Telemetry Soliloquy

Seek base hedonism: a maximization furthering elation. A systemic rise in pressure gauged physiologic pleasure imperturbation. For if Epicurus was to be taken, not for his values or his station, but as fact impeding preamble of moral sedition birthing attrition.

Adjunct disruption; distasteful assimilation. In place of plentiful purpose we discover meaningless saunter: recklessly mindless emptiness percolating the society.

For what is time if not adjunct restitution? And like its extant mammalian creation: numeric labor normative pecuniary compensation.

Where is the deviation?

What do you see when you look at your palms? Epidermal, no the dermal, no the subcutaneous rhythm of a system composing tendon bending bone lending dextrous skill, quite literally, at your fingertips. Or is what you see a system inverse of optometry, myopic state polarity, extended neural symmetry?

I see my palms, and they are shaking.

Where are the waterfalls when you need them? An expressionless force brimming with force rushing coarse in its course pushing source forth bearing rhetoric fluid dynamic discourse.

Rote iteration, an undiscerning miracle of Homo Sapiens. Perform functions, float inputs, weigh perceptions, output results:

Labor[] laboring = fiscal reward [$$$];

For (int i = emptiness; i < laboring.length; i++) {

float x = emotion(-width/pain,width/pleasure);

float y = metaphysical outlook(-height/misery,height/happiness);

int answer = personal desire;

if (y < f(x)) answer = imposed repetition;

Laboring[i] = new Labor(x, y, answer);

}

}

At the very least, the system can be taught. Lets not sell the whole thing too short here.

Raising eyes from procession, I break an idyllic intellectual convention.

I’m standing on a point along a parabolic curvature. I can’t help but look around at all of the data sailing past me. Particles in a medium; macroscopic ranged to sub atomic. Neither benevolent or irreverent. Just drifting into Euclidian space, eternally inward and outward. Astride my line spanning space and through time vivisecting existence, alive in it’s vibrance do I see what I see. There is an expanse framing my wake, empty in all but volume. The swath that lies before is just, simply put, non extant. There is no mass to it at all. And yet, curving forth through two halves of a hemispheric existential quandary progresses a line of meandering nature, and at no particular point upon it’s path do I reside. Headed for the mystical unknown that were all so fixated upon. A trail of particles bobbing in the swells of my presence bending space time in my parabolic progression outward.

Telemetry soliloquy: accent marks casting light shadows into dark spaces bordering flames casting sparks flung by friction between marks made in sand laying frame to stark collision in slow motion over a painfully extended duration. A vessel braiding earth bobbing in rolling swells out at sea, deep water poems gracing accent mark sharks. Distasteful: a system bred feeding bread to the hateful, glorifying uniform conformity heaping praise upon the ungrateful whilst withholding calories from the anemics misplaced; the starving intellectuals soul. And like a musical composition composed of sour notes, hate floats, viscous to the surface, and is seen last and first by all who add sound to this aural landscape of animosity.

Balance lost due to broken scales; sabotaged hub caps ripped off, and tires boosted. Steel body work on raised bricks cracked lined and stacked on asphalt poured by the hands currently clutching the pilfered remains of a vehicle no longer moving, but dead in track. An old, proud beast of a machine steadfastly pointing toward the sunset on concrete risers bearing aloft even still its proud family of owners hastily rolling the windows up and locking locks as they smile strained smiles and comment upon the terrible neighborhood they’ve found themselves in. They probably should have moved the car from their driveway into their garage.

Book pages turned to blizzard. Cascading onto the landscape as snowflakes turned one over the other and piled into drifts with worn edges smeared with the haste of progression. So much to read, so little time for ingestion. Screens turned down in dimness lest they bear world news, or color theory, utensils of writing worn down to nubs scratching out kana and kanji. Portuguese on the breeze, in the auditory dormitory bunking alongside French, English, Italian, Spanish, Latin, and Japanese. One mind: billions of minds exhaling in harmony, relenting pressure building up and removing the screeching kettle from the heat.

What type of tea would you like?

Feet shuffling irregularly across worn carpet and tile, the progress on line was quite slow. Bodies crunched up against one another between stretched lengths of dividing cords guiding them onward in single file. The people grumbled to themselves about the pace on this particular day, and silently cursed the time slipping away from them as they progressed at a crawl towards security. Fumbling through his pockets, a particular man discovered his lighter while his hand was en route to his wallet. Forgetting for a moment his boarding pass and I.D., he grasped the silver body nestled alongside them and withdrew it. The line inched forward an inch, forcing the man to reach down to his side and clutch at a large roller bag packed barely full with his free hand. Line movement coming to rest again, he brought the lighter up before his eyes, and inspected it. His cigarettes had been discarded outside. His intention had been to keep them sealed until after his flight, but the cravings overwhelmed his logical planning, and a nearly full pack of cigarettes had been deposited on a sill near the smokers station for some other individual with shaken nerves to find.

It had never occurred to him that they wouldn’t allow the lighter to pass through security with him. While envisioning potential offenders within his possessions that would be discarded at security, items such as toothpaste, shampoo, toe nail clippers, even his battery powered toothbrush had sprang readily to mind, and were left safely tucked away at home. The lighter however was his companion, and via the same logic as the hair upon his head, or the skin upon his body, it was removed from scrutiny because it was simply intrinsic. But standing here now in the queue, it registered in his mind that this flint and wick extremity could not accompany him past this cordon.

