Patterns in Noise

A Series of Minor Events

2010-01-11T18:30:00.000-08:00

I remember watching a science show when I was a kid. Mr Wizard or whoever had this big clear box with the bottom covered in mouse traps. On every mouse trap sat a single ping-pong ball. He dropped a ball in through a little opening and the whole thing just went nuts. That's how my brain feels most of the time--like that big box full of crazy.

Another Destination

2009-12-04T07:08:00.000-08:00

The car slid through the glittering blackness of the city like wet ice. It passed through busy streets as if every car, construction barrier and pedestrian had been there for years. Its fantastic speed made the rest of the bustling night appear to be standing still, but at the same time its grace and nonchalance made it seem to be in no great hurry. Nothing could move in this dipping, darting fashion without some alien technological magic hiding its impetus from the registers of physical possibility.

Inside the car, I watched the city flit past as if it were merely images. I felt no movement whatsoever. This thing creeped me out bad. The fact that I never knew where it was taking me only made it worse. But considering how things usually went down once I arrived, I was better off not knowing.

Bargain Tombstones

2006-05-19T15:43:00.000-07:00

A dream:

I was riding a horse along a forested dirt path. Occasionally, I passed people selling things on the side of the road. Particularly I noticed the tombstone sellers. I stopped at one -- a very short man -- and picked up one of the tombstones. They had been laying face down, so I turned it over and saw that the engraving was only partially done. I looked at the back again for a second, and when I glanced at the front again, it was complete. It was a simple, stylized image of a flying hooded figure with a scythe chasing a ghost. It was almost cartoonish. I picked up the second tombstone and again saw an incomplete engraving. More deliberately this time, I turned the face of the stone away and back again quickly, and again the engraving was complete when it came back into my view. The scene was similar to the first.
At this point, I knew that tombstones are engraved by Death Himself. The tiny salesman told me I could have them for very cheap, since they were his last two stones, and it was getting late.

I strapped them to my back and rode off. A short while later, I looked back and saw the dark shape of Death following me. I pushed my horse into a full gallop, my goal to reach the ferry before it left. With Death slowly gaining on me, I made it to the tiny village, flew through and toward the dock. I could see that the ferry was just about to leave. But I was going to make it. As my horse ran full-speed toward the water, I realized that we weren't lined up with the dock. My horse jumped, and the people on the ferry watched us pass several yards to the right. As we began to fall toward the black water, I kicked myself up off the horse, pulled my bag off my back and tossed it away from me.

As I hit the water, I realized that I still had two tombstones strapped to my back.

The Threat of Annihilation

2006-01-31T14:35:00.000-08:00

"I'm going to beat you to death with your own asshole," he said. He spoke so quietly that I might have though he was talking to himself if he hadn't been staring me in the face. "I mean it."

He had been standing in the middle of the dark sidewalk, but I hadn't seen him until he spoke. My heart thudded as he seemed to appear directly in front of me. His clothes, skin, and hair were the faded color of nothing.

I blurted out an expletive or two in my surprised and jumped back a pace. He simply stood there with an unreadable expression, his unblinking eyes studying me. For a moment I was at a complete loss.

Since he didn't seem moved to threaten me any further, I moved to step around him. He followed me with his eyes, but remained otherwise motionless. I continued past him, failing in my attempt to act unruffled. I was afraid to look back, but I felt him watch me leave.

She Melted Into The Biomass

2006-01-20T12:30:00.000-08:00

I watched her as she crossed the street, throwing off unconscious vibes of attitude and sex. She wore black, tattered rags, artfully draped. I wasn't sure whether she had fashioned them herself from junk or paid a fortune for them to some inscrutable fashion designer. As she moved, the dark fabric offered glimpses of pale, smooth flesh.
She strode down the street confidently, almost boldly. Her intense presence made her strangely conspicous in the drifting sea of anonymous faces. Still, she seemed utterly unaware of the impact she had on nearly everyone she passed.
She stopped briefly at flashing garment display, and I caught her expression. Her brow wore a slight crease, and she bit her bit her lip. She seemed deep in thought, absorbed in the glittering showcase.

