Defending your Life

We live in a violent land, as the guy from Visualize Milwaukee knows. Threats lurk at every corner. People steal my iPod. Shadow dictators of puppet governments move sleeper agents around the Risk board of the game of Life like pawns in a pawn shop. Videogame playing teenagers devise strategies to reverse evolutionary processes and create ninja spells. But the question is: who will save us from the graduate students?

p.s. to fiestawizard: don't get any ideas from that article, or make any sudden movements. and don't anonymously send an overly-dark-and-slightly-blurry-Xerox copy of it to any graduate-student advising faculty who you might or might not know.

Drakkhen Revisited

Ahhh, alas, my hands return to the machine that gave them power. My posts have been nothing less than non-existent as of late, and for that I have nothing to say. Oh, I guess one thing to mention is that not too many people happen upon this site regularly or make it a daily habit to check out (sans the one poor old dear reader - really, I appreciate it). I guess Pete had it right in his last posted comment - too bad he's still in his own little frying pan trying to visualize Milwaukee. I, on the other hand, will be moving there. I will be forced to visualize. In the meantime I've been listening to Fleetwood Mac's "Little Lies," featuring the synths of Christine Mcvie. It reminded me of a simple childhood play time near the pool or in the sandbox. I also listened to "Here Comes the Rain Again," and "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald," both of which conjure up cold vinyl dreams and encourage slow, brooding action.

Okay, enough of my rambling self-pity and reminding you of what a jerk I am. The more important thing is that I picked up a copy of Drakkhen, commonly referred to as "the best RPG of any decade ever, without exception: really great." Unfortunately, there's no link for that quote, so you'll just have to take my word for it. The experience of playing this game, remembered by me as, "one of those games where the mission, gameplay and general game aura are mysterious and make me nervous," was comfortably nostalgic. Although the same terms of game use were enforced, I this time was more able to enjoy the music and the voice emulations, which consist of strange, echoey, but smoothly transitioning... coos? I can't think of a good word to describe this sound, but I did listen to the same looping voice track for a good amount of time. It soothed me like cocoa butter on melted skin. Soon after this period of enjoyment, I was slaughtered by some sort of giant panther head that popped up out of some sidewalk ornament after I clumsily jogged into it. It shot red beams from which I could not escape. My hooded character, a nun I think, chopped frantically, but alone a giant panther head she could not defeat. Later I was also killed by a growling man in a red jacket. Based on my being able to last for a significant time against the panther head, I figured this red-shirted guy, probably just working in this field, would be no problem for me to hack up. Nope, he had more agression than I predicted, and he crushed me good. And then, later after that, I went into a castle where all of the doors were locked, wasn't able to leave, adn thus shut down the system. All of this took place in 20 minutes. Not bad really. The end.

Harness the Spark

It takes a comment to obtain a post. Bargains are only made according to the rules. I've been long under-posted, but have been putting some thoughts together every now and again... intermittent and usually forgotten. I have to carry a small note taker, and by that I mean a small man in my backpack to take notes for me. Luckily I have a large stock of things to post that may be able to last for a year or more.


Then the doctor looked over at me, surprised. He had a little shocking smile on his face, so coy. He jerked at the shoulders, and then removed the rail from the depression it had made on my rib cage and frontal zone. My electrodes/sound devices were removed from my head and the silence of the room now infected me, once again like unhealthy, septic sores near my underarms. I once had several abscesses in there, and feared the same thing might occur in the coming days as a result of slow, terminal, open sweat pores.

“You see Jerry, people have always lived at the frontiers of human existence. It takes far less than your capacity to realize this. Much time is spent reviewing the past. We wonder in awe at how we’ve come this far and we take our little lessons we’ve learned and seek to apply them. But, you see, we must create new paths forward, both individually and as a people. Foresight will overcome the blindness of hindsight. This particular system just happens to create a new, well-forecasted path. You’re lucky to be one of the spokes in the wheel of what I like to call, “The flesh machine.” If everything goes right, we’ll actually build a machine of fresh human bone to illustrate my prior points. It might seem strange, but don’t worry, the bones were donated to science. It reminds me, have you ever listened to that Hall and Oates album, I don’t remember the name, that shows Oates on the front with tight, pink pants, then on the back it shows him jumping up just a little bit? I’m not really sure who had that idea, but I’m sure the conversation about the pink pants and the jumping was an uncomfortable one for all parties involved. Possibly the scheme was a trick on us, the listeners. Some good songs are on that album; ones that make me motivated to do some of these things. I also like to say, “… watch out boy, she’ll chew you up!” I mean much more than I think I am aware of. That’s what Oates would say.”

