Sunday, September 30, 2007

Into the soliton swing

his is a story that happened to me in the future. Not really sure when, but I guess sometime after our interplanetary ship got aligned.
I remember Charlottetown's dead quiet nights and my boyfriend burning out tagging cops. I was lying in my bed, just trying to sleep and for the second time in my life I was hearing voices. Clear, very loud ones - A force from heaven screaming in my brain: "Mal... MAL? Can you hear me?"
Very familiar though. Extremely familiar, like the voice coming from a field with all the people I've known - a bottom-up sensation of discontinuity. Scary feeling of noticing something which has always been here, left out unnoticed. Like groping your way along in pitch dark, touching things and then starting to realize you're in a sinister S.S. lab with living specimens and chesty female bodybuilders.
I desperately tried to answer them, focusing on them, on where they could come from. Obsessed by this, I even red stuffs on channeling and other Cold War style researches. It took me a long time to go back to earth after these telepathic fantasies.
Uri, my boyfriend, started to worry about me. My mood turned really bad as I was answering the voice but nobody was responding. Oh, this was a hell of a hard thinking; disseminating my thoughts in the emptiness of some kind of giant cellular automat. Without convincing result, frustrated to boredom, spunky Uri Sprung started to shake me overnight. He gave me the best magic I ever had with him. Thunder spurs possessively churning me up, that made me squeal with delight. Despite him doing a great deconditioning job, I was still despondent about my inter-dimensional-communication results.
While having these thunderous times, the neighbors were having loud recurrent arguments. He, a Korean trucker, she, was just lazy like me, hooked till the eyes to the Renaissance woman.
Wasting time on the balcony smoking and trying to remember who that voice was, I was looking at them squabbling, whining, and shouting angrily at god damned what demon.
One night he punched her so hard I didn't see her picking up. Everything went hushed and with no sign of worrying he opened his veranda to have a smoke. We both felt this insistent presence, like two little red glowing dots in the dark waiting for someone to move.
Opportunity knocks once, next thing I remember was this squelch of spunk and saliva in my gorge. Turning the dude on went pretty rewarding. He took me to his home to check his water dragon. There was an entrance so I could fit inside. It was squidgy and tightening me enough for him to work on whatever was left outside. He made my night.

Did I feel like a whore? God, not at all! Any restrictions for my propagating desires would have been a really degrading. My desires were evolving with constancy and colliding with others without changing me. It was like climbing the holy mountain in a bound. I had always been letting things be. So why would I have changed anything to that? Why would I have let myself put an end to this infinite flow of equilibrium?
Really, there was no reason to ground myself. I've always been free like the wind and so were my thinking. Uri constantly tried to make me think the contrary. Anyway, he lost all credibility with me after he had this stupid idea to invite four of his best friends as presents for my birthday. I mean, wouldn't it be already significantly controversial if it has been for his birthday?
Possession and dissemination have always been distracting men and that might be the reason why we became superior. Our radiance of information has slowly supplanted their process of mechanization and industrialization. They didn't apprehend enough the burning fire of what they called their information revolution. And yet, there I was, standing outside waiting for this Asian wizard to come back and make me forget my telepathic deprivation.
Fully open to anything, the night was warm and intoxicating, nobody seemed alive, and I was waiting. Slowly my attention was drawn back to the moans of hidden couples. They drove me inward the center of time, out of the swamp of my squelchy present. This was a conscious dream. I was in a theme park, back then when there were parks and people to fill them with; sometime before we all thought we got sick. And suddenly I heard the voice again: "Mal... MAL? Can you hear me?"

Light hung heavy in the air when I stepped in this postcard setting. There was a colorful stand with a lot of mirrors; the voice was clearly coming from there. I got closer and starred at where it was coming from. Looking in the mirror I was reminded of a time not long ago when I was caught in a bunker 500 feet under the ground.
"The only difference with Galatea and now," I said to my reflection, "is I think I don't like myself!"
"Mal?" answered the mirror.
Holly mother, I got it straight. The voice, it was me. I was talking to myself all along. But not me now, me from the past!