I was looking right at her. She turned her head slightly and shifted her weight. A large businessman in a long coat stumbled, looking slightly startled. Suddenly, she was looking right at me, a terrible awareness in her eyes. She glanced at the man, and my eyes followed. He had stopped. He leaned against a storefront, looking confused, and sat down hard on the sidewalk. I looked back, and she was gone. She had melted into the biomass with an ease I would have thought impossible just seconds before.
Dropping the sneaky facade, I ran to where she had just been. On the worn cement were three small drops of blood, smeared by passing feet. I heard concerned voices, and looked up. People were talking to the man sitting on the ground, asking him if he was alright. He still wore a puzzled expression, his staring eyes focused on nothing. On my way back to the transit station, an ambulance flew past, full of light and noise.

On Vulcans

2006-01-04T11:42:00.000-08:00

Decades of study have shown that testosterone can impede concentration, reduce motivation, and slow learning. Many drugs exist that can either counter some of the undesirable symptoms caused by the hormone, and others directly reduce the generation of testosterone in the body. Those commonly known as "Vulcans" however, take a different approach. The man's testes are the source of all (or nearly all) of the testosterone created in the male body. While drugs invariably have side effects, the complete removal of the testicles has been found to sharply reduce the volume of annoying hormones in the system while causing relatively few problems.
The medical world calls them Voluntary Castration Patients. The term shortened to Vol-Cas in colloquial use. The term "Vulcan" quickly replaced Vol-Cas due to the similarity in sound and the Vol-Cas Patients' tendencies to be stone-faced, humorless, emotionless, and highly intelligent -- much like the pointy-eared race of beings in the fictional Star Trek universe. Vulcans are also generally pale and thin both due to their hormone deficiencies and because they spend so much time in windowless labs, workshops, and offices. For reasons not entirely understood, Vulcans live 24 years longer on average than men who keep their testicles.
The procedure is hardly popular, but those who choose this path are almost invariably men with an insatiable desire to accomplish more and learn faster -- and who have no patience for or understanding of the more delicate emotions. These men devote their whole lives to their intellectual passions and forever abandon the unstable sex-driven emotions of the inferior majority they laughingly call "Humans."

The Alien Memory of Warmth

2005-12-12T10:16:00.000-08:00

I dreamt of the Sun again last night. The acceleration of the rockets presses me into my seat, and I can't move. The unbearable noise of liftoff is absent in my dream. As we climb above the eternal sphere of cloud, dust, exhaust, and smoke, the tiny windows of the shuttle become almost unbearably bright. Until this moment, I've only seen Sunlight as it looks filtered, diffused, and refracted through miles of filthy air. I watch a pure, warm circle crawl across my hand. The light, obstructed only by the rare upper atmosphere and a couple inches of glass, burns almost too hot on my hand. I've never felt the sun before.

We use sun lamps to keep our skin from turning pale an translucent in the darkness, and that's how I'd always assumed the Sun of ancient clear skies must have felt. Now I hate the sterile bluish light of the lamps -- the weak light that always fails to impart any meaningful warmth. My skin dutifully produces melanin and vitamin D, yet remains cold.

As we left our home forever, I stared at the intense dot diminish on the viewscreens and knew that I would never feel that warmth again. I could only watch its pale reproduction on the monitors as it faded into the starfield behind us, my face illuminated by the screens' faint glow, feeling nothing.

It's been 3 years since I've seen the Sun, and the alien memory of its warmth haunts me still. I can no longer remember what jolly insanity convinced me to spend 10 years in this windowless can. Sure, life on Earth couldn't offer much more than hunger, illness, and destitution. And maybe I'd seen more of the sun in my climb into space than most remaining inhabitants of the planet will likely see in their lifetimes. But these motivations seem insignificant in the freezing darkness of space.

My Own Personal Universe

2005-11-10T15:33:00.000-08:00

Slumped against the wall of the capsule, I wait. The air's ratio of oxygen to carbon dioxide drops with every breath. Nothing to do but wait.

