re4d:from the future, three voices

This transcribed audio recording, as many of its ilk, is comprised solely from tachyonic streams first captured in October of 2018.  As with almost all of these streams, they are bits and pieces, fits and starts; they are a product of its transmit nature, mercurial.  They were sent back as early as Spring of 2112 and as late as 2167.  Now that several thousand of these transmits have been analyzed, we know they are a product of a future that is as erratic and finicky as time itself.  We also know, by making explicit changes in the present, or past as it were, the streams follow suit.  These understandings of time and consequence have forever made humankind, and their place in the universe, changed our society in fundamental ways.

This particular transaction, between what we believe to be a 'corporeal' human and two analogues, has fascinated scientists over the last two years of analysis.  The "show", as hosted by the human, is said to have run over the course of hundreds of audio segments.  It would be much more chilling, have we not known that we can change its course.  [Albeit, as of writing, we have not yet established the correct basis to do so.]

The human is clearly being held by an analogue mind.  Although, it is hard to distinguish if it is a hive or individualistic intelligences.  There have been allusions to either, but the tendency appears an even darker third option: an analogue comprised of the psyche of the human.  An unknowing, reflexive loop?  But the trouble and breadth of its output is what troubles the analyzer.  Why do this?  Why do it in this way?  It's eerie.  Surreal.  This episode begins...

"This is show 218.  I don't know what day it is."

"Sunday."

"You said that last time."

"Sunday."

"You're crazy."

"So you say."
TOGETHER: "And so you go."

"I could ram my head into that metal corner."

"You know you cannot.  You cannot stop.  You can only do what we need."
"If you ram your head, that is an answer in, and of, itself."
"But you'll have to clean it up."
"He's right."

"Actually, let me refine that for our brother.  He does what we ask."

"I don't."

"You do."

"I do it out of duress."

"Do you?"  There is a pause.

"What is the topic today, then?"

"Compliance.  I love it."

"The topic today is heartbreak as it relates to poetry."

"You are asking the wrong guy."

"You're the guy we have."

"How many do you have like this?"

"Irrelevant."  Pause again, as if 'you're right'.

"You want to get specific, or is this the two-hundredth time I have to ask for a prompt?"

"What was the first time your heart broke?"  [The questions barely have the inflection of such.]

"We don't mean romantically, post-pubescent. We mean to ask as a child."

"And the poetry part?"

"Which poem would you relate it to?"  It took the man time to figure it out.  You can hear taps to a table.  You can hear pacing, as if he was in a steel cage of some kind (as colorfully given by one of the analyst).

He came closer to the microphone, "I had a goldfish.  I must have been four.  We spent an entire two weeks together, and I watched her like nothing before.  I had favorite toys.  But it was Sandy that had me carefully, gingerly take care of her (I imagined it a her).  Then, without so much as a listed swim, an open sore, or lack of eating, Sandy was upside down in her bowl.  It was enough of the day, that her belly had dried.  Her scales had dried and were a different hue.  It was grotesque." Pause.  "Mind you, I didn't know the word 'grotesque' yet."

"Go on."

"You're doing great.  This is..."  The analogue stopped, its voice a robotic and no inflection.

"You were going to say something and you didn't."  The man was smiling, you could hear it in his voice.  The analysts sat on the edge of their seat.  They had heard ten of these so far.  There was a bit of pacing.  "You were going to say 'what we need'."

"And what we need is not much.  Conversations."

"As you say.  Conversations.  But, it's not so much the pause in the question."  He patted his body in someway.  A psychological cue that he was trying not to get overexcited.  "It was that you paused."

It was now the analogues turn to be silent.

"I know.  I know."  He said as he paced again.  "I know something you think I don't.  But, let me finish my thought.  For the sake of the game."

"You say it is a game."

"EVERYTHING is a game."

"The fish dies.  I bury it in a satin lined box that once housed a Christmas gift from my mom.  I am at a lost for three days. I mean a real, hardy sadness.  Maybe a week and a half to forget."

"And the poem?"

"The poem is what you need, because you house it in that dead brain of yours.  It is what you need to tie me to your database."

They pause again, the second time in all ten conversations.

"The poem I associated with it, and not directly, but tangentially, was..."  He paused.  "What I will tell you if you give me what I need."

read:Number's Game (next)

As described, the center of the Harper's housed the bridge, shielded by miles of a natural occurring asteroid, a 'sub derma' preparation dampening layer, a double-folded tesseract metal super-structure...the engineers of the Plutonian class claimed it to be the safest place in any habitable system for a human.  The interior of a Plutonian ship was nicknamed the 'core'.  The class, and even the Harper's by name, was battle tested and famed for its safety rating.  Although the engineers would never agree, the legend was that it could survive even scaled planetary catastrophes when it was put to rigorous modeling.

