We fell down on the job

She spoke to me of fallen angels

How far can you fall?

I made no audible response

What about us? she asked,

Well, we've fallen too

A sum of us were left

to clean up the mess

our minds littered with ambiguity

the dust of charcoal

We stood on the corner, empty

streets paved, broken

in every direction,

here seemed like it never was,

no signs of life, 

or death,

for that matter

A bus stopped

 

The night, a clammy thing, 

dark dew formed on chartreuse grass,

overhead, a single light, pale

a single face, blue, 

tongue, blue

lips blue, looked out 

and down upon us,

the glass, pitiless

 

No one flinched

No one bickered

No one snickered

The small cast had been primed,

the solution obvious,

the occasion, unfortunate

footings were obviously weak

entropy?

obviously

It was a kind of refusal,

a slap to the face,

this rearrangement of perspective

despite all this,

it would be fallacious to assume,

we had any clear cut answers

A roar, a belch; the smoke,

departing for places, unknown

death by diesel, death by diesel, as if that explained 

the grime of existence that clung to the back window

smeared,

in the grimy grease,

"destination, devastation"

 

 

 

A Plot Too Sparse

I'm no superhero

Don't argue; that's a good thing

The world makes many demands

I'm left feeling like I was rattled by a roller coaster

Or a bagel

Charred and burnt abandoned in the toaster

 

I navigated the pages

Badly

I recon I was distracted; lacking punctuation plot insight

For the record

I was either too early or too late

Isn't that the way it goes

In the heedless present sometimes we could use a break

 

Grammar came,

An aftermath of delights.

It was effervescent, banal, momentous, ambiguous.

Problem solved; not really, not so fast, 

There remains a serious lack of credit.

Every author's story is worth revisiting, or revising,

Or at the very least, in need of a good edit.

Mother Ma

MOTHER MA

 

'Their, there, they're', she cooed, 

'you'll be better in the morning.'

The two, too small, teeny, tiny, wee lassies

lay, laid, laying under a heap of blankets.

They, them, had been unwell for a spell.

It graved her deeply to the marrow.

 

Mother Ma, went to door,

lean, leaning, leaned neither in, nor out,

hand drawing down, to make way for sleep,

to they, them, snug,

'It's been a long, longer, longest, day sweet ones.'

'Nighty, night, sleep well.'

She looked at them lovingly,

with eyes closed, closing

they laid lying still sleepily.

Morning was a way's away.

Nothing was if not something.

She was never ever if not hopeful.

 

They were identical, the two tiny.

They looked the same as if one.

It was hard, harder, hardest to tell 

which was who, whom from which.

Tho one eye blue, as if sky,

the other, gray, grayer like cloud.

Garments were a matter of Tom Foolery.

Ever practical twas a farce to behold.

They always never wanted the same things,

like, liking what the other hadn't.

If it couldn't be, it wasn't.

Purposely they lived, living by the open sea,

close enough to it where the wave would never reach.

One tiny perfected to dress like a buoy,

oh, ha, which was fine by she, at Halloween,  

but always never in a fog moonlit while lying limp upon the swell.

She clanged, clanging her charms, sounded, echoed, echoing cross the blue and mighty.

With next rise of sun, when tide scattered,

they came to be alive. 

A livest at eight, they, them, ate,

a bowl big, bigger, biggest, round, and famished, 

left leaving none for the gull,

at most, groats hearty to fill the leg. 

Better, best as not.

 

Mother Ma said, 'let you stay home from school,'

Full, fuller, fullest of vim, they, them fought 

fighting over whose toys were whose.

It was as unlike as war, with no peace,

it wore mother warily. She desperate, desperately,

undecided, I must make a choice,

not for the better, none for the worse,

but so be it.

Salvaged, aloud quietly she whispered, her ears to listen,

I will poem them.

With hand raised, raising it pounded her ears 

like the beating heart of the surf, surfing.

 

And poem she gave...

 

They would meet over dinner 

Around the big table,

She would tell them a tale

A story, a fable

It was the tale of a monkey

Born without tail

A tale of a witch

With a hole in her pail

The tale of a knight

Afraid of the night

They'd all build a fire

And stand in its light

I'm hungry said monkey

Who pulled out some meat

If you want it to cook

You put it near heat.

I'll help said the knight

She pulled out her sword,

And we all know a knight

Is as good as her word

 

How shall we cook it?

What shall we do?

I like veggies

Let's make us a stew

They added the meat

And one big potato

A carrot or two

And several tomato

 

By the fire they stood

The pot it was hot

They threw in a vole

And a mouse that they caught

They threw in a skunk

And a bat and a rat

All we need now

Is a black and white cat

 

Out of the blue

And in front of the gloom

Another witch came

Passed by on a broom

I'm looking for Missy

Who seems to be missing

I stepped on her tail

And off she went hissing

Witch number one

Looked at witch number two

You look just like me

Or I look like you

Which witch was which

It was so hard to tell

The monkey exclaimed 

I'm under a spell

 

But the knight was no fool

She hardly felt fear

She went to the witch

And she stood very near

Please stay for dinner

You'll like it I'm sure

It'll be ready

In an hour, no more

 

Witch number two

Was extremely suspicious

This stew is the best,

It's extremely delicious

She took off her cape

Then doffed her tall hat

Have you by chance seen

A black and white cat

 

No, said the knight

Oh no, said witch one

The monkey said nothing

she only said, um.

