Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Our search exposes our deepest fears: Phenomenal Experience, pt. 3

Phenomenal Experience draft continues:

These life experiences and death experiences come; why not make serious decisions, then laugh the rest of the way down the road of one’s choosing? Nate and Abbie had doctorates at 24 and 25, respectively, but where would they be, without my inspiration?!? Adopted older brother, the black sheep necessary to sacrifice for the survival of the tribe. Martial arts, theoretical star drives, shamanism, comic books, sci-fi and affable antisocial tendencies; chatting up birds and using the rules when at all I could. America was like a rocket from Krypton for me, and ol’ Janaka became the boogie man used to keep Abbie “buttoned down,” the instinctually drama-free kid.

Abbie and I believe in each other. She observed me constructing lies to cover myself and practically joking, but as time went on I connected with what she had to say back to me. Happily, she advised the iteration of my software efforts as an application of rather simple A.I. programs coordinated to perform the gathering of the human consciousness from whence it comes.

By thirty, I’d had the shit kicked out of me, and was ready to do the Capricorn thing and bloom late. A revelation in programming set the tone for founding MJBR Inc. I kept the best stuff for us to play with. We reviewed data regarding the neural assimilation of the subconscious. We got into vigorous discussions of occasional discordant nature regarding holographic maps of the brain/thought/universe.
Nate showed me, you will never be happy until it’s your own life. Their love made sunshine and rain fall and for them, I swear I once made time stand still. We made and kept future memories. What is living forever, when living and forever surpass definition? A snapshot of brainwaves held all the charm of a quick photo booth at the fair.

Our search exposes our deepest fears for the cowards they make of our conscience and we reach out, we make contact with the version of our selves beyond where we fear we might reach termination, and trust more weight on the forward foot while achieving precarious balance in steps, clinically planned, walking the swamp. Its bottom we’ll know if there’s no other fate, and if lost we’ll be to creation, at least we will no longer be destroyed. But, as they say, if our calculations are correct...

The Pacific Ocean. Two miles above is our trajectory’s ballistic apex, shot by the choice that pulled me from home, where I’d be chatting with girls or downloading movies in my special underwear, sends me quite helplessly around the globe in hours headed towards yesterday.

I pass the time with unending images of the kindness I saw between and from Nate and Abbie, spin through pictures of how much two kids can recognize true love and hold on. I listen to songs in my head from the movies we watched together, laugh quietly to myself at the British comedies and Star Trek and Ranma ½ and Lois & Clark on in my dorm room as they’d visit, Nate digging into my books or ninja weapons and me bumming a smokie from Abbie’s roll-yer-own pouch ---a bad habit we started together. She quit and I’m quitting, I swear, and I remember her talking to me about the better feeling and the chance at longer life and her dear sweet love of irony and the little boy thought I will never see her alive again vanishes with the single tear rolling down my cheek in the shadowed night flight, as I softly hum the theme from M*A*S*H beside an empty seat next to no one in particular.

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