"Real Therapy" - A Short Story

I wrote this story at least 2 years ago, and just looked at it a few days ago. Made a few minor changes here and there. Although it may not be ready for publication, I hope to get a few readers and hopefully suggestions and/or comments.

So, I'd like to present to you

Real Therapy

Find your way home

Through this vast empty space

Though you feel no longer

Reach...for that long ago place

“Stan! Stan!” Brandon’s words reverberated in my ears, his hand fixed firmly on my shoulder. “Hey, man, are you paying attention?”

As I tried to break through the murky waters of my mind, I finally uttered, “Uhm ... yeah, of course I am. Listen, Brandon, I’m not feeling well. I think I’m going to call it a day, OK?”

“Sure, I guess.” Brandon shrugged and fiddled with the remote thermal-actuator. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “I’m just a little anxious because of the grant renewal meeting. It’ll pass.”

It’s not everyday that a couple of grad students are required to submit data and give a presentation to NASA administration, who will then decide whether or not to grant further funding. It wouldn’t be so stressful, but the majority of the departments funding for this research as well as many others would depend on this renewal.

Somberly, I gathered my papers and stuffed them into my bacsac. I walked over to the exit and placed my right index finger on the optical reader and spoke my full name, and out the door I hastened.

As I rushed through the mob of students, scurrying this way and that, I felt a feeling that I had experienced so long ago creep its’ ugly form into my head. A sensation ... a state of mind, I had worked so hard, for so many years to abandon and replace with even a smidgeon of hope.

As my vision momentarily blurred and hope began to fade, I cried out, “Oh God! Why is this happening again?”

Brought on with this “shift” in vision was an acute shift in mental perception. Everything around me seemed to slow to a mechanistic beat, set in motion with no thought. Both inanimate and animate alike. No purpose. Just emptiness. It felt like I was in a dream. It was the world out there, on one side, and me on the other side of the fog.

“Damn it!” I thought. “I can’t let this happen again. I can’t go back to that place. I’ve fought so long and so hard, brought my thinking back to a functioning level again. I just have to focus my thoughts on physical sustenance, the particulate stuff in which the universe-including myself and every other human and animal on this planet-is made of. Cogito, ergo sum - I think, therefore I am. If I can apply it to myself, then them too, right?” This I felt like proclaiming to each and every thing that crossed my path, but something compelled me to keep my head. I knew that even if this world was not real, I would then have “unreal” consequences to deal with. Apparently, this world is still governed by rules. So be it. Instead, my mind still num and tingling, I walked to my apartment, threw my bacsac on the couch, and flopped onto the bed.

Depersonalization/derealization is what I had been diagnosed with, once I finally sought therapy

for this ailment. It had come on acutely a few times before during my childhood, mostly anxiety

provoked. But since late adolescence, after what I call the “Nervous Breakdown”, this feeling -

this mindset - has been a continuing battle in my mind ... for my mind. For so long I have been

silent, not telling anyone, hiding it the best that I could. I tried counseling a few different times

between the time it first happened and just a few years ago. But it didn’t seem that anyone really

understood where I was coming from, what I was trying to tell them. It’s so difficult telling

someone that you don’t feel real, that feel like you’re in a dream. “Quick someone, pinch me so I’ll

wake up”. What’s even worse is when you stop feeling at all, and you simply state that you’re not

sure whether or not any of it is real, so finally you say, “What the fuck! What do I do now?”I was

invariably led to the Center for Health and Counseling at the University of Washington, where I

also studied materials science and engineering.


Following a few months of failed psychotherapy and drug treatment, we decided to altar the

course of my treatment. The doctor thought it would be a good idea to wax philosophy with

Rachel, a final semester PhD student whose area of specialty concerned transpersonal

psychology.

It was a good idea, considering that the core of my mental strife involved some of the core concerns of epistemology and metaphysics. It was philosophy that got me into this frame of mind, perhaps philosophy would take its’ turn as savior.

Three p.m. today was to be our first session. As the mental fog began to lift somewhat, I glanced at the clock and discovered that I was about to be late. I jumped off of the bed, splashed my face with cold water and then dashed out the door.

The storm that had began as a slight shower this morning had grown to winds of around 40 mph below a dark and menacing sky. The rain pelted my body and my umbrella danced above my head as I waited for and then boarded the Student transport bus that would take me to the Center.

