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Organicide:

This little notebook is my memoir. Who ever is reading this, I hope it's over. I hope they are done spreading their lies and killing their own species. I'm ashamed to mention that they are,or rather, once were human. If you do not know what I am talking about, I will explain: cybernetic implants and man's wishful thinking. They wanted to use technology to fix the human body but became monsters instead. 9 billion people, all updating their bodies with microchips and the like.

The rest of us(some 2 billion people) didn't dabble in cybernetics unless we were handicapped. This obsession with body updating went to the point of substituting perfectly functioning body parts for robotics. Then, they replaced us in jobs as they were more capable at doing them. Pollution was never dealt with, only development of the new self-contained domed cities that were now being constructed. The land withered away leaving us to eat synthetic food. By 2189, Mechanics, as the cyborgs were called, no longer needed food or drink. Then they stopped the aging process and destroyed the reproductive system. By 2236, mechanics were only 5% organic. Emotions were replaced with near monotony and a totalitarian sovereign state arose in each of these new self-contained domed cities.

Then, the hate began. The propaganda machine labled us as inferior trash. We were put in slums and used as cheap labor in exchange for living space and sustenance. I was born aroud 2249. My given name is Wes and my surname is Riley. As a boy, everyone regarded me as different and I had no friends. I had so much trouble socializing. My only friends were my parents and an old man next door named Mr. Alistair. Alistair had a salvaged library of books in his shack-house that he accumulated over the years. He'd stolen books from archives and salvaged books from the trash dumps of the installation(city). Text books, cook books, political histories, nothing was seen as not worth salvaging to him.

Alistair taught me to read and write as well as use mathematics. Through one of his books, I learned that I probably had a condition called Asperger's Syndrome( a mild disabilty characterized by obsession with certain things and social akwardness almost on par with high-funtioning autism) . Best of all, he introduced me to the history of humanity. Through history, we can learn a great deal about our future. History became my obsession over the years.

I 2259, my parents died while laboring under the cyborg slave drivers. My father, Kieth, died of dehydration and my mother, Marley, was so emotional about it, she went after one of the slave drivers and was shot. I was only ten years old and I took it pretty hard. I wanted to kill them all so much. I contemplated suicide as well for some time to escape from this hellish Earth and to all the pain it caused me.

Alistair took me as his own son from then on. He continued with my studies. Knowledge was the only thing that kept me from ending my life. And now we reach the beginning of the end...

............................................................

April 13th, two days before my birthday. It was 10 P.M. and Al(Alistair's nickname) and I were laying on the roof of our shack. I was 17 then so climbing tha ladder was really easy but Al, who was 72, had a hard time. Me and him were looking at the sky behind the clear dome that covered the installation, imagining what it would look like if there were stars to see.

Then suddenly I opened my mouth to ask him a question. "Al, have you ever seen the stars? Was the light pollution this bad when you were a kid?"
He turned over to face me, but I refused to look into his eyes because staring someone in the eyes was uncomfortable for me. "I was told by my parents that the stars could be seen 'til I was about three. That was back when we weren't slaves."
"Al, you know I know about that time period, I don't need clarification. What I wanna know though is if you remember seeing them."
"No, Wes, I do not remember. I wish I did. But I probably never will see them for the rest of my life. I want to talk to you about something."
"What?"
Al paused for a second then whispered, "Wes, I want what's best for you. You are the only family I have. The Mechanics are coming to take us away... they don't need us anymore. I've arranged for you to escape."
I suddenly became worried. "What do you mean? Who told you this?"
"Some old friends who became Mechanics themselves due to an accident. They don't believe in all the s**t the supervisor's spout. Plus they evaded mind restraint and obedience conditioning by keeping quiet all these years. They recieved word from the binary news cube that we are all to be terminated. They want to gather whoever they can because they have a secret route for getting out of the city."
This news made me start to tear up. "Why do they have to make life so difficult. Why do they hate us so much? And Al, why won't you come?"
"Wes look at me! I'm in no shape to go on a trek. I'm to old!"
"But Al, you and I both know that the borderlands are inhospitable. Polluted water, diseased animals, that's no way to live!"
"You don't have more of a chance here! They'll kill us all. We've got to at least survive! It's hard for me to do this, but I have to let you go. Remember me, Wes, and remember the people that couldn't be saved."
I really started to sob out of agoraphobia. It was all too stressful. I wanted to wake up from this nightmare, wake up and take a few deep breaths. "Al, I love you more than anything I have ever loved, even my parents. You are my father and best friend, I can't just leave you. If they kill you, i promise I will raise an army and take my revenge."
"Living is revenge my boy. By living, they've failed their mission. I do this because I love you, not because I want to make your life more difficult. I'll live on through you and through this." Al took out a book from his bag. "You see this? I was going to give you this for your birthday, but since you leave tommorow, I'm giving it to you now. Write in it, write all about this. Be a chronicler just like you've always dreamed!"
I took the the book in my hads and opened it. Tears started to stream down and wet the first two pages.
"Wes, don't ruin the book! You can't write a story with tears! Now chin up, stop your crying, and look at me!"
And so I did.
"You are to wake up really early. And by early, I mean when the only people awake are the Mechanics who dance at the binary trance nightclubs. Stimmed Mechanics are very easy to avoid so it must be that time. You are to gather a few books that you want to take and put it in a knapsack. I want for at least some of my masterpieces to go into goodhands so I want you to take some no matter what they are. I'll take you to meet up with Henry as soon as you are ready."
I nodded and got off the roof. That night, I had nightmares.

