will continue to bitch and blog and explore third party candidates. Who knows, since we were able to get a Black president in 2008, maybe we can get a Green one in 2012.

Photo: Walter Reed ambulance taken w/iPhone 3Gs and Hipstamatic app (Salvador 84, Ina's 1935).

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Father's Day

In haste, I catch another angel, put out another fire, try to perfect a deity with my clay hands. Fatherhood is fashioning the future with the past as your only reference. You tend to fill in gaps of memory with imagination. Father is a mystic that changes diapers one minute and changes minds the next, still get some shit on your hands either case but, that's what daddies do.

The less ego, the more you have to give "I want you to be better than me". Couldn't have said that a 17 or 22, but at 32 or 40, of course. I see my own limitations and push my offspring past them. I surgically remove those handicaps with spankings, lectures and exposure to parts of the world I didn't know at that age. I stand on myself and left you up over my head.

"What do you see?"
"Ok, I don't understand, but go for it. Just remember what I taught you."

They come back with little treasures from atlantis, college and friendships with age-old enemies. Strange writings on stones that can be read by younger eyes. I trust the currency I provided will spend in the future. It came from my flesh, pounds of it.

"Daddy, we don't do things like that anymore."

Like VHS tapes, some of my knowledge becomes obsolete and I fight with myself to accept it. My shrunken ego wallows in the past and brushes off the Now as an illusion. My higher self rocks back and forth and listens.

"So, how do things work now?"

Now, I'm the old man being taught by the future. Ego goes to the grave long before me, but I don't miss him. Less tension now. Things are as they are, no interpretation needed. I just am. My children just are. There is enlightenment in just accepting what you experience as it is. Just rocking back and forth. Just listening, just being available when needed. Just fading into memory, becoming a ghost like my mothers and fathers before me.

Photo: Firetruck speeding passed me taken w/iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Melodie, Big Up)

It's Summertime

Once I could touch the sun. I could hug their fiery photosphere. Wash them with starlight, before sending them off to school.

After the divorce came the Fall. I could still see them, but the distance - things just got a little cooler. Moods changed, from bright green to more sober colors. Sometimes I'd feel like I was just floating, drifting on some uncaring wind.

On Thanksgiving day 2010, I was told they were moving to Florida, the farthest point from the sun. Icicles were on my face by the afternoon. I could see my breath, words like "You'll get them this summer. They won't forget you. Use Skype for video calls." More cicles, crying like a bitch. Angry, confused, frustrated, but still willful. I would see them soon.

One thing I've learn about my orbit is that it never stops. I set small fires at the cave's mouth. Stored fruits and vegetables. Sent presents from the amazon. Always prayed to the stars, always knew my season would come.

Now, I can see green beneath my toes. The earth doesn't resist me as she once did. Hope, laughter, more dirty dishes are coming into view. It's summertime...

Photo: Lamp light through glass cup taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Jimmy, Blanko Noir)


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Tea

She whispered in my ear, silence. A textured, colorful fatigue of sound that felt medicinal. Words from my ears, trickled down, into my hand. My palm was read. Said I'd achieve things just beyond my reach. Said I was talented, had a voice for the masses.

Tears. Tears that puddled in my hand formed a mirror. I see the me that she saw. Eyes look hopeful, smile is slow and confidence. No wrinkles. Lost a little weight. Looked at my hands, callousness on my fingertips. They are beautiful.

Photo: Favorite mug and new journal I bought taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Buchhorst H1, Big Up)

Boardwalk

Peeling. Time is eroding your sexy. At some point in this spiral, some fluid point over my shoulder you were YOU. Mad fans, lots of accolades, a kind of fame was bestowed. Somewhere back over a forgotten horizon, you stood hips and shoulders above contemporaries. Now though, in this present foam, these waves, these throngs of people don't put face to music. No recognition, just polite smiles as they keep moving toward work or play.

Cycles, we'll see your kind again. Just a different face, different lyrics, but the same song. You carried swishes to the beach like the other currents before you and were appreciated at the time. But time is a lazy foam, bubbles popping on shore, soon forgotten. Splashes are different, but I'll never forget that sound.

