Life-by-Proxy (Leninade edition)

Ambition is the name of the game. Or at least it would be if it were not already named the Game of Life.

From day one, we strive to achieve our goals.
Taking our first steps, we are praised for achievement, each movement of our little baby feet boosting our skills, and making further experience all the more accessible to us as we grow and progress.

Once we have mastered the basics of this ruthless existence, we are often left wondering a great many things.
What are we doing here? How did it come to be, and perhaps, does our existence have meaning besides what we assign ourselves?
The ‘whos and whys’ of the universe come to each individual differently.
Some spend their lives wondering, some spend it discovering (and learning infinitely more questions in the process), and perhaps there are some who never pose these questions at all, content with the simple fact of existence itself.

With the great diversity present in each individuals interpretation, our existence together in one universal space, a single planet no less, is defined by competition of ideas.

Technology defines our everyday lives, and has come light years since its initial conception (say stone tools, Australopithecus Africanus, look it up).
For everything we use and everything its composed of, and the means of developing it and refining the resources needed, and harvesting the resources…. technology is present, and must have been conceived of.
This idea, and its inventor in turn become immortalized throughout time as the individual who changed the lives of many.

If life were a measurable substance, and Inventor X improved the lives of say, 1,000,000 people with Invention Z, one could perhaps say that their quality of life was improved, and therefore they had more time/energy/money to promote other areas of their lives, effectively granting them ‘more life’, as their actual effective output, and serviceable downtime can be increased due to increased efficiency.
Inventor X has literally increased the net accessibility of time for people, who, if they gain life by experience, will have greater predisposition to live fuller, richer lives.

Our society is built on many foundations including accessibility, equality and living comfortably.
Their are many inventions that promote this, and are the closest to our hearts, our iFads and electric blankets, but the very foundation of our democratic capitalism is paved with a technological wonder much simpler.
Something that without which, any country or organization would cease to exist.

People.

Without a populace that supports their actions, a government ceases to fulfill its executive function.
We, the people, pay hours of time as money, to tell a bunch of guys to organize our shit for us, and fairly count our numbers for us.
If they are failing to do that, its time to start considering some new ideas.
Without our support, the cogs in this grinding calculator machine of our own design, the purpose of a governing body becomes obsolete.
It exists to regulate us, in order to ensure its own necessity, and therefore usefulness.
We agrees collectively, at least by majority that a little regulation was probably for the best, although most modern governments appear extremely inefficient and often teeming with corruption.

Assuming we aren’t scrapping governments in favor of some kind of socialist anarchy, we still have the situation of being a part of this machine.
It has both pros and cons.
Each cog constantly running when the machine commands it, but also remains oiled and fulfilling a functional purpose all at once.
With no end pins preventing escape, it is possible for nearly any cog to simply work its way out from the machine over time, and eventually spin away to freedom/self-sufficiency.

To prevent this, they have designed ‘Human Technology’.

The basis of engineering, design and technology in general, is to create a device/product that fulfills a single purpose. To perform a function needed to complete an action.
The thing that can do that action the best (most efficiently) is the technological achievement.
The other, sub-par inventions become metadata.
Simply a reserve of idea components perhaps useful upon revision for later projects.

Turn on your television and watch some advertisements.
Soap. Insurance. Automobiles. Alcoholic beverages.

These are what i like to call ‘No-fail’ items.
They are always needed by consumers, and are the best way we have found of achieving the tasks at hand (Cleaning, repatriation, transport and inebriation)
Advertising for them is very low risk, and serves as a constant reminder of the competitive nature of ideas in human society.

But what of us, the people?
We are working 9-5, fulfilling a function for a company that fulfills a function for an industry, which fulfills a….you get the idea.
You get hired because you, Sally Strongbow and Jimmy Jonestown, are simply the best fit for the job.
Sure, maybe your better than the 200 other people who applied, maybe your winning attitude makes you more competent, or a better salesman, or a smarter physicist.
So they gave you the job.
You are now selected for the job.
Lets say you studied to enter this profession, or received training for performing the necessary functions within the job’s requirements, which is the case realistically 100% of the time right?

You are now a tool. You have been designed by set programming in the form of training to most effectively fulfill the task you have been assigned to complete.
You will be awarded psychological conditioning to boost performance in your role.
Compliance to our ethos will be rewarded with financial support.
Failure to comply will be met with penalization, and termination.
Finances can be used to trade goods and services that we have pre-approved for your consumption.
Many things are produced en-mass around the globe to ensure you will always have a safety net of  ‘care’ and ‘provision’.

Now, i know you’re nearly out of time, some of you ever walking for the door, but just let me tell you about the kind of work you’re going to be doing here for us here on Earth.

Well, many of you guys will be facilitating petty transactions as you have in the past, and a bunch of you lot will be working together to stop the rest of you killing eachother.
But the majority of you will be doing our dirty work.
We are here to count your numbers, and organize your shit into spreadsheets.