I'm still writing this story on deviantart so if your interested, visit http://baishenlong.deviantart.com/

I don't know if you want a critique or not ShenLong. Your idea is sound but has enough material for a novel. In writing classes I've taken they say to avoid long passages of explanation at the beginning. You should build your world as you go along, as your characters do things. Avoid info dumps. I found the dialogue stilted. You have a good base to work with here. A good first draft. Yes writing takes multiple drafts.

The Horrible Asp by William Lawless, MBA

After many years of trying in vain to explain, and to apologize, to everyone around me for what they perceive to be insensitive, inconsiderate, and/or downright offensive behavior in many of my attempts at social interactions, I went home to my only constant companion, my laptop computer, in search of an explanation. The results of a couple of online self-diagnostic tests helped me to reach the unsettling reality that I am indeed afflicted with “The Horrible Asp”, also known as Asperger’s Syndrome, which is a high-functioning form of autism.

Growing up in a special education environment at a time when my inclusion in a regular school setting was considered potentially dangerous to myself, other students, and teachers, one could only imagine the rejection, loneliness, and isolation that had become of my daily childhood experience. Such social isolation only made a bad situation worse, as I rarely had an opportunity to develop the social skills needed to grow and evolve as a complete person. Most attempts to socialize with my peers were met with rejection and derision, so I preferred to keep completely to myself. Whenever my parents or sisters had company at the house, I usually disappeared into my room and locked the door. To socialize with others would be seen as torture. As you can imagine, I had very few friends despite my best efforts and intentions. My first inclusion in a regular school environment was as a freshman in high school and it was not at all a pretty sight. In spite of my academic success throughout high school, my extreme shyness and inability to relate to my classmates, especially to the ladies, in any meaningful way made life in high school almost unbearable for me. College life was even worse. No fraternity on campus would accept me. No employer would hire me. No woman with any regard for her reputation, especially if she belonged to a sorority, wanted to be seen anywhere near me. That degree of constant rejection hurt my grade point average because of the severe depression that resulted. I felt very unwelcome on my campus and in my own community. I transferred to a smaller school close to home, where I actually made a few friends in the Student Senate, and finished my degree there.

Even in adulthood, I still have a great degree of difficulty making friends and establishing social, especially dating, relationships of any kind for I am very uncomfortable in most social situations, including the workplace. Although I have earned a Master’s degree in Business Administration, I have had difficulty establishing the social connections needed to land any kind of relevant employment. As a result, I am very unhappy in my two pizza delivery jobs because I know deep down that I am worth much more than the way I am living. Those of us who have been “bitten by The Horrible Asp”, as I sometimes refer to those with Asperger’s Syndrome, have many behavioral, sensory, and self-esteem challenges that we must face on a daily basis. Potential employers would be wise understand these challenges and to use my creative talents and energy, as well as appeal to my strong sense of justice and fairness, rather than put me in a box of rules and standards that I usually find senseless. While I will not blindly follow the rules for the sake of conformity, I am willing to accept and abide by those rules that are fair and equitable to all concerned. I have absolutely no tolerance for any form of hypocrisy. If an action is not right for one person to take then it is not right for anyone.

There are many people who mistakenly believe that I have no empathy or consideration for others. Contrary to popular belief, I care very deeply about the thoughts and feelings of others, often to a fault. However, my greatest challenge is in appropriately expressing that empathy such that others can easily understand. I would strongly prefer to show my real feelings in a way that is uniquely my own. It is said that “mediocrity seeks safety in standardization,” and that “great spirits often encounter violent opposition from mediocre minds.” Both of these statements are true. A critical lesson that I learned over the years is that anything we think, say, or do will offend someone. Furthermore, that happens because people choose, either consciously or unconsciously, to take offense in order to control the thoughts, words, and actions of others. While I endeavor to respect the feelings and opinions of others, I refuse to allow them to control my life. Material wealth is meaningless unless I can maintain my own integrity.

To quote a line from the chorus of a favorite song by the Animals, “I’m just a soul whose intentions are good. O Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood.”

Another one of my favorite quotes is, “Normal is a city in Illinois. I am not a city in Illinois. I am a man.”

