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Raised by Wolves

Gaki: writing myself Real

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Hello?  Navi?

Fractal Fiction. (Meaning in the margins).

“Drug up, and punch the world in the face!”

The memebaby is wandering around in his predeterminedly-arbitrary fashion, as fast as his stubby little four year old legs can take him. I can't move any faster than he can; I'm so disoriented I can barely stand. Like riding out a headrush, only I'm not just trying to stay standing or stay conscious. I'm trying to stay the same person. Everything is slipping through my fingers.

“Living below the poverty line? Try Greenblackstm! The caffeinated gum that gives you the buzz you need to keep your head above water! Hidden inside one of every 10 million packs is a coupon that makes YOU a millionaire! That's better odds than any health insurance scam can give you! Need a little motivation? Chew on this! Always keep a few Greenblacks in your pocket! Sponsored by Raiser Medical.”

Emerald City. All the streetlights go green after 10 pm. Everybody's free to GO!

Leap in cognition patterns. He's jumped again. What do you think he's seeing?

Same thing you're seeing. Just, differently.

The little bugger turns a corner ahead of me; I can still hear his artificially amplified voice. Nobody really remembers their early years anyway, and for the price of a college education, maybe it's worth it to rent the kids out to a corporation for a year or two of sponsored commercial plugging. People seem to react better to targeted advertisement when it's coming from kids; at least, that's what the reports say. The tykes aren't usually in any danger; the monetary damages that come from tampering with a memebaby are worth more than a lifetime in prison, and everyone knows that. Accidents, statistically speaking, are acceptable to most people. Hell, you're more likely to lose your kid by not adjusting their carseat properly. So the statistics say.

The problem with these moments of clarity (as I laughingly call them) is this: For your ordinary soul, they're what you use to measure yourself against madness – to define who you are by taking stock of where you are and who you aren't. For me, I have to approach them differently. I'm a Wayfarer. A recurrent pattern of thought, distributed evenly across the human population. Maybe more than the human population. I am a perceived pattern, overlaid across the aggregate of recorded human knowledge. They can only identify me from the future; in the here and now, I could be anyone, if only for a day. Your neighbor, your sister, your pusher, your pimp, your television, your internet quiz.

I could be you.

So you see, the only time I'm not thinking clearly, is when I think I'm ME. But those are the only chances I have to make any kind of change. And I have to believe change is possible. If it's not, then neither am I. Then I'm only a ghost, a delusion of an E-burnout in the psych ward, a delusion that will cease to exist upon any given shoal of “clarity.”

“Diet Coca! Tastes like meth, because it's made with meth! City life can be tough, but don't let the 'burbanites outproduce you. This is your time, your now. So drink Diet Coca, for the energy that will let you become who you want to be. Drug up! And punch the world in the face!”

My head snaps back. There's something in there, something that I was intended to hear. Something clear. But it's slipping through my fingers. There aren't any cars in Emerald City tonight, and I need to take a step, before it slips, I need to make it to the next chapter, the next stage, the next...

... are those headlights?

--KB 090606
scratchpad thoughts, for later consumption

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::Munchmunch.:: Food for thought. You mention the Emerald City. And I think of my Emerald City and all of those crazy adventures on 13th St when I first started to canvass. In many ways, the pattern of thought motif and the sense of propaganda in advertising fits riiiight in to that whole subculture. Subtle like skin. I like!

I await with baited breath to see when your Chronicles put the canvassing experience under the microscope.


... which will happen shortly. Right? Riiiiiiight?

Well you tell me, think it's a part of Chronicles or something parallel, as in perhaps a collaborative project? I, for one, think it's separate. Not that it wouldn't benefit from being written in a similar format of sorts. Sure, there are some experiences that occured while living and breathing (and sleeping ;) ) the canvass world that have already landed in Chronicles, but I think the expose' itself deserves a stand alone.

This is the best thing I've read in some time. And it's not like I haven't been reading.
just wow.

Madam, you'll make me blush. ^_^

Thank you much. I am going to go back and tinker with it a bit, I'm not happy with a couple things, like the lack of scenic details, and some overusage of commas, vocabulary, etc. But the Wayfarer concept is kind of linchpin to a slightly larger idea I'm trying to bully my lazy self into actually writing. So I thought I would just throw it down on the page to see what it looked like. I'm glad you liked!

My life's been basically dull these days.

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