As the shuttle began to slow down, I looked out the window and noticed that the Center’s parking lot held only a fraction of the vehicles it usually does on a Monday. For that matter, ... any day of the week. When I pass the Center on my daily trek to the lab I usually notice a near packed parking lot.

Finally, at my destination I stepped off the exit platform, deployed my worn umbrella and walked briskly toward the green awning of the Center’s main entrance. I shook out the umbrella and wrung myself as best as I could.

As I entered the building, I had to shut my eyes to let them adjust to the brilliant interior lighting. It seemed this light could have lit the stormy, dark outside if the doors were left open long enough. Once they adjusted I walked to the reception desk at the far end of the waiting area. A smiling, petite gray haired woman patiently watched me as I approached.

“Good afternoon,” she said. “How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Rachel. I’m a little late,” I fiddled with the change in my pocket. Is she still available?”

“Yes,” the receptionists said, “As a matter of fact, she’s running a little behind. She called a little while ago and said that she’s running about ... ”she thumbed through some scattered papers on her desk, “twenty minutes behind.” She pointed to the south lobby and said, “If you’ll take a seat over there, I’ll tell her you’re here.”

“Ok,” I sighed with relief. I had thought she wouldn’t be here. I really needed to talk with someone, soon. It seemed as if my life force, my very essence, was slipping, being erased by some fiendish, irreversible process. Soul-eaters.

I walked over to the waiting area the receptionist had pointed to me. It was a cozy atmosphere; a few potted plants and some hanging plants filled some of the space that had not been occupied by tables or couches. Within the framework of the wall a large flat panel TV tuned to the GNN was showing images of the Europan surface taken by the Icy Sub-bot, which would be melting its way through the ice to reach the subsurface liquid water ocean just next week.

A silhouette figure steering around the corner caused me to shift my gaze in its direction. A tall, athletically built woman with wavy, dark brown hair to her shoulders and a dark tan approached me.

“Stanley Robkin?” she asked, her eyebrows raised and smile widened.

I was taken aback, as if I was sleeping and had been suddenly awaken. I jumped to my feet and tucked in my shirt. “Hello - yeah, that’s me.”

Smiling invitingly and holding out her hand she said, “Hi, I’m Rachel. It’s nice to meet you. Would you like to follow me?”

“Of course, it’s nice to meet you, too.” I said as we shook hands.

I followed her down one corridor after which we turned a corner, walked a few steps forward and stopped next to a sliding door. She placed her hand against the palm pad on the wall and announced carefully, “Rachel D. Carson, entering with one client.”

Grinning, she glanced back and me and admitted, “I’m still trying to get acquainted with the new system. It wasn’t too long ago that I entered with a client and forgot to mention the client’s name. Security wasted no time getting here. I had to explain to the client that although I had access to the palmpad, there is an infrared detector that determines the number of persons entering. If the IR data and the vocal data are not consistent an alarm is then signaled to security. We had to show security documentation to prove she was who she said she was, and did have an appointment. I spent the entire session trying to convince her it was nothing she did, and that “they” weren’t intentionally trying to give her a difficult time.”

I chuckled as I felt a sense of comfort. She may be able to help me after all. At last she would be approachable, I had decided.

Upon entering the office Rachel said, “Make yourself comfortable, Stanley. You can hang your jacket if you like.” She motioned toward a wooden coat rack in the corner.

“OK, thank you. I’ll do that. You can call me Stan.” I replied. She looked at me in acknowledgement.

It was a comfortable office. There was a mahogany computer desk in the corner opposite me. A couple of round end tables and book cases were situated fairly evenly throughout the room. There was an excellent view of mount Rainer through the large window of the north wall. I sat against the east wall so that I could see both Rachel and the magnificent view out the window. The dissipation of the storm was well under way; there were only a few patches of clouds against a mostly blue tranquil sky.

Rachel sat facing me, her back against the corner-desk and right elbow resting on an extension. After a brief moment she pushed her chair away from the desk, crossed her legs, and placed both hands over them, sitting straight in her chair.

“Stan,” she said, “I would first like to thank you for giving me an opportunity to help you. I’m not certain how much you know or have been told about Transpersonal Psychology, but what I do know is that the therapy and methods involved seem to be helping people where the more traditional psychotherapies and medications tend not to. It may take some time, and you have to be willing, but you will be better able to cope with these issues that you’ve discussed with Trish and Dr. Brimms. We can go as fast or as slow as you like. Only you know when you are prepared to move on.”