I often think of those I have angered, for I am not a violent man.
I often think of those I have hurt, for I am not a cruel man.
I often think of those I have frightened, for I am not an evil man.
I often think of those I have comforted, for I am a compassionate man.

they came with the storm

they came with the storm
with an inverse appeal
and a voice that could silence
every blinding ideal

they know only sadness
only shadows and pain
and they thrive on our sorrows
in a desperate plane

would they ever feel pleasure?
could they ever know love?
in some grasping conclusion
that they're unworthy of
could they find some solution
to the horrors they bleed?
could there be some compassion
in this desolate breed?

they came with the storm
in a westward black wind
and they sang in attrition
with no hope to ascend

their ominous pleas
will bring them no boon
thus their imminent rest
is never too soon..

© 2009

here is a poem I wrote a few months ago. it meant something to me and I am making it into a painting.


I would Wait seven years for Love;
I would carry a hot coal as beauty
and hearten at its flame.
I would decide when stars cross
I will focus
Marry, marred by
Sweetness, sweetened;
Carried, crossed;
Found and lost;
In path, in blood
Tattooed, embossed;
I keep sweetness
in a tight vial.
I would wait seven years for Love.

A little paragraph I wrote in my journal:


I often find myself in a haze when I go to school, I draw and ponder upon the future ahead of me and what there is to come. I often think that most of the people around me seem oblivious to the future we cannot change. They seem to expect they're going to grow up in this 'big rock candy mountain'-like world their parents grew up in and expect the best. There's a fact that has been pointed out dozens of times within this last decade, We cannot change the inevitable. We hurt the crust in which we live on, we feast on it, we made the planet earth sick with a disease far worse than anything we ever expected. Unstable, and cracking. Trembling, and falling. We're nothing more than termites.

I regret tomorrow more than yesterday.

This is meant to be somewhat tongue in cheek of course:

Poem Title: In the Beginning

I photocopy god
he smiles at me
between the rollers.

this is just a test
to see
if the settings are
good enough.

I begin to
edit markup
this sublime
creation with
ink-pen and blood.

His face floats
benevolently
in a sea of black.

Definitely,
too much toner.

I'm good at sponteneous writing. Lemme try now:

I saw the sun disappear below the horizon. I saw the moon make its ascent towards the heavens. You and me are a natural satellite, orbiting the concept of Love. A natural satellite formed from our minds, I connect you into minerals of Lust.

_________________
I'm a writer, not a fighter and my pen is always loaded.

Magnús Scheving is my Icelandic rose

Letting my mind go blank and then writing:

Endless relentless moon of the tide, you seem so fine to me. Your death is a twinkle, your life is a memory, your birth a legend. You eat from the trough of the gods, you drink the urine of the Devil. You are my little companion that cannot be denied a life.

_________________
I'm a writer, not a fighter and my pen is always loaded.

Magnús Scheving is my Icelandic rose

I wrote- er, typed- this up bout five months ago shortly after my diagnosis. I think it's inspired by the fact that for all the problems associated with low self-esteem and abulia (inability to make a decision), there are also positives.

It's definitely a rant, hopefully spiced up with some humor just enough to make it palatable. Having just re-read it, it's certainly acerbic and, I've got to admit, highly offensive. Hell, I'd go so far to say that it's bigoted drivel. I guess when I wrote this I just felt like I needed to "vent".

I don't want to offend anybody here, but I feel like getting this out there, so I'm kind of on the fence about even posting it. May it suffice to say that if you have any manner of belief in a religion, I do not want you to read this- again, I'm not trying to offend. And, even if you agree with my thought process, you're likely to be offended by some of the sweeping generalizations I made in the piece. Looking back, it offends even me. But hey, so does Bill Hicks's act, but I still enjoy it.

You've been warned.

i got a bunch of poems to share, but that upload area described on the first post is not working. what do i do? do i have to manually post each poem?

I think I'll practice a little description.

The castle garden was exactly like a castle garden. It almost defied description by having been described so often before at other times and in other places. It was so much the way you would expect to see a castle garden that you wondered whether you were actually looking at it or just picturing it in your mind. Shaped bushes dotting the bright green lawn... just like in the movies. A series of paths laid out in a balanced pattern... just like in a book. Stone benches sprinkled along the paths between rose trees... just like on tv. And in the center of the intricate pattern, one sundial in a green patch of grass. Just like in every historical home and castle tour. There was only one feature, in fact, that set it apart, and that was the large blue dragon sleeping at one end with its head resting on what appeared to have once been a bush in the shape of a large duck.

If Anna hadn't been expecting him to be there, she would have been startled indeed. As it was, she approached with caution. She didn't want another incident like the last one. Her nut-brown hair had been trimmed so that the singed bits no longer remained, but fire was fire and Rain had no idea how to control his.

Stopping at the far side of the sundial green, she raised the megaphone the smith had crafted on her instructions. "Rain!" she called. The word ricocheted off the castle walls like California thunder. Rain awoke, shook his head, and coughed. The remains of the duck sculpture burst into flame.

Anna thought she could hear a muffled cry from inside the garden door. The gardener was still hovering, evidently.

Done for now.