Or at least that’s what the headline will read if they ever find me.

Did you know that all of the information stored in the human brain, if compressed properly, can fit on a pocketdrive? I didn’t. With the advent of holographic memory, the amount of crap you could fit on something the size of one of those vintage iPods increased, well, I don’t think exponentially really even covers it. Suffice it to say, the things that make a person a person, when reduced to raw data, fit nicely onto 500TB holographic pocketdrive, along with all the software necessary to process all of that information and basically dump someone into a properly formatted receptacle. Now, this software was originally developed to allow soldiers to control drone planes, pilot tanks, et cetera, and made its way, inevitably, into the consumer marketplace, allowing for fully-immersive gaming in virtual gamespaces. This alone is not enough to pull someone out of their own head and reformat them as bits and bytes of datum. You’d just end up with a pile of disconnected memories on the other side. But, with just about everything we do being monitored — leaving some kind of trail, from buying groceries, goofing off online, medical records, traffic-cams, porn downloads, movie rentals, shoes purchases… the list goes on and on — the mass of data in our heads can be lumped together with everything ever recorded about us to make something more cohesive. The end result, apparently, is the ability to play drag-and-drop with someone’s brain. Right now I seem to be in the drag portion, with no idea as to who unplugged me, what state my body is in — if it is in any state at all — or what vessel I’ll be dumped into on the other side. And, really, the fact that I’m being stored with LCC software — what makes it possible for someone to control a real life avatar, or one in a virtual world without completely forgetting there is a real flesh and blood person they reside in — could be a boon or a bane, I’m not quite sure yet. In this state my awareness of time is such that half a nano-second can stretch out to feel like days, or whole days can slip by in what seems like minutes.

I can’t help but to worry that if I am stuck in here too long, I won’t be the same on the other side. I can already feel the way I process things starting to change…

(Crossposted from http://suddenviolentendings.com)

This Area by Shoes on a Wire

Outside night is doing the shift to day that we call morning. We slowly orbit into the solar bombardment that we need to thrive as living beings, and with it come a new beginning. That’s generally how we perceive things. They have a beginning and an end. Either that or it’s cyclic. It continues and repeats itself over and over. Maybe in different forms, but when it really comes down to it it’s the same. That used to be one of the differences between the East and the West. The continents, that is. What we look at as a story seems to change with time. But something that we usually need is a landmark that guides us trough it. Either one that helps us stay on the course throughout all of it, or several so that we can use these when the direction changes. Though you have to wonder, do the landmarks change the story, or do they just help us orientate? What would happen without them?

Take the cannibals inhibiting some of the shattered remains of the city this one was built on for instance. When you go down there you pass layer after layer of older cities. Like layers of sediment in the ground the city stands on. I found my way into what was once a church and there they where, sitting around small flickering screens looking at various hubs for the numerous spas and rest centers around the city. One of the elders came up to me after a while. He was wearing some type of brown leather and grinned at me with his white teeth. His beard made it hard to distinguish any facial features, but he was as pale as the rest of them. Probably a side effect of living down here, away from the sun. After talking to him for a while he told me that they where planning to attack several of the places they were looking at on their screens. Apparently the people going there “just taste better!” The fact that the people visiting these places usually just get a completely new body which they haven’t had the time to poison yet might have something to do with it. Of course they never find this out, because the defenses for most of these places are about the same as for other cities embassies. When they say attack, what they really means is ambush the people leaving it. The ones that look too natural to actually be real human beings are their targets, but sometimes the younger hunters gets someone out of the staff by mistake. Depending on which establishment they target, they either end up with a puddle of bodily fluids, or a human shock bomb which turns anyone close enough into a ball of skin filled with shattered bones and organs. This is standard for the health industry in general. In fact there are rumors circulating that none of the central spas have actually hired anyone for as long as they’ve existed. That’s probably because homemade staff is easier to control than someone with an actual personality.

But what was the point of the little musing on the base of stories in the beginning then? I suppose it all depends on which landmarks you’ve got, or which I give you while writing. Other times they’re missing, or worn and hard to interpret. But if you ask me, no matter the structure it takes, it’s not really a story until you share it.

By E.S the 3/9 2032

Blue Rain Abstract by Darren Hester

There was an idea once. No one remembers it because it has changed a whole lot since it first came to be. Not recently though. It started out as a very adaptive idea, but once it had found a good basic form it grew and grew and grew. The bigger it became the more rigid it turned. Change took a long time, if it ever happened at all. It started forming even more complex structures by integrating various other ideas. Then, somewhere along the way, it crystallized. Turned into a solid thing that you could almost hold in your hand. It was too big to actually perceive all at once of course, but that’s a problem with many things these days. A complex painting might be one; a vast nameless city might be another. This one is a religion. It’s a big one no doubt, but it used to be bigger. When it became too set in stone, it lost some of its appeal. Of course, a lot of its power comes from the fact that is seems to have all the answers. Like Nostradamus can be made to predict anything if you want him to, so can the scripture. That’s one of its strengths, but nowadays that doesn’t quite cut it.

No, today’s religions don’t even try to give people all the answers, they just give them a framework. Take the Church of the Great Spirit for instance. It started a long time ago with the tale of the earth as the ultimate creator. The great enabler of life and culture. Where it started is lost in time. Some say it came from African tribes, some the natives of Australia, and some like to think the Indian tribes that once inhibited the great forests of the American continent are its creators. One of the smaller sects that broke of from the church hold for true that the spirit posses certain people throughout time. They say that C.S. Lewis was one of them. After him it split and possessed Hunter S. Thompson and Philip K. Dick. It apparently cranked their brains into overdrive while filtrating all cultural possibilities trough their brains. This is the Cult of the Drunken Spirits ultimate goal. Their nirvana, if you so wish. But why is it called a cult then, you might wonder? Well, it simply has to do with the increased likelihood of it turning you insane. You see, when it really comes down to it the Cult of the Drunken Spirit consists mainly of verbal tradition. Hence the connection to ancient tribes and the likes. This also makes it hard for members to keep up to date with changes in the scriptures and stories. Things never really get a solid form. Their scripture is, for lack of a better word, smoke. But like I’ve mentioned, this also makes it a lot more flexible than more traditional religions.