She paused to adjust her posture and asked, “So how are things? Tell me about what is going on in your life.”

“Well, let’s see... where to start,” I managed to mumble. “I’m assuming you’ve read a summary of what Trish and Dr. Brimms think about my situation?”

My right eye began to tic and I began to profusely sweat. How do you tell someone you think they may not be real, and yet expect yourself to function as if they were?

“Yes,” she answered, gently lifting a thin stack of papers up to me. “I reviewed everything that they had written about you ... and I reviewed some of the literature on the conventional treatment and therapies for this related series of disorders. I see that you have been taking Elaquel and Placidon. How is that going ... with your medications?”

“Honestly?” I asked, shifting in my seat and propping my left leg on my right. I cleared my throat. “I’ve not been taking them for a couple of months now. They make me feel tired all the time. The way I see it is that I’ve been dealing with this for what, ten years now? I’ve made it this far, I can go longer without meds. You see, I’ve got an important project in the works, and I can’t do it with the meds. So I had to drop them. It’s a double edged sword. On one hand, I understand that this was initially brought on by anxiety, but usually I’m not at all anxious. At least not any more. I just don’t see how medicine is going to cure this disorder - which was brought about by anxiety - which I don’t even have anymore, at least not in the usual sense. But I wanted to try them for the sheer hope that it would lift this persistent fog from my mind. And it hasn’t happened. Besides,” I sighed, “the meds make me extremely tired.”

“On the other hand, I have my research in my field, which forms a tangible, real bond with me. I feel real when I focus on the physical sciences - probably as real as it’s going to get. I like to see a logical sequence of events arise from a given cause. If not, I feel like I’m coming unglued, taking a ride on the Entropy Express, nonrefundable.”

She smiled and shook her head, “I can’t imagine anyone with the pressures you are under having such a sense of humor. That is to be commended. I’m not so sure I could do it.”

“I guess it’s a survival mechanism. I’ve played so many mind games and turned tricks in my head to be able to just get by. Even that in itself is wearisome. I don’t know which is worse: the initial state or DP/DR or the subsequent self-therapy. I mean ... the actual feeling of being in a dream or not being real has mostly gone. Now I just have to convince myself to believe it IS real, and that this is just a bonafide medical illness."

“Oh,” her eyes widened in alarm, and she straightened herself in her seat. “So, the actual ‘feeling’ of unreality, or being in a dream is mostly gone; it’s now turned into a possible belief state?”

“Yes,” I murmured, rubbing my eyes with my hands. “I mean what if all this,” I motioned around the room with a supine palm, “is only a figment of my imagination? And furthermore, what if it has ALWAYS been that way?”

“I see,” she sympathized. “It must be very lonely for you, to feel so isolated like this”.

I ran my fingers of both hands through my hair and asked her, “I’m going to always be this way, aren’t I? Not ever knowing one way or the other. Indeed, true knowledge is impossible.”

“Stan,” she reassured me, “what I am going to do is try to help you deal with these beliefs. You may not ever just snap out of it like you snapped into it. But, like you’ve already told me… slowly and surely, you have begun taking control over your life. Stan ... “Cogito, ergo sum.””

"I think, therefore I am. Yeah, where would I be without Descartes?” I sighed and shook my head.

"Stan, if you continue to play ‘what if’, what if it is all real, eventually you will come to that point, that reference frame that you knew back then, that you are so desperately searching for. If it’s your research and studies that you are content with ... that keep you going on ... then you should continue to do that."

She eased back in her chair, tilted her head and pulled back a section of hair that dangled over her right ear, revealing a small mole on the upper lobe. "What kind of research are you doing at the University? You’re a graduate assistant, right?"

"Uhm ..." I froze. She could have pulled back her hair in slow motion. I replayed it in my mind. It was like a digital movie, forwarding slowly, just a few frames a second. That mole! I knew her. I've seen her do that before ... not only in some unfamiliar place, but right there, in that very chair. My heart raced, my palms leaked, and my head tingled.

She looked at me with concern. "Are you okay? We can continue this later if you like."

"No," I swallowed hard and palpated my chest. "No, I’m fine. Just a bad attack of heartburn." I paused for a moment, barely able to focus on her question. "I'm in the smart materials section of the astronautical engineering department. I instruct a few sections of undergraduate introductory materials science labs. My research focuses on spacecraft restructuring during extended duration spaceflight."

"That seems like such an interesting career path. What are your plans after graduation?"