Torque still had the mask on, so I couldn’t take much of that in. A bone machine sounds pretty neat though. I worked with a lady once who used bone machines at the beef crushing plant she worked at. That sucker could pulverize bone and send it out to be made into gelatin or gravy bricks. I imagined myself operating such a machine and found myself in a finely amused state, although my apprehension still let my body respond in less than savory ways. I just nodded my head and waited for the next step, if there was one. Then next step in bone crushing is always more bone crushing. Over and over again, monotony sets in regardless of our attempts to beat it back.

It may have something to do with Hall and Oates, if my memory serves me. And it would in this situation, if it weren’t for the burning hot memories of my former years. In this case, a direct memory of the club system I had developed around the sweet, white-man blues that Hall and Oates could rap out mouth front. Oates might have been black, but he didn’t sing much anyway, and Hall could occasionally belt out blackened blues. In fact, Oates was really only around for his mustache. And believe me, that style was what our club worshipped. And I don’t just mean we adored it. This club went further than that. So far, in fact, that it put Steven Broophy right into the big house. That’s not even a story for later.

Torque sure was good at conjuring up old demons and assisting in my constant nostalgic feeling for my former life. I don’t really care too much, or for that, so long as he doesn’t come around asking about the money I owe him from previous visits. Those outstanding bills were in a moldy old shoe box under my floor boards, beneath the wooden statue (hand carved). We won’t be speaking of those again, me or you.

I had to get the fuck out of here, either way. I felt the same way when I had to stay in that hotel in Detroit, only here I didn’t think I’d get hit in the back of the head with a good hard brick and then get my shirt and shoes stolen once my feet hit the street. At this point though, as the mask scenario indicated, anything was possible.

“Manipulating the body is a mighty power, Jerry, as you might have assumed. I enjoy putting the flesh in my cold, clammy hands and forming it to my liking. I enjoy the feeling of grasping the bone and displacing it to a proper position. I especially like bombarding the mind with cosmic energies and inspecting the results. It’s simply an informal study I’ve been working on over the years. The results have thus far been quite amazing. I’ll show you some charts later. Bursting gray matter, bubbling cell domes, clinched neuron tributaries. Electrical impulses seem to create great shadow bands and magnetic residual eddies, which remind me of the lollipops I once devoured as a child lounging at my father’s candy store. I played licorice ball in the back storage.”

My light, lethargic struggles were absolutely ineffective, so I once again resorted to allowing my mind to drift as the good Doctor played Jenga as if to say, “I will get to your procedure pretty soon, just as soon as I conquer this puzzle game.” The game would give him the necessary insight into how to perform my procedure properly. I knew he would soon solve it, and I knew this was a certain, undeniably benevolent way to reach my goals. So I soon found comfort in my physical predicament. Solace. Welcome to my machine, and a warm welcome it was.

“Well Jerry, shall we? I think the time has come for you to reorganize the poor information from the past in a delicate new form which, with time, will become a beacon of solitude, just as you guessed. We’ll first start by eating one of my wife’s special Rice Crispy treat bars. Some doctors say things like, “no food before the procedure due to possible vomit and things.” On the contrary, the food is needed for dynamic biological operations that must be taking place as the procedure begins.”

The bar was then handed to my mouth. My salivary glands happily responded with a hot, viscous sponge bath administered to the stale treat. Things continued to look and taste better.

High Speed Rotary Biomedical Equipment and Other Noises That Can Cause Cardiological Disruption

Refer to "A Shadow Dream Named Vorg" for Torque's first appearance. You were depressed at the time of reading that one, so don't feel like you're inadequate or whatever. Remember everyone: it's your responses that pay for me to live. Keep in mind that next time you refuse to post I may be one step closer to the grave via starvation or crushed heart.

