THE NEW SCIENCE OF SOUND
Series 6498A: Colleges don't offer Prosolar Mechanics
Title 1: Maybe you're not good enough, after all. Before it gets any worse, catch yourself. Stop your degrading and self-obsessed whining about how you've been rejected by your parents, your teachers, your peers, coworkers and the rest of mainstream society. Realize that you are just like them, and the more time you sit home watching cable and surfing the internet, the more forgettable you are becoming. This is happening by the minute. There is no piercing or tattooing, there is no automobile or computer that you can buy, there is no band you can follow that will save you from blending in any more. They are on to us. Superficial rebellion isn't only cool, it's trendy and quite marketable. Go deeper. Convince yourself to do better. Find a way.
Title 2-1: Only a slight relevance to real life. Somewhere, there is a universe where actors, athletes and rock stars are known for the greedy, slack and self-important lowlifes that they are. In this world,http://www.thex-files.com/scientists, mechanics, daycare workers, firefighters, teachers and EMTs live the high life. Their every word is hyped and their every action is noted and idealized by the adoring public. Young people aspire to be more like them and dream of being discovered by academy recruiters one day so they may join the ranks of this public-serving elite.
Title 2-2. However, in every life and in every story heroes exist in order to keep some compromising force at bay. Here, that element is an amorphous, life-sucking parasite that seeks to create a cozy existence by sedating the masses through the creation of an intricate web of unreality. False stories are spread through various media that perpetuate lies about what is and what is not possible for every individual to achieve in a lifetime. Its aim is no less than to dramatically alter the perception of what life is and precisely define what it ought to be.
Title 2-3. The only known weapon against this parasite, known as The Complex, is a continuous onslaught of sound, pictures and words which at once keep The Complex dormant and simultaneously strengthens the life-force of the masses and keeps them free. The heroes in this story are the individuals who work to generate new frequencies of creation across disciplines, disseminating their output to every individual they can reach.
Title 2-4. Prosolar Mechanics are supposedly the professionals in this new science of sound, experimenting with different combinations of pitches, frequencies and wave patterns in an attempt to destroy The Complex while strengthening the autonomy of individuals coming into contact. They claim to have been chartered by the supposed Real Prosolar Mechanics, who travel the universe in search of exotic machines to fix, and are the only known entity with any authority over them.
Title 3: You're buying. Here at Prosolar Labs, we aim to provide the modern science consumer with the latest in high-quality life enhancement systems. While little worthwhile in life ever comes easy, Prosolar Mechanics work around the clock to ensure you that the most up-to-date and reliable resources are harvested and re-generated in order to sustain and expand your capacity for consuming the best in today's sound. Guaranteed or your money back. (In some states certain restrictions may apply. Please refer to your locality's zoning regulations.)
Title 4: 100 degrees and rising. Most likely, it will hit 100 degrees farenheit in the remote command post today but the work continues. Climate control is no option at this station due to the unique and fragile structure of the holding tank. Mechanics work in tank tops and cut-offs while fur-covered aliens lie motionless in places low to the ground. Heat rises.
Title 5: Prosolar Mechanics harvest the bullet tree. Few realize how desperate we are to find a way off of this planet. We can't figure out how we are going to survive while we search for a fuel source for the ship. The so-called vegetation we have found seems to be only more ammunition and it is hazardous for mechanics to eat bullets. Stories about people acting like heroes, exploring space and chasing aliens are all the rage at overpriced theatres in stripmalls everwhere, but Prosolar Mechanics are about a whole different kind of rage. There is a map embedded deep in your subconscious that will lead you to us, stranded beneath the bullet tree. We are hungry so please bring burritos. (a mile is long when home is far away...)
Title 6: Not all of us are going to reach old age. Sometimes I get the feeling like something or someone is out to get us. We are being tested and we no longer know whom to trust.
SERIES 101798A: Communication with the Living, Part 2.
Title 1: Internet killed the cable star. We wonder how many of you have found a way into the compound. This fall feels nothing like the summer and we are strapped for provisions for the coming season. Mechanics harvest the last of the grenades from the banks of oil-drenched rivers and take cover in alien dens. These hosts do not like our recipes for merriment and we might be out-staying our welcome in this place. If you are receiving this, please send a transmission to our board of directors.
Title 2-1: There is no time like the present.
Title 2-2: There is no time like the present.
Title 2-3: There is no time like the present. Recruiting agents scour the known universe in search of order. There are those of us who wonder whether armageddon is close at hand but certain mechanics don't pay any attention. Some of us have to stay detached enough to pilot the rig into port.
Title 3: You might not be good enough, but you are the only one left. There aren't any more leaders except you, and you had better stop waiting for your life to be on the line. By then it will already be too late. Stop banging your head on the academy gates and stop daring everyone else to do a better job. It doesn't matter how badly you've been treated. There is no excuse left and not one that matters when your future is being determined by some collective fear. You will fail; just accept it. And do it anyway.