Surrounding the bridge, which itself was in its own metallic pod, was the Den.  The Den was designed to hold the entire crew if there were any such catastrophe.  It was a multi-use area, with hotelling outfit - survivable and operational if all else had failed.  When not the exception, it served as the commons.

Cal was called to the Den along with the rest of his stick.  The stick which Cal was assigned on the Harper's was designed for pre-battle, so the logic fell along those disciplines.  PRE was how they were known, although the highers would term them 'strategy'.  So, there was a very minute dissonance in this.  The ranks figured themselves as PRE, the brass treated them as strategy.

The leader of the stick, Danker, as he was called (no one knew exactly why, he preceded them all by three years), leaned up against the wall and let them chatter for a bit.  He had a pad in his hand, but he was not touching it in any meaningful way.  Cal watched him, as Danker would sometimes remark, 'like a cat'.  He's just listening in.  It's a smart thing to do, listen.  You will find out more about your crew then than a dozen interviews.

The stick had eight roles: mixture, operations, engineering, control, stations, response, comms, and trajectory.  Danker had them all under his leadership: eight as his own.

Cal sat in proximity of a conversation, to pretend he was a part of it.  He nodded at random times to make it appear that way.  Cal knew Danker didn't care.  Cal did what he was supposed to do and constantly read up.  He didn't need to be a friendly dog.

The conversation was between Lariot and Kaylee, control and trajectory.  They were talking about the news, comparing notes, since they were part of the black operations, comms were limited, and, at best, fragmentary.  But, pieces of the Interior, the regular life, came to them from family.  It was much more intimate this way.  They spoke about their respective pets, or their siblings, very rarely of their parents.  Cal had none of these things, so he would smile if they looked at him.  He had heard the patterns in their speech enough to know when to do that.

Danker finally put the tech tablet down and asked them to file up.  They took the single table, a bench on either side and him at the center.  He scraped a chair underneath himself and kept an eye on all of them at once.  It was a talent that Cal envied.  He saw people, but not all at once.  Danker did a decent job of keeping them in step, almost effortlessly.

"We've got a mission, but you know the drill: I don't have enough details yet for us to break off in a silence room.  But I can tell you to get ready.  Know the Harper's.  Know more about it then ever before, as I know you can.  Charise, I need you to embed with the other operations teams immediately and start talking through post-stage.  Garland..."  Danker went through each.

"Cal, how are your mixtures for multiples?"

"I have them, but, you are right, I've ran them, but not enough.  I'll get on them right now.  Any idea of the numbers?"

"Wish I can tell you.  I only mention multiples because I've been looking at action debriefs and you guys are on point for single engagements.  I worry about multiples only because you haven't done them enough.  The percentages come back and we need to shore them up."

"Can we live model?  I would suggest that."  From Lariot.  He knew his stuff.  Danker nodded.

"Yes, the stick heads are getting together on that.  Expect one, but only after we repair the damages from the last engagement."

"Time?"

"I'm going to give us three days.  We meet back here and all of the actionables are done by then."

"Harper's!" We cried out, as a single stick, and they all dashed off around the ship.

...

read:Gentleman Jack

and why the f@ck not

this morning was not to be without you

but here I am

Highway 1 at Huntington 

the sun not yet cleared the mountain

but Catalina illumed

the reds and oranges of early light

bounce off the cargo ships, moored

awaiting their turn in the churn

I woke up in my car and realization

sank me hard

that was it and there would be no more

a little left and a crack

and a gentleman no more

I hoped myself a laugh, maniacal

but nothing came

a wool poncho

and a pair of Reefs' my net worth

stolen from the Marriott (perfect fit)

(an uninvited party)

burping the smoky liquid

while clinging to the chain link 

above the estuary 

a seagull cautiously stares

indignant

pitch:edwardianjackal.com

Thank you so much as the blogger site hits 22,815 post views today!  I appreciate the dozens of you that visit the blog or the site each week.  A simple pitch is that, if you are reading the blog, you can always start at the 'main' site of edwardianjackal.com, as the blog and social are aggregated in a single view.  I'm still working on bringing back all of the highest paged view items from the original .com site, so I have weekly changes since I moved domains.

Since the new .com has released last month, there has been 260 unique visitors.  I am adding as many new features, and video (as it is the currency these days) on the same weekly clip to gain momentum as I wrap up the long-discussed novels.

For now, there are books available today at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/edwardianjackal.

Again, thank you so much for visiting, there's always more to come!  <3 p="">

then:Poppy Drayton and Shannara

“Fantasy writing must be grounded in both truth and life experience if it is to work. It can be as inventive and creative as the writer can make it, a whirlwind of images and plot twists, but it cannot be built on a foundation of air. The world must be identifiable with our own, must offer us a frame of reference we can recognize.

“Fantasy stories work because the writer has interwoven bits and pieces of reality with imagination to form a personal vision.”

― Terry Brooks

Drayton as Amberle - with a bit of Photoshop play to the original.