The Recipe

From Great-Grandmother, Dublin born, Canadian grown, Prairie bound.

 

In a large bowl,

no worse for ware,

 

Take two bags of dilly dally,

Add three equal size bags of whatchamacallits,

Mix in a couple of gizmos, to your discretion,

Sift through a sieve.

 

For all that it's worth,

Stir until well folded,

Take all the time you need,

Though do it sooner than later.

 

If you can find one,

Get a hold of a thingamajig,

Look here and there,

Under this and that.

 

When you are ready,

When you get around tuit,

Place it in the oven,

In no time flat you'll be finished before you know it.

 

Add a dash of whatnot,

A little willy nilly,

And a whereabouts, (which are hard to find)

They grow neither here nor there. 

 

And if you end up in a pinch,

Between a rock and a hard place,

Sometime between now and then,

Put a cork in it.

That's all she wrote.

 

But then she added,

Written in pencil,

 

Nonetheless,

For good measure,

Sprinkle with the leaves of a shrinking violet,

Eat with sour grapes.

 

Take it with a grain of salt.

 

I wouldn't recommend saving any for you know who.

 

 

 

Virtual Me; Permalink 3

I was beginning to have the feeling I was just another amorphous character in some wise asses computer game. It happens to me every time I'm delegated to assignment. You know how it is when circumstances are dictated by happenstance and your everyday life, which is boring and pointless, suddenly is infected with crisis or a pathetic case of melodrama that requires attention in the fullness of the moment.

As I said, it happens. The feeling I'm operating within semi-lucid parameters of some AI's sadistic simulation is just plain creepy. The feeling, at first, is subtle, undetectable really, but then it builds ever so gradually which I'm sure is fed by my think patterns which are in themselves an eternal feedback loop.

Here's how it works. I notice things, common everyday things, like a door, and I have a choice, I can go through the door or, well, I don't really know if I have to do anything. Some doors are dead ends. They just fizzle out. Nothing happens, at least nothing of interest. That's generally the story of my life. But some doors propel me forward leading me to other doors which in turn lead to something else again. 

When I look at my life from front to back, and if I follow the lines, the right lines, it places me exactly here and now. It can't be coincidence can it?

The crazy thing is I think I have a choice, that I have free will.

And when I've done something good or correct I get a reward. Like a pat on the back from main office, or a pay raise, or free android sex, or better yet, an augment upgrade.

Don't fault me, I have my reasons to believe me and this whole damn flat planet may be virtual. The rules that subjugate our existence are mathematical and set in rigid patterns that reflect basic computer code. Sorry, can't help it. That's just the way it seems to me. The irony is, the human mathematicians and physicists who discovered the rules that guide our universe are part of the game. Rules are just locked doors. Eventually someone finds a key or kicks the damn door in. I'm the kicking down the door type just so you know.

And then there's the mystery of my sardonic compatriot Angel, who just can't be a normal figment, the kind that everybody has. I figure she's an avatar of some type of which I haven't figured out quite yet, meaning is she an implant or a personal interactive device. Time will tell, I hope.

So what does it mean? Damned if I know, I'm just a simple creation of some godlike entity higher up in the chain of universes. I am the proverbial character created for someone else's entertainment and amusement.

Call me an idiot but I sure as hell hope my creator is enjoying the game so far.

As far as I know this program I'm currently functioning in has not crashed. In other words, I have not had a reset and started out from the beginning again. As far as I know. My latest insight is this, would I even know it if the lead I'm following turns out to be a dead end and I'm reset back at the beginning. Does the reset happen so suddenly, swiftly, smoothly that awareness is non existent.

I'm reminded of those antiquated  theatrical compositions projected onto two dimensional surfaces created by our original biological ancestral minds. I think they called them movies. There was one called the Matrix. In the composition there was a scene with an otherworldly experience called deja vu. I get that all the time. I think, oh god, this Has happened before. I am virtual. I'm doomed to a life of illusion.

But then again if I were a simulation why would this god like being, my creator so to speak, even have an interest in my pathetic life. I mean, really, who the heck am I and why me? I'm just another self absorbed life form trying to get through another day, surviving from pay cheque to pay cheque.

My point is, what is my creator getting out of this miserable game. If the creator is entertained by my antics then maybe I should feel sorry for the bastard. And here's the thing, if I'm nothing but a character in a simulated game then this probably means you are too.

Don't take it personal. I actually figure we have a fifty fifty chance we're real, which ain't bad odds.