"I’ve secured a fellowship with NASA, at AMLEST - the Advanced materials for Long Exposure Space Travel lab. Their materials are being tested on the ISS and various other interplanetary missions. Essentially, we want to build a space vehicle that will think for itself and be able to repair itself in ways humans may not ever be able to."

I couldn’t be sure, I didn’t know if she was employing the silent technique, or if she was truly speechless. Her eyes were distant, as if she had just taken off on an extended spaceflight of her own.

Finally, after an eternity, she opened and closed her mouth, still speechless. A harsh clash of reality struck her and I found her eyes, back in the present.

“I’m sorry, Stan,” she sighed. “It’s always been a dream of mine to leave home and venture out into the neighborhood of stars. Just thinking about it has conjured up a lot of fantasies and daydreams I used to have. You know, Stan ... it feels so right, I mean ... talking with you about this.

Yeah, of course it is, I thought. That’s because we sat here before and had this very discussion. I know you, I thought - apparently too loud.

“You know me?” She asked, raising her eyebrows. “How do you mean?” I could tell she was trying to probe my mind with inquisition.

I couldn’t believe I had said it out loud. I wasn’t sure I was prepared to continue in this vein, but now I had no choice.

“What’s your take on déjà vu?” I asked her. “God, you know, never mind ... this is crazy.” I grinned, shook my head, mostly at myself. I stood up, reached for my jacket and suddenly her warm, soft, refreshing hand touched the back of my arm.

“Don’t go,” she said softly. “Stay. You can talk to me about it.”

I sat back down on the chair and we sat in silence, occasionally glancing at each other. But, it felt all right. I could sit with her for eternity and everything would be all right. But something was very wrong.

Finally, she crossed her legs and leaned forward. “This seems to really upset you, experiencing and talking about déjà vu. Can you tell me more about it?”

I steadied my trembling hands and replied, “Usually talking about my condition doesn’t make me nervous, with learning to adapt all these years. But this, this is something entirely different. It’s been happening more often, especially the last two weeks. I’ll be doing something totally routine, and then I’ll suddenly get that déjà vu feeling - the seeming experience of having been in that exact situation before, perfect in the finest details. For Christ’s sake, it’s happening right now!”

Apparently sensing a pending panic attack, she sat on the couch beside me, grasped my hand and calmly instructed me to take slow deep breaths and to try to remain in the here and now.

Her scent, touch, the words that fell from her mouth, was enough to relax me. Something was so vaguely familiar about her.

“Stan,” she said. “I believe it is imperative that you work on learning to relax. Now that you are a little more focused, I want to guide you through some guided imagery relaxation techniques. For this you don’t have to stay in the present, or this place. Imagine any place you like, any time you like, as long and it effectively relaxes you. Have you ever tried this before?”

“No,” I softly replied. But I was surely looking forward to it. I mean, listening to her enchanting voice was enough to put me in deep relaxing slumber. I could listen to her slow methodical commands all day. “I have heard of it… I mean, I’ve even imagined myself in relaxing situations, but nothing formal, er uh structured.”

“OK, let’s get started then. I am going to lead you in some initial relaxation, and once you are physically relaxed, I will queue you to begin the imaging. What do you consider relaxing, or what would relax you most when you have thoughts like this?” She hesitated for a moment and then resumed, “Some examples would be lying on the beach, observing a towering waterfall in a lush tropical rainforest, or watching clouds whisp by in a grassy field above a blue sky?”

I had to think about that for a moment, then I decided. “How about imagining I’m aboard a spacecraft in earth orbit, watching the earth.”

“That will work!” She exclaimed, but looked somewhat bewildered. “You call that relaxing? I think I would be so excited I would be bouncing off the instrument panel. But, I can see how that would be relaxing to some.”

After a brief delay she said, “Bare with me OK, I have no script for this one. Are you ready?”

She dimmed the lights and tinted the window. Some kind of spacey new-age instrumental music played softly in the background. I shut my eyes and stretched out across the couch.

“All right, Stan,” she said. “I want you to take three slow breaths, let your body come to equilibrium. Loosen the tension in your neck, shoulders, and back. With each inhalation you bring in new knowledge of the universe; patience, acceptance, and belonging. With each exhalation you release doubt, worry, and fear. You are one of many ... and all, a part of the same cosmos. As you look through the transparent observation bubble you witness the whole earth… this remarkable blue water planet with clouds streaking across the surface, against the black of space. Can you sense that?”