Photo: Corner of old building on 7th & L Sts NW, DC (Now painted over) with remains of a Tracy Chapman poster on wall taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Buchhorst H1, Big Up)

Ancient Future

There it is, my passage out! A thin door amongst pages of a book. She told me I wrote scripture, my poetry had god-sense. I scribble only what I have seen.

My religion is liberty. A realization that your original mind is all you need to be free. The mind of a child, ignorance of fear. This world is a dream, so live in a dream-state as often as you can.

A scribe with many books in his satchel. Each one written with his feet. Experiences he prints in blood and dirt, dries into scars on the pages. The future reads and changes course. Only then can it really be called the future.

Photo: A journal I bought from Borders Books taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Kaimal Mark II, Cano Cafenol)

Ashram

It might as well be a temple. As many times as I've retreated to its open solitude. The spirits, the elves, the open doors I've seen in its low cut grasses. It might as well...

A girl showed me how to find four-leaf clovers. Old gods kiss my face when I was anxious about the divorce. I bartered with a priestess for the cookie. I've seen myself walking barefoot through the grass. Once there were creatures gathered in the far corner looking up. I looked up too. We were all blessed.

I am the shadow in this place. The observation of myself is true religion and my path to enlightened.

Photo: Mom's backyard, one of the most holiest places on Earth taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Jimmy, Blanko Noir)

These United States...

Myself and my fellow Americans complain too much. Liberals complain because Obama acts like a compassionate conservative. GOP complains because he is Black. Democrats complain because Obama continues W Bush's wars. Tea party complains because he's Black.

I work the weekends and.. wait, I'm employed?! Yes, I'm employed and have been all my adult life. I have loved ones not so lucky. I say luck, not because I didn't educate myself, acquired new skills, learn how to get along with people, because I did. I say luck because I'm sure other folks have and they are still jobless.

I am fat (as of this writing) not because of thyroid problems, but because I eat too damn much. There are people who don't have the same access to foods that I do and they are in the same zip code. Lucky, blessed, take your pick.

My beloved anonymous brother and sister, please take this time to celebrate the fortunes you do have. Like this internet enabled device your reading this self righteous blog post on. The Gods, Fates, Probability has been good to us. That picture is of a sandwich I bought from Starbucks. Taste good, but makes you write blog posts like this, so be careful.

Photo: Sausage, egg & cheese from Starbucks taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Helga Viking, Alfred Infrared)

the Evangelist

I heard this fire, these finger tips walking across coals. A sacred dance in Sin City. My reptilian brain was disquieted, he didn't know what to make of this language; the pain and insight of the Blues, delicious chaos of a Hendrix run. How can you put words on invisible tongues.

In 1972 the universe was created. Gods and goddesses were worshipped because they made it rain and the children grew up with a strong sense of cultural pride. In 1972, wars were fought and ended, long hair had politics woven into it. God was Black, Brown and Yellow.

On this sacred corner, wrinkled hands still remembered how to pray to ancient gods. The strings theorized people would pay to hear the gospel during their lunch hour. They was right. I saw all classes bow and toss IOUs at the prophet's feet. Their ears burned, they caught that feeling, then moved on. Prayer changes things.

Photo: Guitarist at 7th & F Sts, Wash DC taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Lucifer VI, Blanko Noir)

Taste

She didn't call. I saw a light refracting in a glass half full. I could distract myself with disappointment or burn this alcohol in a lamp and write.

My ink spilled a bit, dripping off the table, directing me to look elsewhere for inspiration. At two o'clock, a Cinderella relinquishes hard labour for a short time. Perhaps to meet a writer in his solitude.

I've seen a stone faced barista soften with easy, patient chatter. "Why do you care about my final exams." She says, espresso shots fall. I let the query linger, form its own conclusions, let the seed of curiosity grow.

Let it steam, questions without answers foam in the mind about this caring, well dress regular. Stir in a little politics and some compliments on simple braids and curls.

Can't grow attached to any potential cup of latte. The constant waiting in line or unrequited advances, enamors you to the process. To sip is not as important as that act of treasuring the taste.

Photo: To go cup taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Salvador 84, Pistil, Cherry Shine)

One Bad Apple

Where has the love gone? Alot of ya'll are new to the game, I know about that Mac SE in college back in '87, I rocked the Centris in '93 and feed my family with the graphics work. It was beautiful.