But now here I am (I am here), getting the procedure as required by the new program, or progrum as Uncle would call it. In a moment of reassurance, I remind myself that the pamphlet and video spoke only of how this procedure is indexed: “thought pattern, uncontrolled, enthusiasm.” Also lemonade and snacks would be served afterwards.

Mr. Torque places the electrodes on my head. They played music, Iron Maiden’s “The Clairvoyant” to be exact. Fitting maybe, but it didn’t cease to remind me of the time I had awkward sexual encounters with my newest girlfriend in the mid-80s while I challenged style with my new denim dream sweater and hat. The music made me wonder if these were electrodes at all, but I wasn’t willing to question at the time. I can’t speak when I can’t hear myself speak. That’s no joke. I enjoyed the music briefly, but decided to show emotion as the Doctor stood over me with his brooding gray eyes and placed a heavy steel rail on my stomach. The cold steel was rough and taught me a hard lesson. He again motioned to the mirror, this time with a crossed-arm sign and a double hand spin. He then spoke some words with disgust and jammed some pork rinds in his mouth as far as I could tell. Doctors always practice what they preach, I realized after seeing the “pork, it’s what’s for dinner” poster on the wall. All of the wall illustrations were familiar to me now and I knew that if I ever had children, motherly love would be forced upon them daily as to reduce inner ear smelling and weeping. The ointment was used on the rail at this point and then some menthol rub was placed on my neck covered by a handkerchief. I assumed the heavy rail would cause me to breath in hard, taking in the full menthol flavor, followed by soothing music; all assistance in my eventual benevolent transformation. I still feared the shock, but not to the same extent that would cause the colon troubles or shaky fingers and shrieking. I felt my internal bowel twitch trigger the external signal.

A long time back the normal method for this type of transformation included a rod and a good hammer, and/or rigorous, life-long programming (non-digital), with synthesizers, crude spinning machines and whistle towers. Technology has replaced old fashioned joint power. Torque knew of the old ways, as his name suggests, but wasn’t afraid of instrumentation. Maybe he could set up my home computer once I obtained the required funds to buy a used one from that little Latvian man that runs the revamp shop. I’ve heard that one can make greeting cards with a type of machine that possesses such power, and newer versions allow insertion of special digital image works. The Latvian also specializes in anger and wrath at the front counter; something I would have to consider before I even think about putting up the required funds for new machines. I know I should have been more cautious the last time I decided to browse his shelves. I made the delinquent mistake of eating a whole lot of penny gumballs prior to entering, only to have him rub his forehead, sigh, turn the lights off in the store, move towards the door deliberately, lock the door, then stand really close to me while breathing around my eyebrow. He’s shaped like a carving fork: lanky from the floor to the mid-flank, with brooding shoulders and a hunched head. Tall. The metaphorical fork points on his head were used on me why? I had disobeyed the Latvian technology creed I had – no sticky candy and treats by the electronic treasures, even if you purchased them for a great price, even if you purchased them in bulk and would swallow them to feel your appetite had been momentarily satiated. In exchange for my release he made me purchase an Apple IIE with a double floppy and a printing device that would cause rabid animals to eat children faster than normal. He made a small boy in the back gift wrap it for me. While I waited he made me watch sports bloopers and laugh. I later realized the computer was very useful for typing long messages to myself only to have the computer continually explain to me that they were not proper syntax. In retrospect, it contributed to my demise and current position.

Now I opened my eyes. Ten minutes couldn’t have passed, but the situation had changed. Dr. T had a presence nearby. His had a mischievous look on his face that was all too familiar. The button near the door on the wall was pressed by and words were had with the speaking device. Torque quickly removed his finger from the button and laughed into the sterile air, at the unnecessarily bright light in the mid-ceiling. He opened the cupboard and took out his best werewolf mask. It appeared to be of high quality; maybe composed of real hair. It was of such quality, in fact, that it took much effort to put on; it fit his slightly round face so well. He slid up against the wall and waited for the door to open at which point he hopped out with arms spread in the most threatening position. The guest jumped up and screamed, I think. This was followed by intense laughter, back patting, and hair rustling. I guess there was a good time to be had. Currently my own breathing was becoming more labored. The rail was taking its toll.