“Yes,” I whispered, but the image I had conjured slowly began to transform from an observation bubble overlooking the tranquil Earth to a dimly lit enclosure with LEDs, monitors, and other electronic equipment against the walls of the space I was confined in. I slowly walked to one area and a three-dimensional holographic image of what appeared to be a rocky planet and a disc shaped craft orbiting it phased into view. It seemed so real it was surreal. I knew I was lying there on the couch in Rachel’s office, supposedly imaging a geosynchronous Earth orbit getaway. Does this happen often and with so much impact?

Then, from what it seemed nowhere, I heard water movement - the sound that’s made when someone pushes themselves out of a bathtub or a pool.

I took a step in the opposite direction and consciously looked toward the auditory disturbance. A tall athletically built woman, bare to the skin, had emerged and was wringing out her hair. Her tan body barely discernible in the dimly lit space, she walked toward me and then began walking around me. Now able to recognize her sharp features, I whispered, “Rachel?”

“That’s right,” I heard her continue. “You are perfectly relaxed, let the harmonies of the universe wash over your entire being. One continuous organism ... the very essence alive in you is alive on this frail world next to you.

“Rachel,” I called out to her. “What’s going on? Where am I; where are we?”

“Stan,” she said calmly, “you are in earth’s orbit looking out at our home. Are you okay?”

I felt queasy. “I ... I don’t know. Where are you, why am I seeing you in my guided meditation? Does this usually happen?”

As I lifted my drooping eyelids I saw her eyes sharpen, piercing into my mind. “No ... not really. I am sitting on the couch, next to you, in my office.”

Then ..., I began to realize, or at least hypothesize,

what could be happening, why I felt so detached from reality. What have I got to lose for postulating, right?

“Are your eyes closed?” I called out to the nude woman.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Open them - slowly”.

The nude woman stood still, closed her eyes and then opened them. She clasped her hand over her mouth, “Oh my God!” She gasped through her fingers. “What’s happening? I ... I don’t understand. Stan?”

I led her to the dimly lit chamber where she saw both our bodies, lying naked, horizontally within a liquid medium. A solid bar curved around our scalps.

“This is a liquid medium that slows the metabolism of our bodies. In effect, we do not age while we are in here. That bar wrapping our heads is a stimulant that the computer uses to control the life matrix – the guided imagery - of our minds. This is it, Rachel! I knew I had known you before. The longing I felt for you when I first saw you. Our connection, this is it. We are really here ... this mental representation of our objective situation. The other world back in Seattle - it’s not real.”

I took her hand in mine, and she squeezed it tightly.

“What do we do now?” she asked. Her face looked heavy with worry.

“I ...” Too many scenarios were floating through my mind. “I don’t know. Now that we know, we must figure out what it means, maybe we will be reborn into this continuing matrix again. Maybe this is an intuitive problem solving program. I don’t know. This is happening too fast.”

She threw her arms around my neck and embraced me.

“It’s okay, Stan. Maybe it’s all a dream; none of this is really happening. Maybe we just wanted it to.”

“Even so”. I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her gently. “I will remember you.”

End

Stories are coming

I'm beginning something I thought I never would. I am going to be posting my stories on Impermanent Insanity. I'm not sure how long I will do this. I will say, however, although I feel the story element is good, the writing and style leave a little to be desired ;)

For the upcoming NanoWriMo I thought about serializing a group of stories that could be read independently but still have the cohesiveness of a novel.

The plan is to have them up blogged here on this site. But, with kicking the ol' inner editor out and all, it may not look nice. Well, I could always blog about the writing day, or even include a snippit here and there.

If by any chance you like the stories and would like me to spend more time writing, I will humbly accept any donation one would bestow upon me.

I will remember the next time round ;)

The Penultimate Truth

I thought I had posted about ordering PKD's "The Penultimate Truth" already, but alas, I can not find it; therefor I will say it now.

In November of 2002 (in the middle of my psychic anomalies I ordered "The Penultimate Truth from Amazon. Actually, I had to buy it used from Alibris through Amazon. They sent me an appreciably weathered and old specimen. It was an original print date of 1964 by Belmont Books.

To be noted was that this was in the middle of my psychic experiences and deja vu, although I had no deja vu of this particular experience (at least that I remember).
Apparently, the book handler saw fit to personalize my invoice for the order with his John Hancock. That's no big deal. However, his first name was Phil and last name was Thomas. This was near the time that I found the note (Simon, Call Home ASAP)and was thinking about the whole Simon/Thomas situation.