Here in 2011 I find that Apple is tracking me. Where is the love? Since at least iOS4, Steve has been collecting latitude and longitude data on every iPhone and iPad user. Data that can be accessed by anyone who can access your mobile or computer.

When I read this on Twitter and then Gizmodo, that Apple 1984 commercial came to mind. You 'member - the bleached out white dudes marching toward that huge screen with Big Brother shouting on it.

Then the riot police chase this woman with a John Henry hammer into the hall where these drones are seated. She hurls the hammer at the screen destroying it, freeing the minds of the masses. Inspiring, but that was 1984.

Here in the twenty first century the interpretation is clear. The mindless drones are the Apple faithful (me once). The riot police is Apple, Inc. and the woman with the hammer are the jail breakers. Today Apple is the State! All power to the ppl!

Photo: MacBook Pro on glass table with photos beneath taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Chunky, Cano Cafenol)

Seasons

God is round and everything created inherits that propensity. Even conflict is cyclical, gravity pulls, planets resist, the motions are orbits. Seasons are created, life and expectations of things that have come before.

My seasons resolve around my passions. The closer I get to my fiery core, the brighter my sky, greener my grass the fuller my bounty. Wildlife flourishes, I have plans for Friday night, etc. Then the season of forgetfulness comes upon me.

I start to drift further from Sol. Days grow shorter, nights colder, too cold to speak. Constellations like Aphrodite drift by without so much as a whisper from me.

But, stars do change and I remind myself of the god I once was. A beauty lost until I find it again in myself. Memory brings the sun round. Closer, I align myself with truths I produce like blossoms. Like attracts and beauty is compounded. I remember that work toward my star is near zero effort and I feel warm.

My own personal gravity serves me well.

Photo: Juggler in Wash DC in front of Gallery Place Chinatown Metro station taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Chunky, Blanko Noir)

Red Riding Hood

There was a dark wood I was trapped in awhile back. The light was blocked by people who didn't believe in ambition. They were crabs who climbed trees just to keep another crab from moving higher. They blocked out the sun, but they also formed a canopy for ambitious creatures like myself.

I met a fellow traveler from that wood the other day. She was clothed in cocoa leaves and smelled like fear. We broke bread in a place without trees and spoke of higher powers, miracles and such.

When I led her back to the road, she did not give me her eyes. Later, she stated her courage was fluttering, as if I carried a strong wind. I know it was just the city, but allowed her to draw conclusions. It was as if the spirits were telling me to remove the woods in my soul.
Photo: Crossing an intersection at twilight taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Chunky, Ina's 1935)

Spring in Bangazi

We perceive it in our minds - an idea, the fragrance of choices. Our generation is blooming, covering the sky. Our feet rooted, soaked in sweat and blood, our songs - the bark on our tree.

Winds from Gaddafi's fighter jets move our branches, but we remain resolute in this free Libyan soil. We desire Spring for our children, warm democratic rays.

Mercenaries see us as kindling, the West eye our sap, neighbors pray this regional storm won't make their forests dance. But the seasons are changing. It is our time.

Photo: Dogwood or Cherry tree taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Chunky, Blanko Noir)

All Quiet on the Western Front

There's no war here. Not overtly, no soldiers in the streets, no tanks. But Sony corp wants your browsing information if you view any sites or videos about jailbreaking PS3s. American corporations want to drive our wages down until competitive with China and India. Companies are hiring less, making more profit and paying less for healthcare, but there's no war here.

No AK-47 pointed at me in the grocery store, but I pay more for food. No watchtower, no soldier at a checkpoint, but the RealID Act could prevent me from entering a government building or an airplane. There's less and less debate every election cycle: the GOP will send six battalions overseas, but the Democrats will only send a half dozen. Republicans will gut union rights, Dems say "we" must make sacrifices and then give tax cuts to rich.

That's why I take such joy in the uprisings in North Africa and the Middle East. People want what a responsible government is suppose to deliver. And the kicker is the way they are going about it is a form of direct democracy. I hope historians are watching Al Jazeera and taking notes. Kids in the West may need them one day.

Photo: The corner taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Lucifer VI lens, Alfred Infrared film, Cadet Blue Gel flash)

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The Tweet Who Sat by the Door

They closed the door in Tunisia, Egypt and Libya - in hopes that descent could be curtailed without Facebook or Twitter. But the Internet is just a tool, not the source of descent. If the human spirit is sicken by oppression, then it will heal itself using all matter of resistance.