The plan had seemed like a good one. Nobody would expect the utterly insane act of riding one of the shipping barges down to the planet. Stowing a pressurized capsule in one of the mining containers seemed like a perfectly reasonable solution. Sure, the acceleration would be a bit high to begin with, but I'd experienced worse -- though not for so long.

While it was extremely uncomfortable, I made it through what I thought would be the hard part. Now I just wait. The receiving yard hadn't dropped a shipment in years. They're too expensive. I'd be fine, I told myself. Then there was the collision. I felt more than heard it. A deep, short vibration and a slight lurch that knocked my weightless head against the side of the tube -- exactly the sort of thing that should never happen on an unpowered barge.

That was 2 days ago. I'm 18 hours overdue now. I have no way of knowing what happened or what's happening now. I probably only have a few hours left. I'm panting in the thick, humid air.

I try to remember the training. Every moment, every possibility is a split where every possible outcome becomes a reality. Every time someone flips a coin or decides what to have for dinner, their own personal universe splits, and every outcome is realized. It's hard to think about these things I feel doomed.

I try to focus on the future. I know at this point that in many eventualities, I will be dead soon. Presumably, there exist a large number in which I will be saved. Even after all these years, it's hard to suppress the thought that I don't want to die. But in a sense, I already have died many, many times. But the me who's sitting here in this universe hasn't experienced death and doesn't want to.

This line of thought can be calming if you're not slowly asphyxiating. Those bastards had better get here soon.

2005-11-08T13:41:00.000-08:00

"Walkway is slippery when wet or icy conditions exist."

These signs piss me off. "Floor may be slippery when wet."

Many companies are just permanantly installing these things now. They want to be covered in case someone falls and breaks their head. They can't rely on their minimum-wage janitors to swoop in with these orange signs and cones every time a drop of liquid hits their tractionless waxed floors, so they just keep them out all the time.

Car washes permanently install signs on the street warning of ice. They'd be a bizarre sight in the middle of sweltering August, but nobody even sees them anymore. They've become invisible -- just part of the noise.

These signs exist not because they help anyone, but because the first reaction of most Americans is to cast blame. These companies want to be able to say, "We told you! You should have been careful!"

Because you're going to slip anyway. How many times have you tripped over "watch your step" signs cracked your skull on "watch your head?" Most of the time, these hazards are obvious. It's raining outside, and you head into a grocery store. Should you be stunned to find that the floor is slippery? A carwash leaves a big wet slick of water trailing into the street. It's below freezing. Should you be flabbergasted that ice has formed?

What do these signs really mean when they warn you about the potential existence of ice, and the possible effect on traction?

"Ice is slick, idiot."

Watch our for yourself.

Weak in the knees

2005-10-19T12:31:00.000-07:00

I found it in the park, hidden in a bush. It looked like a hat, but it had wires in it. I picked it up and saw some little lights blinking on it. To get it out of sight, I stuffed it in my shirt and walked away quickly. I didn't really know why I wanted it, or what purpose it could have, but I decided to claim it anyway.

I had been living in the mostly-intact basement of a collapsed building for a couple of weeks. From the outside, it looks like a heap of rubble, but I know the right bit of logod plexiglass to move. A short climb brings me to a long dark hallway. This place used to be a bigshot casino. All the fancy stuff was aboveground. Down here are offices, store rooms, vaults, and yours truly. The walls are taupe.

I sleep in an old office. I dragged out the filing cabinets, shelves, and other junk furnature. Made myself a nest in the corner using stuff from the storage rooms. I kept the desk, though. Without electricity, it's completely silent down here. Total silence is a rare luxury to the homeless. It took some getting used to. The place is lit with emergency glow globes. Those things last forever.

I pulled out the strange wired hat. The lights blinked softly at me. It didn't look like a fashion thing, because most of the wires were on the inside. The bill came down over the eyes. It didn't make any sense. I put it on. Nothing at first. Then I saw something in the corner of my eye, like a fly buzzing around. When I moved my eyes to look at it, bright white text zoomed into my field of vision.

CALIBRATING

The room went dark, except for those words. I got panicky, trying to reach out, but I couldn't feel anything. I was floating in space. I felt little pinpricks on my hands and feet. The sensation spread across my whole body in a slow wave. Then there was a different sensation. A nice one, all over. Nothing I had ever felt before.