I'm aware this could be totally coincidental, but it is interesting, to say the least.

BTW, does anybody know how much an avid collector would pay for such a copy?

Why does the Fucking Universe hate me?

Why, if I'm supposed to do this whatever fucking thing I'm supposed to be doing, am I experiencing opposition in just about every fucking endeavor I participate in. We got moved, the SO and my daughter are staying with a dear friend and I have my own apartment just a few houses down. That is Ok. My daughter is really enjoying school. That is Great! I had an opportunity for a part time job in which I would have made near as much as I made full time at my previous tech job. But, with the shit that happened in both that place and the travel job I've mentioned elsewhere, it makes me look a tad undesirable. Those situations were forced on me and I was most definantly wronged. My previous manager before the last job tried to coerce me to not leave, and as such told the travel company that I was not rehirable. I'm sure that is what they said to the potential employer in which I interviewed last week and have not heard from since. I don't know if it's their fault, or if this is just the way fucking VALIS is working. Well, I don't fucking like it. VALIS, watch it, I may soon take myself out of this little fucking game of yours. But alas, it's probably my game, too. VALIS, you motherfucker, I still have bills to pay!

Simon - Call Home ASAP Mom and Dad

Here is a picture of the note that I discovered beneath one of my windshield wipers on my Dodge Daytona back in 2002. As this previous post stated, My family and I were walking home from a street carnival (this just a few nights after the dream and actuality of my antenna being missing from the same car, along with all the other psychic phenomenon occurring at that time) and discovered it.

We lived just about 5-6 blocks from the downtown carnival so we walked to and fro. My car was obviously in our own parking lot (shared with other tenants of the building). I suppose, because there was a fair of sorts, our parking area could have been shared by other fair-goers, and perhaps somebody was just confused as to what their child drove.

Because of all the deja vu and other psychic events going on in my life at the time, I just don't believe it was coincidence.

Could "Simon" be me, as PKD was "Thomas". One of our many secret codes?

Contact me here next year. If I'm not here, site will not be updated and well, you know the rest.

I'm copying what I wrote down yesterday morning from a dream I had on Thursday, July 3 sometime between 0711 and 0930.

Not sure what to make of this.

I went to a physician in some ER and he (mild/moderate build, slight tan, wavy brown hair) said I had some kind of internal organ disease. He said I only had a few days to a few weeks to live. He said my heart would just stop (after I had asked him how it would happen) (reminds me of the situation when we had to euthanise our cat, Sophie).

Then I remembered being at some kind of cook out (picnic or BQ) with a number of relatives and a few of went inside a house and began looking at a TV screen that showed sections of my brain (we could use a controller to navigate around the sections. Then my 2nd cousin (can't remember which of 2 cousins it was) said they had experience looking at this, so he took the controller.

While we were doing this, I began to think about my supposed arranged fate (living to 63, writing, etc.) and thought that this couldn't be right. So, I starting thinking about the ER physician and his "diagnosis". He didn't order any X-rays, scans, MRI's, etc. to support his diagnosis.

We went to see him at the hospital and he says it's possible that it could be incorrect. He also said that I should have had the scans done before I went to the ER.


*** I believe I had this dream because I've less than 2 months unemployment insurance remaining. So, I have had almost 4 months of time when I could and should have been writing every single day. But, I falter. I procrastinate, trying to put off the inevitable. Makes one wonder whether I really want to write, after all. I've thought about this often. The answer is I definitely do. Not only that, but I believe that is possible that I am supposed to physically die when I am 63. I am now 34, and if I am supposed to create this corpus of work then I really need to get with the plan. See, PKD was born on 1928 and died in 1982. In keeping with the tradition I have come to the conclusion that I, too, will die in 2037, while I lived was born in 1973. So, if I am published at least this year or next, I believe I stay on the train for a while longer, although my book will be closed on 2037. And if I don't begin soon, if I don't do what it is that I am supposed to do, then perhaps my time in this realm is near over. It's not that I'm afraid to die, it's that 1) I love my daughter and want to be with her, to see her grow and have a beautiful life and 2) I still do really believe that there is something that I am supposed to do, and a large part of that is writing.

I Can Feel It!

Change is in the Air!