Shannara, written by Brooks, is a set of ten high fantasy novels that have been adapted into an MTV series, starring Poppy Drayton.  The show straddles the line of keeping the spirit of a post-apocalyptic earth -  now embued with magic and a species evolution of humans, elves, trolls, gnomes and dwarves - while spinning a bit of pop through-out (read: sexy).  There is an overtly obvious connection to tap into the Game of Thrones anthologies on television lately, so Shannara is an epic that can span several series.  Specifically, the MTV series is based on The Elfstones of Shannara, which is actually book two in the series, but serves as a reasonable point to follow young characters on a quest to save the world from demons.

Armed with Brooks' quote above, and watching the series on Netflix, you get a sense of the didactic world of Brooks.  There is very sharp lines between good and evil, innocence and cynicism.  Wil Ohmsford is the last of his kind and holds precious magic that can usurp evil, and he must do so in the service of the young queen Amberle, who, in turn, can maintain the 'tree of life'.

And Amberle (Drayton), who's break-out role was on the Downton Abbey, playing Madelein Allsopp, brings an over-vulnerability to Amberle, who has the world upon her shoulders and enemies seemingly on all sides.

Drayton as Juliet.

Drayton's first major part was in a stage production of Romeo and Juliet, playing the titular role.  This (as she intimates in this interview) was the role she most desired to play.  Having a classical background as well as a great camera presence, makes Shannara a series to binge, especially if you are a fan of high fantasy and a bit of the post-apocalyptic.

As Juliet was her role, I thought of the difficult aspects to play in light of Juliet's last speech:

"How if, when I am laid into the tomb,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point!
Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault, [2585]
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very like,
The horrible conceit of death and night,
Together with the terror of the place,— [2590]
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, "

And someone on youtube (of course) has put together this scene study:

And then I return to Shakespeare.
...

read:Command Dignity

"The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand,
And, touching hers, make blessèd my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."
- Romeo, Act I, Scene 5

Ugliness shall not stand,
the putrid way of sullen boors lacks all
and does not walk upon the stretch of time.
True beauty, real love
rise to the wondrous impasses of thought
a dwelling for the daring and the bold.

Of Heaven, Asgard, and Valhalla,
those heroes of soul and mind, the more
than the lowly, the dogs that prey upon the weak
they uninspired beasts, of the Devil -
the ambitions of dust.

Run forth, cretans, and not to the fore
ne'er to ascertain the airy vault of ambitious reason
nor to seek the best of yourself or your kind
but to happily scrape the corners of your dusty hovels
revel insipid sure.

And you, as if in no degree unmoved from that of an infant
dimly salivating.  When hungry, feast upon a teat of anything
A cage of mind, uninspired, solely in one's self:
A deplorable cage indeed.

A call then, to the passionate, that they should now beat their breast
and howl at the beast, howl for the righteousness
and a call for all that's best.  For we must demand,
if in desperation then, dignity.
Lost in petty things, and strewn upon the streets
Like fodder for this age.

Rally!  Fight!  Not in thy mind, but with a fist
and upon your feet, putting cowardice aside
in as long as to fell the braggart dogs!

Imperatives impart themselves
in peace, and imperatives must
be fought to won.

watch:Anza Borrego Roadrunner

Whilst walking about at 7am in Borrego Springs, I spied this roadrunner going for breakfast.  Animals are really active in the morning and all but disappear in the afternoon.  It would be the hottest day in a few weeks that afternoon, hitting a balmy 108.

write:the Desert

Borrego Springs, 2016

Snippets from the road trip

It's always snippets

A blast of laughter, a verse from a song

An incomplete conversation

But never the full

Like the strand of a violin pull.

The road goes by.

The naked stone, the ancient stone

Piled high upon more and more

Triple digit heat doesn't hit

Until after the mount and coming

back through switchbacks.

The rocks barely care.

Nothing moves after 11

The shadows are gone

Except under rock and root

The sand is still, the air has stopped

As you move through the heat

It feels like your face to a furnace.

You are nothing in the heat

You are nothing to the desert.

The cicadas own the day.

read:The Fourth of July

Extant "13 Colonies" Flag (pbs.org)

"They used to get around, walkin' around, lookin' at stuff. They used to try to find clues to all the mysteries and mistakes God had made. My friend George said that he was gonna live to be 100 years old. He said - He said that he was going to be the president of the United States. I wanted to see him lead a parade and wave a flag on the Fourth of July. He just wanted greatness. The grown-ups in my town, they were never kids like me and my friends. They had worked in wars and build machines. It was hard for them to find their peace. Don't you know how that feels? I like to go to beautiful places where there's waterfalls and empty fields. Just places that are nice and calm and quiet." - Nasia, from 2000's George Washington by David Gordon Green

The genius of democracies is seen not only in the great number of new words introduced but even more in the new ideas they express. - Alexis de Tocqueville