I was sitting on a soft couch in a very nice hotel room. An incredibly beautiful woman is standing in front of me with a sly smile on her face. She's looking straight into my eyes.

"Hey Chuck, good to see you."

A Sense of Humor

2005-10-14T12:22:00.000-07:00

"Don't you dare," she said.
She stopped moving and looked back at me with venom in her half-lidded eyes.
"I was kidding, c'mon."
She stared at me for a beat more, then the corners of her mouth twitched upward and she started moving again. Christ, she was lovely.

In the morning, I woke to find her watching me. Her brown eyes, the same color as her skin, held me there until she spoke.
"Get up," she said.
I watched her dress herself, admiring her grace and her flawless dark skin. She was usually gone when I woke up.
"Thanks," I said.
She shrugged.
"You're a nice guy. I thought I'd say goodbye this time."
As she reached for the door, I said, "I'll call you."
"But you tell the worst fucking jokes," she said and closed the door behind her with a click.

I sighed. Time to get going. They only sent the dark haired goddess when they had a really fucking dirty job for me. For the first time, I wondered if she knew.

Bad Morning

2005-10-14T12:01:00.000-07:00

I woke up in a ditch again today. Hundreds of miles from home. My mind was still full of odd buzzing and flashing. I don't even know what month it is.

When I checked my pockets, I found around three thousand dollars in very worn bills, a scrap of paper with the word "EXIO" scrawled on it and some blood on the corner, and a molar with some metal in it. Or maybe it was "OIX3". Whatever.

I feel like I'm supposed to do something. I don't know what it is, but I don't let that bother me. It usually comes to me sooner or later.

inferior turbinate

2005-10-11T15:04:00.000-07:00

I can't breathe. I wake up in the night, gasping for air. Every time I swallow, my ears pop. The sores in my mouth continue to worsten. I haven't eaten for 3 days due to the pain.

They said it's not usually lethal, but now all I can think about is "usually." I feel like I'm drowning. I think I may have a fever.

I suppose these experimental lab viruses are all like this in the beginning -- before they iron out most of the side effects. But it seems like a lot to go through for a nose job. I think I'd prefer the surgery.

The things I go through for a few thousand lousy bucks.

Waking in Reverse

2005-10-11T12:03:00.000-07:00

It happened again today.

I was sitting in my cubicle just like any other day when my ears started ringing. I saw spots, then my vision dimmed. Through the ringing I could hear voices -- angry voices shouting and spitting. I smelled acrid smoke and a vibration in my feet like the ground shaking.

And then it was over, and I didn't know who I was. Like waking up from a dream in reverse, it was several minutes before I remembered my name, and almost an hour before I figured out where I was. And as the mundane world returned to my mind, the angry voices faded. I had heard every one of them clearly. But the words they had spoken gradually left me, until all I could remember was that the loudest voice had been my own.

Lower Your Head

2005-04-20T06:01:00.000-07:00

I just can't get my head straight. I skipped work today. I'm not sure where I thought I was going -- maybe nowhere -- but I took off on foot. After a while I noticed that the city seemed hushed. I heard no street arguments, no car horns. I went down into the subway and while it contained the usual number of people cris-crossing on their way to the moments of their lives, each was completely silent. There was no eye contact, everyone living that moment inside their own heads. Or perhaps nowhere.

I thought I caught a glimpse of a woman on the tracks, arms outstretched to receive the coming train. But then it arrived, and I wasn't so sure. Nobody else seemed to notice.

The Unavoidable State of Wakefulness

2005-04-16T22:11:00.000-07:00

I made a friend today.

I was wandering around under the east bridge looking for a place to lie down among the dusty, genderless bodies so that I could pull the tab on my self-heating burrito without bringing too much attention to myself. I didn't stick out too badly -- I wasn't the only one in a torn and filthy three-piece suit -- but you can't go pulling out that kind of treasure in a place like that. I planned on being sneaky.