My daughter and I just finished watching an episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender. While trudging to the kitchen to put up some dishes and do some general cleaning, I turned on the tele to CNN Headline News. Seeing that it was Nancy Grace, Again, I switched to the main CNN channel with Anderson Cooper. Before me, I heard a great statesman's voice, that of Senator Barack Obama, speaking of his win over Senator Hillary Clinton for the Democratic Nomination.

I was fixed to the tube, and to Senator Obama's words. I usually try not to blog politics, but I am genuinely excited. Senator Obama talks of a United America, an America of "We Cans". Past the serious faces of the Secret Service, I could see genuinely excited Americans. Americans who when looked at Senator Obama, looked upon him with Admiration and Respect. Even though I'm more than 1000 miles away from St. Paul, Minnissota, I feel like I was amongst those in the crowd.

A very memorable, heart-felt, honest speech.

I could go on and on about his speech, but there other blogs and news sites for that.

Here's to Change, and WE CAN!

Isolated Tribes

I first learned of the news concerning the "uncontacted" tribe in the Amazonian Rainforest from Wired. Some of the articles and news releases are somewhat misleading, making it seem as if this was the very first time that anyone has ever seen this tribe. According to a Wikipedia article, it should be termed as "isolated", with which I agree. These photos, however, are a very important reminder that there are others on our Earth that are more primitive in every aspect of their lives, and that have no need or desire to be included. There is much controversy as to whether or not civilized society should intervene in their affairs.

Perhaps the peoples with the least contact are the Sentinelese islanders of the Indian ocean.
Survival International is an organization devoted to protecting tribal peoples' rights. Their website is worth some attention.

Whats this Life for?

Whats this Life for?

When the Universe summons you
tells you that there is an important
task at hand, and through the senses
it can be verified, and through the being
feelings, are edified.

Again, Why?

Cast out
out of humanity, I was
making a new name and life
one where no one could find me
those that are searching
I am Lost
there is nowhere to look

May the Universe find you
and keep you

A Scanner Darkly; Made of Membots

One of my so-called anamnestic memories that I became aware of in 2002-2003 was of an instance when I (or PKD) was walking along a sidewalk fronting some kind of shopping plaza or district. I was walking alongside a medium built, butterscotch haired, slender faced gentleman and discussing, of all things, PKD's A Scanner Darkly. Near the site there was a park and three people sitting on a picnic table.

Did I mention that I think it possible that our own US government or some other organization implanted those types of "anamnestic" memories in me, possible to make me think that somehow I am relevant to the PKD phenomenon? I have a few other guesses as to what is going on, including: Well, we'll just have to wait on that won't we? I will say this, however; If it were say 2037 or so, I think it possible that I've been injected with "membots" that were once a part of "you know who"; thus my affiliations with "you know who".

This is the subject of my first novel in the making. Now if I could stop procrastinating and just get on with the damned thing.

Extra-retinal Vision?

For about 3 weeks now I've been experiencing some kind of "extra-retinal" vision. It usually occurs just before waking up after an extended sleep. With my eyes closed I am able to see nearly perfect vision. It usually is nearly identical to when I open my eyes, however, that is not always the case. Usually, it is some scene in my bedroom. I remember being aware of it at the time, but it slowly evades me throughout the day. It's never (at least I don't recall) like I'm above my body looking down, but it's as if I am seeing as though my eyes were open. It's not like an after-image either. It's pure, unadulterated vision. And I'm certainly not above to think that these could be merely hypnopompic hallucinations.

There has been one exception to the content of the experience. Just yesterday morning, May 1, I recall seeing a book, open to reveal some text, but alas, that evades me as well.

It is interesting to note that about the same time this began ocurring, I downloading some of Dr. Jeffrey Thompson's brainwave "entrainment" using my Rhapsody acount. I'm not certain if that was it, or it was coincidental, but nevertheless, it has been interesting.

Quick Review of "Time to Write"

Kelly L. Stone's "Time to Write" (Adams Media 2008) features advice from over 100 professional writers, interwoven by her own commentary on finding time to write.

Introduced in chapter 2 and reiterated throughout the text she focuses on what she aptly calls the "Burning Desire to Write", which is something that writers just know they have to do, and as such, are deeply motivated and will find the time to write.

She also says paramount to writing success is devising a schedule and sticking to it no matter what. And in chapter 4, she sketches out seven types of schedules for different lifestyles, also pointing out the pros and cons of each.