We run on your labour, so you’ll be digging our minerals, felling our lumber and fighting our battles for us when we have a tif with one of our boyfriends across the sea.
We only refer to it as ‘ours’ because we administrate the land it came from, we swear.
The battles belong to all of us, but we are gonna train a bunch of you to back up our opinions with your lives, fight em to death y’know, its more efficient that way.
All that work is tough, but nowhere near as tough as trying to make decisions that will affect you all.

Some of you may die, but that is simply a risk i am willing to take.
I mean, at the rate you guys are springing out of the ground, why worry about a few lost locusts right?
Plenty more brass for new cogs.

We all know how it goes.
With time’s progression, new technologies unlock others, cascading waves of discovery occur, and the face of society is overhauled for a new age of prosperity and comparative decadence.
Old technology is antiquated, and disappears, replaced by more functional units and concepts.

The machine is still running on cogs and clockwork.
Powered by smoke and fuel, it powers into a future of green rolling hills and renewable energy.

When will the day come when, just like we did the steam engine, we put this old banger of a Machine to rest, and find a better way to harness the collective energy of this mass of conditioned cogs we call Humanity?

Tomorrow, certainly.

Advertisements

^*Agakitsune*^ ~revised

You tumble backward as a shockwave of force bellows out from the cavernous pit descending before you.
Crashing to the dust below, a mighty rumbling can be felt coming from beneath the ground, accompanied by the growing sound of a kind of whooshing, air moving from one place to another.
Shaken about and head spinning, you raise your brow toward the hole just in time to receive an eyeful of dust as the howling current torrents upwards, blasting the area clean and bare.
Trying not to feel discouraged, you scramble to your feet.

As suddenly as it had begun, the howling ceases and calm is restored almost instantly.
Confused and intrigued, you edge towards the pit to get a closer look.
Heel to toe, you edge slowly across the bare earth until within reach of the rim, you peer over cautiously before dropping to your belly and crawling headfirst to the edge.

Blackness. The dirt walls visible for a few meters before impenetrable dark.
You toss in a small stone to see it vanish without consequence, not even a sound.
A small scuffling can be heard behind you, and you calmly turn over your left shoulder.

Standing before you is a red fox, seemingly young and healthy, wandering alone through the wasteland surrounds.
After scratching at the ground with its paw, it holds it elevated mid-scratch before slowly turning its head to meet your gaze.
Its eyes glimmer a sullen gold as it twitches its ears in curiosity.

You carefully roll onto your back, and slowly sit up without breaking eye contact.
The fox watches on, unmoved.
You place your hand out in front of you, in your mind telling the fox that you are no threat.
The fox slowly walks towards you without hesitation, places its paw on your outstretched hand and sits on its hind legs, all the while never breaking eye contact with you.

You lay your hand on the ground beneath the paw, and sit.
The fox says nothing, as it cannot speak the language of man, though its eyes are a gilded hallway, a grandly lit gallery of ethereal knowledge and experience unattainable through the words of the tongue.
It pours wisdom into you, and you invest deeply in understanding what it has to teach.
Time passes.
The sun rises and sets upon you, sated in sedation at the hands of a lone canid and the knowledge it bestows.

After many moons have waxed and waned, the fox raises its paw and looks toward the sky.
The world begins to return to you, the smell of the air, the feel of the sandy dirt around you and the weight of mortality all creep back into your conscious mind, as if your brain has just received a to-do list and is trying to complete everything at once.

Dazed and confused, you look up to see the fox slowly walking away into the wastes.
“Wait!” you yell hoarsely. *cough-cough* “What am i supposed to do with this? How do i use this knowledge, what does it all mean?”
The fox pauses before bounding back over to you.
It slowly approaches your face before licking you on the nose.
It sneezes twice before once more turning around and ambling off into the distance.

As the red fox fades out of sight, you wonder to yourself what it all meant.
So much time elapsed in the eyes of a wanderer, unparalleled experience that cannot be comprehended by the sane or sound.
Journeying through universes with alternate laws and incalculable differences to one another.
Where our minutes could become years, and matter could be created from nothing as if it were the apparition of some wizard or warlock.

Swimming in an ocean of possibility, your mind commands you to do only one thing.
Your body lurches suddenly and throw yourself into the pit.
Plummeting relentlessly, time once again dilates to nothing before finally you stop falling.
Instantly and without sensation, you are surrounded by pure blackness.

Time stops moving, or at least it appears to.
You feel no more hungry or thirsty than earlier that day, and after some time your mind begins to rest, freeing itself of the curiosity and fear that had previously prompted so many unanswerable questions.
Floating aimlessly within an insurmountable black abyss, you wait.
Time passes.
—– — —– — — —-  — — — — — —

Within the blink of an eye, all that was black changes to bright blue.
You close your eyes to hide from the new brightness, which after a few seconds seems to be more than just a universe of blue to replace the old black nothingness.
There is dirt around you, and you are very close to it. Low even, as if laying face down.
There is a bright light above, and you feel itchy all over.
You start to move, walking on all fours like a lizard, you scurry impatiently across what appears to be nothing more than an open expanse of dirt and dust.
In the distance you notice a small shadow on the horizon, and with your rapidly improving motor skills, you bumble towards it to get a better look.
The blurred figure slowly develops into view and you begin to make out the visage of a lone human sitting in the dirt.