You see, protests are just the human collective healing itself from the disease of bad governance. Oppression is a malignancy in human culture. The antibodies are the activists, the freedom fighters, the revolutionaries (sometimes even politicians). The more they are killed, the more they are produced. It's a reaction to the infection of intolerance, poverty, brutality. Lack of freedom is cancer.

While military intervention is the chemotherapy of Failed States, but it's far better for the body politic to heal itself through peaceful resistance. Since chemo can kill as many pro-democratic actors as it does provocateurs, it's a gamble some states like Egypt aren't willing to take.

Photo: Clear 4G Hotspot taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Chunky, Blanko)

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Ghosts in the Machine

The machinery looks frightful. Blue steel gears all oiled up with corporate money. But teachers and fireman stood against the monster. The liberal media challenged its shrill narrative. Wisconsinites got dirty, pressing their bodies between the agenda and it's implementation, slowing down the oppressor's drill.

The cables are taut now. Straining under the weight of the Press. The masses, even genuine fiscal conservatives, see somethings wrong. The hard won protections of non-capitalists in a free-market are being threaten by the political machine. Squeezing people between scarcity and low wages, squishing folks under the high cost of health benefits.. Trapped - the would be victim finds the strength to face anti-labor agents like Governor Walker.

The slippery slope of capitalism claims as many souls as politicians can push. The GOP seems to have bigger hands this year. As my brothers and sisters slide into debt, think that I should really start a business. Because in capitalism, if you don't have capital, you don't have power. This is why real democracy is so important. One person, one vote.

Photo: Drill at construction site taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Chunky, Blanko Noir)


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Cream, Two sugars

Is this what they want? Caffeine and emails? A rat race or democracy? In the West, we tend to think it's the same thing. For how can you have the right to vote without the right to purchase?

In America, the tectonic shifting of rich and the government, keep middle class houses under threat. Is this what they want? In Egypt, Tunisia, etc, do they just want the right to choose which elite will rule over them? Is the experiment they seek possible? How do they build a republic without republicans becoming corrupt?

The challenge we face in the West is corporations perverting our democracy. First it was rich land owners that made the laws, now corporations want to run the society like sweat shop: minimum regulations, low wages and no unions. Hope the family in the Middle East can improve on what we call democracy.

Photo: Too expensive coffee and mobile taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Lucefer VI, Blanko Noir, RedEye Gel)

Pooper Scooper

The future is only dark for the unprepared. For those who've lose faith in their inner god. Now the dark doesn't have to be scary. In fact, once you've purged a few demons, you can see in the dark much more clearly.

Having been haunted by the demons common to man. I've learned their trick is making you forget they're visitors, not part of your essential self. Demons, like the ego, are baggage that we pick up along our material journey. While on earth, we get mud on our shoes, motes in our eyes and spinach in our teeth. That's a big deal for someone who didn't have a body to start with.

Ego isn't a bad thing, its a pet, an animal that needs taming, an ape that can smoke. If you ever think its civilized - watch out; you could get your face ripped off. We only need the ego for comfort and to talk to egocentric people. Those few of us that shed the ego before death or old age - I'll see you in the dog park.

People free of ego's domination are interesting to talk to. They seem self-contained, comfortable in their own skin and adaptable. Folk around them tend to adjust to higher frequencies. The egoless are centers of gravity, contagions, forces of nature.

Once this state is achieved, time for departure is near. You see, not only is the ego a pet, its also an anchor. The buoyancy of the little god can easily overcome earth's pull without an ego weighing it down. A low pressure system forms overhead, then a whirlwind brings death to the body. So when people say "the good die young" it's because of the weather.

The path to achieving this state of egolessness is boring and wonderful. One technique is to progressively free oneself from fear, learn life's lessons and accept that everything and everyone "out there" is really in here - we are all one. With these elements in place, buoyancy is increased and the spiritual eye opens.

There are all kinds of adventures to be had by just accepting who you are and that you define who that is. No religion required.

See you in the dog park.

Photo: Metro platform from inside subway w/ reflection from window, taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Helga Viking, Float)

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