The rest of the book gives tips and advice on planning, making goals, and overcoming resistance to writing. The appendices feature a character sheet, online resources, writers organizations and short biographies and web pages of all the interviewed writers.

I found that the book is abundant with helpful, practical and sound advice and definately worth the time.

Counter-Clock World

As the dawn of the 21st Century approaches in Philip K. Dick's "Counter-Clock World", the Earth enters what is known as the Hobart Phase. The beginning of this phase is marked by what essentially amounts to a reversal of Entropy. The buried Dead can be heard scratching at their enclosures and yelling for assistance. Cigarette butts are taken from ashtrays and smoked into full length sticks and then packaged. The Old get younger and copulation marks the end of a pregnancy. A greeting is announced by "Good-bye" and parting with "Hello". Books are eradicated at the Library instead of checked out.

Sebastian Hermes is the owner and manager of the "Flask of Hermes" Vitarium. There, he leads a motley crew consisting of a physician, a salesman, a techie and a priest. His business is that of assisting the "Reborn" and then negotiating a sale to any party interested.

As the rebirth of a prominent religious leader, Anarch Peak, is forthcoming, rivalry ensues amongst certain government factions, Hermes's Vitarium, the Uditi , and the Library. For whomever controls the Anarch, may very well control the world.

Nexi, the Robot

From KurzweilAI.net:

Meet Nexi, MIT's Media Lab's experimental emotive robot. She (at my own liberty) is truly impressive with expressive eyebrows, and various gestures correlating to all the human emotions. Neat!

Bagua Tattoo

I've finally took a low-rez picture of my Bagua Tattoo on my left deltoid (upper arm). I apologize for the long delay. Wikipedia has a decent article on the meaning behind the symbol. Surrounding the yin yang are eight trigrams, each with different meanings.

I realize that it is similar to the Dharma logo in the ABC series "Lost". I did watch Lost before I got the tattoo, however, it had in no way influenced my decision to obtain one.

Geeks and Nerds: A Guide

Wired.com has a really neat article with an image guide showcasing diffderent types of residents of geekdom. Neat!

IARPA

From Wired.com:

It seems our Intelligence community has finally caught up with TV. IARPA is a new agency that is similar to DARPA. Instead of Defense Advance Research Progects Agency, it is Intelligence Advance Research Progects Activity. Its function is to be to the Intelligence community what DARPA is to the Defense community.

It reminds me of the TV series "Alias" with Marshall Flinkman as the chief geek tech guy for first SD6 and then later the CIA.

Oh, by the way, it's pronounced "Yarpa".

Robert Sawyer's "Rollback"

The last book I read by Robert Sawyer dealt with the issue of near immortality by uploading a "copy" of the human mind to a mechanical body. This time around, he elects to tell us of another method of life extension, which he call's a "rollback", also the title of the book.

A rollback is an assortment of procedures that uses gene therapy, nano-robotic drones, cloning organs, and traditional surgery to essentially turn back the living clock that we are counting down to. The clock can be set back as early as the age of 25.

Although the process is extraordinarily expensive (not even multi-millionaire celebrities and sports icons can afford this luxury) Sarah and Don Halifax are given the procedure because a certain party thinks Sarah Halifax should be present for their ongoing commucations from an Alien species know as the Dracons, whose home is almost 19 light years away.

Although Sarah's husband, Don, isn't particularly needed for the Alien communications, Sarah wouldn't even consider the possibility unless her husband would be granted a rollback, as well.

When the rollback procedure is complete and the effects seen to be recognizable (a couple of months after the procedure is finished) Don, is reaping the benefits of youthfulness and vigor. However, Sarah's body had some interfering factors (a result of treatment for a previous cancer) that inhibited the success of the rollback.

Not the least resentful, Sarah is in a race to decode the latest message from the Dracons, before her weary body succumbs to the aging process, while Don struggles to adapt to his new found youth and vitality.

Sawyer succeeds in portraying how such a rollback affects the inquiry of immortality and the disadvantages and struggles it could assume, as well.

Contrasting the difference in physical age between Sarah and Don, he also shows us that true love and respect knows no such boundaries.

Human Hair Carved to reveal University Logo

From onsingularity.com:

This link from onsingularity.com led to a story on boing boing about researchers from the McMaster University in Hamilton, Onatario using a "focused ion beam microscope" (FIB) to strip away atoms from the surface of a strand of human hair.

Definately worth a look.

The FIB microscope will be used to fabricate nanoscale devices.