You sit and watch from afar for a while.
Once the sun sets, you stand and begin walking towards the human, who upon realizing you are there, vanishes into thin air, leaving a trail of grey dust whirling into the wind.
Everything slowly fades to black.

You reawaken atop a pile of lush green grass.
A babbling brook can be heard nearby, and the smell of sweet pine needles fills your sinus as fresh air wafts through a nearby stand of conifer trees.
The hole is gone, replaced by a small black box, made of metal with the characters “01” stamped on it in white.
It has no latches or panels, and is bolted to the concrete slab below it.

Confounded but at ease, you lay back into the grass and close your eyes, a gentle breeze blankets over your thick red coat and caresses your cheek.
A small orange butterfly flutters above you before landing delicately on your nose.
As you drift into slumber, twitching your ears playfully, you suddenly hear an ominous howling noise emanating from deep within the forest.
You fall asleep.

Hills & Valleys

There is a golden crown laying in the dust at your feet.
You look up to see a dozen or so star-stunned townsfolk, all gaping helplessly at the ground below you.
Amongst the smoke and din of the dimly-lit longhouse the air hangs still.
Everyone is holding their breath.
Without a second more, you reach down and snatch the crown up from the dust, and not chancing a further look spin on your heel for a speedy escape.
By your very first move the longhouse was reanimated, instantly teeming with moving bodies and scuffling peons all vying for a slice of instant fortune.

You jump through the open window and still, without turning, bolt down the grassy hillside and into the gully below.
Surely they are still chasing you.
With a clash of pebbles you vault the creek and land on the embankment, high and dry.
Within seconds this sound repeats itself as your pursuers ford the water , hot on your tail.

‘This cant go on much longer’ you think, struggling to climb the steep gully wall.
Desperation clears your mind and sight.
With no way out, and nowhere to run you turn to face the others.
They are nowhere to be seen.
None of them.
Baffled, you retrace your steps through the creek only to find stones undisturbed, and the waving grasses of the hill trackless, as if never crossed.

You peer through the open window.
Empty.
Not a soul in sight, the place is bare, stripped of its pots and pans. Even the fireplace sits cold and ash-less, as if it’d not felt the warm touch of the coals in many moons.

You climb through the window and stand around, confused and paranoid that perhaps this is some hoax, that any second they will pounce upon you, making escape impossible.
But nothing happens.

After composing yourself, you walk outside and stand in the courtyard.
Suddenly a noise shrieks from the woods behind you and you spin to face this new threat, tumbling on a loose stone to pound your head into the earth.
Everything goes black.

As light enters through your eyelids you realise you have regained consciousness, and peel open your eyes to reveal dull blurriness.
Your vision sways and stutters as if a poor connection is causing static, but eventually compiles itself into a picture.
To your surprise and disembodiment, you find yourself in an unrecognizable location.

Large stone pillars surround you, gathered and grouped in intricate formations amongst a sea of deep red sand, stretching over a vast open plain.
There are no trees or green, and the air is acridly dry and warm.
A lone figure ambles out from behind the stones.
He is dressed unusually, draped in black clothes of various darkness’ and design. Layers of shuffling darkness turn slowly, and begin towards you.

He stops a few feet from you and sniffs before clearing his throat.
“Do you know who i am?” he questioned sternly.
No
“Do you know where you are?”
No i don’t” you reply hastily.
“Good…” He mumbles slowly, “For you see child, this place is like no other place”
“I don’t care about this place, or ‘not-place‘” you retort.
I need to figure out how to get back…you! Strange man, how do i leave this place?
“Where is this ‘back’ you refer to, what is it made from? he queries curiously.
Why are you here!?” you scream, tears welling in the corners of your eyes.
He chortles and snorts. “For the very same reason as you are, my dear child”

With this he leans around your shoulder and begins to guide you slowly towards the nearest standing stone just a few feet away.

As you reach the stone, the man lays his hand on the pillar and wipes away a layer of dust and sand to reveal a small bronze plaque no bigger than a matchbox.
“They all have them” he affirms.
“Everyday i awake to more of them, standing around waiting to be read. They appear from nothing as if by a wizard’s spell or other sorcery, and once they are read, i wake the next day to find them vanished, and others standing in their stead”
How long have you been here?” you stare openly at the man’s ragged clothes and dirty locks.
“The pillars are quite long, yes, but they come in all sizes, the plaque seems to be the key..” the man replies apprehensively.
No, you misunderstand me. How many days have you been in this sand? Enough time out here’d drive anyone mad!

He stares blankly at you, then glances at the sun directly above.
He stares blankly again before slowly turning and wandering away towards a different stone.

You slump into the sand.
All around you is quiet, only the gentle breeze can be heard twisting through the stones.
With little other options, you decide to read the freshly-cleaned plaque;
.
.
.
.
Terrence Fletcher. Born 23/7/39. Died 4/8/17.
.
.
.
.