I keep coming up against illogical logic. Here's how I'm stuck. If I find evidence that existence is but a simulation then is that evidence just part of the simulation. So once again I can't really prove that you and I are real can I. You see my quandary.

I have to admit creating an entire world simulation such as ours is impressive. Look, we have poverty, war, inequality, religion (as a way to explain the simulation), which must be infinitely entertaining to those bastards who, if you ask me, have a nasty sense of humour. Strife, conflict, pain, death what a game plan. You gotta love it, the details that is. History, philosophy, evolution, physics, chemistry, biology, all created as methods to convince ourselves we are real and are situated on an actual timeline. Give 'em credit, who ever created us put a lot of effort in the details. I admire them for that.

Telling you all this, exposing personal limitations that I normally keep to myself, I feel like a blithering idiot. I doubt my intelligence because I'm part biological, but highly intelligent minds are artificial not biological. Every self aware individual in the universe knows that. I just get caught up in my thinking sometimes. Hey, give me a break, I'm only part human. Or maybe it's just a glitch in my LBU programming.

Even if I exist as a character in a simulation my life is not so bad. I figure I got it pretty good compared to all you other randoms.

I have a job which provides purpose and meaning although there are times, like today, I seem to have no other choice. I'm sent on assignment by the agency and I'll see it to the end. The perks are good and my physical needs are met. Sure things could be better, like I could be an Augment Level 5 with an AI Grade 3 Consciousness implant (which does not include the gift of foresight) but all things being unequal, what the heck, I am what I am until I'm not.

One final thing, don't be concerned if some viral bug crashes the program. We'll never know it. And if it does, well, that's the way it goes. It's been good to know ya. See ya around sometime. Maybe.

Flight or Fight or Both; Permalink 2

I caught a red eye out of La Guardia in one of those four seater jetcabs. You know the type, no legroom. Tokyo was the destination. I'd arrive in a few hours.

Over the Pacific the speedy little air skiff encountered an emaciated air pocket. We dropped a thousand feet in less than a second and damned if the plunge didn't disengage my AV. Angel nailed it when she said this unit was flawed.

As an original LBU (live birth unit) intentionally programmed to conform to current cultural algorithms, plus or minus three kilobolts of free will as an operating standard, this LBU- Model A has lately struggled with non-functional adaptation limits and, as it is often the case for us BI's (biological intelligence) , time's the culprit. In other words, augments or not, I'm wearing out.

The committee was quick to file a report. "An anabolism somewhere in the region of your pre-frontal cortex is restricting flow of non psychic information."

No kidding. I could of figured that one out on my own.

"I'm in a heap of trouble," I said out loud to no one in particular.

Angel laughed off my concerns, "to neutralize your current shortcomings a second jolt is recommended. Random action is required."

Angel, you're a doll.

A solution materialized in microseconds. It scrolled on internal vid in hyper speed. I'd should start a drunken brawl, but as it is I was sober as a tub of sentient silicone gel, and me, the only recognizable self aware entity crammed aboard this wingless bird I was out of luck for a bout of fisticuffs. Sure, I could slug old teapot nestled comfortably in the adjoining seat but retaliation would be negligible.

Random? Random? Think man, think.

I swung a bony fist through un-sequestered carbon saturated air and connected with a nearby fleshy object. It had a soft and forgiving texture. It hurt like hell but the black eye was worth it. It was like someone flicked a switch. AV was back on board and I was back on line.

"We've been trying to reach you", I could hear the implications behind a proposal. She added, "Your permalink?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Malware?"

"Noooo?... malfunction." I wasn't programmed to lie. I wanted to, believe me, but for this cardboard cut and paste facsimile a pause is about as close to misrepresenting truth as I'll get.

"Better come in, vacuum your protocols. Codeman will book you for a look see."

"No can do. On assignment. Tokyo. Can't go into details."

"Well, don't overheat your principles. You're not the most practical device in real world conditions."

"Everyone's on my case lately. Tell me something I don't already know."

"You're very temperamental today." The offending noise source was one of the Agencies go go know it all new hires. More AI than BI.

"Like I don't know that either."

"Just remember you're designed for natural and artificial ventilation. Singapore is under heat advisory".

"Tokyo. I'm confused. What other ventilation options are there?" I wondered if they knew something about ventilation I didn't.

"There are none." Her affect was flat. This mint julep was in dire need of a sarcasm upgrade and while they were at it an inflection enhancement wouldn't hurt.

"Listen, there's nothing I can do about it now. Descent has begun. Tokyo here I come, like it or not." I signed off.

Sucked into the Vortex

A murderer for hire

Once suggested

I read his book

The finished film

Had more violence less irony

I ate dinner from a Warhol soup can

Can someone explain

Why we're chasing pearls

She decided to answer

Its crucial

To be removed from reality

A psychiatrist offered this analysis

In a tale of philosophers

Whom will you believe

I've met a number of people

Who feel as I do

Either you get into it or you don't

It'll be increasingly clear

What you're made of