I was beginning to suspect that maybe my suit wasn't torn enough or dirty enough, and that perhaps I had already drawn too much attention to myself when I felt something warm touch me. I looked down at a small dark girl pulling at my hand.

"Um," I said.

"Come," she said quietly. "You can not stop here or they will cut your throat and take your shiny shoes."

I tried to look at my feet as she led me away. She stepped gingerly over bodies and I kept tripping over them and muttering apologies. My shoes had probably cost a shitload, but they didn't seem the least bit shiny to me. I stopped scrutinizing my shoes and thought to wonder about this girl. She wore a dark shapeless garment made of a rough fabric like those big bags that coffee shops like to hang on their walls. She looked like she was maybe from India or something. Couldn't be older than ten. Maybe twelve. I don't know kids.

Whenever I started to ask where she was taking me, she just shushed me in a motherly way and said, "Come." She took me down an alley where a Japanese restaurant's trash overflowed with fish parts and carefully slid back a piece of recycled plastic plywood to reveal a dark hole. She said "come" again and disappeared inside. I had to crawl in on my hands and knees.

The thought of this being some sort of trap was just dawning on me when a dim yellow light flickered on. She had rigged some sort of electric light inside a diffuser made of oily paper. We were in some kind of crawlspace and it was clear that this girl lived here, probably alone. Around the light was built a sort of shrine made up of pretty rocks and interesting bits of trash. Next to that was a crinkly nest made of balled up plastic bags covered with a pile of soft rugs.

"Sit," she said, "you look very tired."

She sounded Indian, but just a little.

"Why did you take me here?"

She smiled slightly. "You need someone to take care of you. You would never last out there."

"What's your name?"

"So many questions," she said. "My name is Dil. You should sleep. I will bring food."

Dil vanished through the hole and slid the board back in place. Shortly before I dozed off, I realized that I should have given her my burrito.

Well-Traveled

2005-04-15T14:39:00.000-07:00

When I signed up for this, I felt omnipotent. It's clear now that they intended for me to fail. Running over the events in my mind, I find too many coincidences. Too many close calls.

Without realizing it, I had begun to trust them. They must have known that. They let me think they needed me, and I ate it up. My mistake. I'd have done the same to them.

Unfortunately, I don't seem to have taken any critical damage. Could they have known that would happen? Probably. I wonder what I did to piss them off?

I'm going to have plenty of time to get to know this twisted steel coffin. The air, water, and nourishment systems -- all working. Everything else is toast. Even the disaster beacon is dead, and that should have been fucking indestructible.

Not even the lights work. Why couldn't they have left me some light? Did I really steal so much?

I look forward to madness.

Home Trepanation Kit

2005-04-13T07:01:00.000-07:00

This city has a ceiling of luminescent slate the color of new concrete. It seems within reach, but in fact just clears the tallest buildings. Being completely featureless, the eyes can't focus on it, but it knows we're here.

And it doesn't fucking care.

I woke staring up into this unchanging expanse, though I didn't know it. I clearly remember building a nest of trash in the corner of the third level in my favorite parking garage, and I assumed I was staring, eyes unfocused, at the close ceiling. I soon realized, however, that the characteristic parallel scrapes of truck antennas was missing. Also, no-one had attempted to park on me yet.

Waking up on top of a 12 story building with no roof access always fucks me up. The firement were nice, but a little bewildered. I managed to skulk off before anyone thought to press trespassing charges.

I've been wearing this suit for 8 days now, and I think it might be starting to show. I should probably go home and change sometime in the next few days if I still have my keys.

My drugs ran out.

2005-04-12T16:12:00.000-07:00

Time stutters and jerks. 10:32 AM lasted for about 3 hours, but I completely skipped the territory between 2:14 PM and 3:37 PM. I keep yawning even though I don't feel tired. My jaw aches and my throat feels thick I'm yawning so much. I'm going to do myself mischief if I don't stop.
I keep playing with this stupid black paper clip thing. My fingertips are sore from the raw edges. I can't stop touching things.

Am I making noise?

Can my coworkers tell? Am I emanating some sort of strange aura of chemical need? Am I obviously confused? Licking my lips too much?

You fucker.