The metal under the skin was incredibly smooth, and warm from where it had been pressed against his leg. Countless hours of use and handling had rendered the frame of the lighter soft as glass to the touch, and gently dulled to the eyes. Thousands of nearly invisible scrapes and scratches criss crossed the shell causing the light meeting its surfaces to fragment every which way in reflection. The small gap between the pivoting pieces of the lighter where the lid met the body was nearly seamless now, as opening and shutting the case slowly hammered the crisp divide away. The logo across the lighters face was a flaked memory, at one point surely so bold and sleek with it’s letter of black and red, now rubbed very nearly clean under the erosion of fabric, skin, and time. In the hand, it might as well have been the handshake of a dear friend. So comforting was the feeling of the warm, soft metal.

The line wormed an inch further, and the divide of individuals between the man and the machinery of security was growing sparser and sparser by the moment.

He had spent his whole life in an impassioned race with no other contenders beyond his own shadow. Hurtling forward towards a finish line of imperceptible distance within a race in progress with ill defined regulation. The only constant he felt in this biological competition, stemming from it’s feverous onset on through to the present moment, had been the itching in his mind to move, to pursue the future that was to be his prey. To shift aside all else that may stand as obstruction to the achievement of such an end, and mercilessly run on, no matter what the weather may have been.

The queue thinned further, the press of bodies shuffling the man’s feet forward further still to stand silhouetted between the boundary of individuals scanned and yet to be scanned. Those before him were hastily shedding shoes and unbuckling belts, grumbles of distaste for long waits escalating to muttered self dialogue probing the philosophy of human dignity and self worth. Into this frenzy of metallic shedding, the man moved trancelike, depositing onto a river of rollers his sparsely loaded luggage, and into a drab grey bin plucked from a stack nearby, objects of security, wealth, and communication were placed, and set afloat alongside it. The progress forward was continuous. Hopping along upon one foot to the next, sneakers were clumsily removed, and unceremoniously shoved on top of cell phone and keys as the grey bin bobbed toward the dark maw of an X-ray machine now hastily devouring the mans luggage.

The queueing possessed the appearance of meandering towards a rectangular metal opening standing agape between the herd of individuals clutching at pants defiantly sinking due to the absence of belts, and the herds of bored men and women camped around computer screens in uniforms of muted royal blue. But upon stepping ever closer and closer, the man identified vibrant orange caution cones with spectacularly bright reflective stripes barring the gap, and directing flow instead towards a machine skulking next door that painfully reeked with it’s newness. One by one, members of the line would step into the bowels of this strange polycarbonate paneled beast, and were prompted to strike a dandy pose as rotating arms revolved about them, belting them with short range microwaves.

Finding his turn at hand, the man walked forward into the enclosure, and placed his feet upon the indicated feet decals arranged upon the floor. Raising his arms into a pose reminiscent of a jumping jack frozen in time, he watched the machinery rotate about him, and in a corner of his mind, despite the trance, he felt himself straining his brain to see if he could identify the sensation of the machine analyzing his body.

No alarms rang forth, and yet the change in energy of the blue sporting attendant leaning upon a panel nearby became obvious rather quickly. The attendant agent detached himself from repetitious observation, and hurried over to the man with a look of suspicion bordering on fear giving color to his eyes so recently dimmed with lethargy. The man was ushered forth from his plastic pen into a small cubicle adjacent. The agent stood a few steps away, and with an air of strained authority, and the voice of kindergarten instructor, he squeaked out what was surely intended to be an intimidating declaration.

“Sir, in your left hand there is some sort of metallic object. You are absolutely not allowed to bring anything metallic through security without it being analyzed to the extent of our discretion.”

He extended a small cupped piece of plastic toward the man.

“Place this metallic object you are holding into the cup.”

The man brought his clutched fist up in front of his chest, and opened his fingers. He had been clutching the lighter so firmly, his skin had become bleached of blood, which following the release of pressure quickly flowed back into place, coloring the silver with a rosy backdrop. The metal glinted dully in the fluorescent light streaming down from it’s whining source overhead. He had taken off his shoes, emptied his pockets, unloaded his luggage, and stepped through the scanning machine all whilst holding this incendiary tool.

Staring down upon his cherished belonging, he felt reality press upon him. Thousands of memories, millions of moments flowed into his mind, crossing like spirits before his mental eyes, marching without sequence or logic. He watched his fervor of impassioned racing expand in slow motion, and realized simple truths.

The future he had been stalking as his prey was in all reality a true predator stalking him instead.

Truth came to bear. And as the pressure of the truth built, another pressure began to relent.

He had spent his whole life racing toward this imperceptible goal, and yet now, he felt his feet coming to an aching halt. He always thought if he found himself standing still he would feel other racers streaming past him, shoving him aside as an obstruction in their questing to achieve their pursuits. And yet, standing so still for the first time in his memory, he could sense no brushing of air blowing past him, no movement or motion at all. The itching in his mind shuddered and withered, and the pressure to constantly move bled out.

The man raised his eyes from his lighter, and met the distrustful gaze of the agent standing opposite. A slight smile cracked the mans lips.

“I’ve realized something, I don’t need this anymore. I’ve just given up smoking.”

The man turned sideways, and walked off the race course. Reaching the dividing barrier, he hopped over the wall, and spun around to lean upon it. He found his eyes could see the racers now, streaming along, running with all of their might down the course. He observed this progression rushing along before his eyes, and for the first time in his life, he knew that he had completed the race. There was never a race to run. Relief suffused his energy. Synapse. Yellow.