This is just one of the reasons why the streets are full with crazy people rambling about the popular culture of the past, dressed in something vaguely describable as clothes, with colors that don’t even have names yet. And this is just a tiny speck of dust in the cultural maelstrom that this city forms. There are of course others just like it scattered across the continents of the world. Their movement making the others shift, like pearls on a string. Maybe it’s that movement that makes me type this? I guess we’ll see, won’t we?

Written by Emil Segerstav in an unspecified location, at the 12^th of August 2032.

CC BY NC ND - melolou

creature of habits
strives to climb from the furrow
disgusted by self

mind in the gutter
pissed on, disease-encrusted
looking for next score

the most beautiful
thought given stage and context
begs execution

Meanwhile, purists argue about their classification–whether these can be considered haiku-proper due to their seasonal spawning, or if what is written about, itself, must include a season term.

Unofficial symbol of le Parkour. Based on a photo of David Belle, the alleged founder.

It was a quiet night. No stars or moon reflecting of the hard concrete. There’s a little wind, but not enough to throw you of balance. You just had to keep running, dodging, jumping. A to B, B to C, and sometimes you had to backtrack which meant lost time and momentum.

Momentum, combined with reflexes, muscles, tendons and a brain working overtime to calculate velocity, angle, surface, friction, power, and hundred other things that might throw you of balance. Slipping of on a rail or a wall when you’re a few feet up might be bad, but it’s nothing compared to being much higher. You’ve got the time to think over what you did wrong on the way down. The only problem is you won’t get a retry. Not when the asphalt or some old hunk of metal pulverizes your bones into your brain. If you hesitate or do something too risky you might end up a wet stain. Fractures, torn ligaments, dislocations, and few others are always risks you expose yourself to no matter where you might be running, but they’re almost welcome compared to what might happen up here.

The city shines it light up from underneath me, a million little lights looking up towards the heavens. I’m already warmed up from the climb, but I do some stretching and bounce around a bit just to make sure.

A few deep steady breaths, hands moving back and forth as I start building speed. It’s only me and the gap to the other rooftop in my mind. It’s funny how that always seem to be the case. You focus only on avoiding what might kill you, but it takes a while before the brain starts working on a way to pass the obstacle as safely as possible. Of course you can’t do that while standing around thinking over what might go wrong, what might happen if you stumble at the wrong moment for instance. Nothing good, that’s for sure. But if you keep it up you get locked into a downward spiral, the more you think about it the more you freeze up. After a while you’re stiff as a mannequin, and you might as well call it a night.

You tense up, both in body and mind.

This was not one of those nights though. I reach the edge at full speed with the wind going past me, putting a carpet of white noise over everything. My foot hits the concrete inches from the edge. I have to push a bit to the left at the last second to avoid getting impaled by an antenna.

And then I’m in the air. Things seem to slow down, but I know it’s just the chemical payload that’s kicked in. I get a glimpse of the cars moving between the buildings as I pass the abyss.

Then the other side starts approaching, and as I pick up a bit more speed thanks to gravity I stretch out a bit in the air. The front of my feet hit the ground and I tip forwards and turn the energy downwards into energy forwards by rolling. I’ve got even more speed now than when I reach the edge on the first roof, and the following jumps are easy.

At the end I reach a lower building, only a few stories high. The balconies there make excellent platforms for making my way down towards the street. I still have to drop straight down from the last one, which pretty much kills my momentum, but it beats taking the stairs.

I breathe out in the alley for a minute, making sure everything intact. The soles of my feet protest a bit, at some point I didn’t manage to dampen the fall all that good. Have to work on that a bit before the next run.

“SHIT,  GUYS!” We shouted.
“We just want you to be good to each other.”

But, they couldn’t hear us over the gnashing of their teeth, their mouths already full of complaints.

This threatens to supplant metal detectors as the worst hobby in the world.

Evidently thousands of hobbyists worldwide have launched weather balloons designed to be neutrally buoyant in the jet stream, and are inhabiting them for hours each day (some full-time) via telepresence. By convention one balloonist only communicates with another if their balloon is within a narrow radius of the other, so it’s a high lonesome way to spend your free time. I predict tree-telepresence will be next.

_{Image CC-BY-NC-ND by satosphere}

_{Inspected by 9973 and verified false at time of posting.}

The President this morning announced a temporary ban on conjunctive surgery, saying that elective conjunction jeopardizes the very notion of “individual,” as in “individual liberties” or “individual rights.” Completes, partials and their supporters are expected to demonstrate later today.

_{Image CC-BY-NC-ND by techne}

_{Inspected by 9973 and verified false at time of posting.}

Without any fanfare that I can find, Hallmark Gold Crown Stores have added a service that scans your retina with a gigapixel scanner, then prints out a hundred postcard-sized photos from earlier in your life, as though the images were actually burned onto your retina and just waiting for magnification to reveal them. Surely this is a hoax, but can thousands of satisfied customers be wrong?

_{Image CC-BY-SA by richardmasoner}

_{Inspected by 9973 and verified false at time of posting.}

Kai sent this in from City Pages:

Natural woman seeks man with both his own original hands. No transplants, no upgrades, no plugins, no prosthetics. If you’re out there, give me a sign.

_{Image CC-BY-NC-SA by assbach}

_{Inspected by 9973 and verified false at time of posting.}