Title 4: It's getting away. There was a point at which prosolar mechanics could have offered some protection from another night of dreading the next morning at work. But they weren't convinced. (Endorsements are slow to follow mechanics who show little interest in the asian economy.) There is nothing left to entice them with except the product that is slow to reach the bread bins. There's no need to stand in line any longer if you have a modem and an evening free from anticipated phone calls.
Title 7: Enough is enough. As I gaze upon another industrial sunset, across the street a 5 year old boy whacks the dead branch of a small tree with a plastic wrench. I ask, "What are you doing?" "Fixing it," he pronounces. "What's wrong with it?" "It's broke," he explains. "Are you some kind of tree mechanic?" "Yes." Whack, whack.
Title 8: Communication with the living. Training in transuniversal communications allows the individual access to any point in time through a readjustment of the temporal perception lens. More tests are being conducted in order to ensure the procedure's safety before the FDA will allow it on the market.
Title 9: We hear better in the dark. The mechanics are currently testing the relationship between light and sound. This procedure requires maximum security restrictions for the labs because intruders are just as difficult to detect when one's eyes are closed. There was a point to determine somewhere along the way but in the daily living it became obscured by this notion of getting by. (Sometimes, light is just another excuse for leaving one's bed.) There is a specific formula one can follow in order to measure the degree of disorientation associated with sound in the dark.
Step 1: Turn the stereo up.
Step 2: Turn the lights off.
This experiment can be tried at home with proper precautions provided for (see note 101898-T9a).
New Science Part III - - - - - - - - >
You were here.
Title 114: I am the complex. I have now spent over 15 months underground, in the mines, pretending I was one of them and looking for any and all opportunities for espionage. I thought I would go unnoticed. Monsters harvest broken hearts for fuel, feeding the fat while sleeping youth lay dreaming in their laps. I enlisted as an undercover mechanic. My purpose was to secretly distribute the new science to the sleeping. But as I poke around the sub-territories I realize that I am not actually awake after all, and in fact I am not sure where I am. I may have crossed the line between soldier and captive but there are no guards here to ask. I search my memories for a map to consciousness and the code to open my eyes. I sense the others are nearby but as the artificial lights begin to glow I cannot hear them. We hear better in the dark.
Title 115: I am looking for a new home for Prosolar Mechanics. This place is damp and the bullet tree sags from the weight such moisture. I want to approach the lake so I can swim and wash your hateful thoughts from my skin, but the mud lining these banks is too deep. I am afraid of sticking to the ground and needing your strength to pull me free.
Title 116: Trust no one. Morning report indicated that footsteps were heard on the upper balcony at apx. 2:17 this morning. Guards have been sent to patrol the perimeter of the station, but no intruders have been found. Down below the masses might be praying for light to penetrate cracks in their cells in order to stimulate the primary generation of names. But in the present those lives remain nameless. The prison stays invisible and slowly the urge turns to a light itch. Then nothing. The so-called leaders bring coffee and the morning paper to those starving for bread, but they read and take in the new nutrients; style and caffeine. Somewhere beyond here the real Prosolar Mechanics fear for our survival and do nothing. My frustration turns to yen and I am asleep again.
Title 117: The future of sex. I am not ever going to make it any easier for you than this. The next time you see me, here's what you'll do...
Title 118: Put free time to good use. You live in a world where you have precious few choices and and little time to make them, and you know that. You say prayers in your sleep that you cannot remember upon waking. You do not believe in God, but you don't disbelieve either. Things were once easier for you, but now that you've given up on the notion of having any real identity for yourself you can't seem to understand why you bother to wake up at all, and each day. Bother. Figure out why.
Title 119: The mechanics are desperate like me. We have been conducting more tests over in the lab because the complex seems to have mutated again. It used to seem as though the lethargy seeped in through orifices. Now we suspect it spontaneously erupts from within. No one is safe and we need all the recruits we can muster to keep fighting before we've all rolled over for the last few minutes before the alarm goes off. By then it might be too late. I've opened my eyes for the fourth time this morning without ever closing them in between and the landscapes become more bizarre with each awakening. Where the hell are the others with the ship? If you see them, please let them know I need a hand correcting the spelling on my application to the Academy...
Part Four
title 2003: things are happening now. i don't feel the way i once did about this place and i've finally decided to get going. much of my time here has been spent trying to reach understanding, trying to create understanding out of circumstances. i am not sure after all if the circumstances are not better left meaningless. it doesn't matter anymore, because i'm leaving it all behind. i am off today, and i do not plan to return.
if you've never read this series before and you don't understand what you are reading i will try to explain.
in the beginning i thought there were two types of space travel - the space outside of your body and the space inside of your head. i finally realized this week that i'd had it kind of wrong.
i think the space is all there is. your body is just biology that puts a boundary around some of it. we become so attached to that space taken by our bodies and our things. we never want to leave it and we do what we can to deny or put off thinking about that day, that split second we will vacate for good and become one again with all the rest that is.
i think we miss out. we are driven to avoidance, denial by our fears of disappearing. we are afraid to be human and perishable.
this month someone who was once very close to me died without warning or meaning or any reason that any human can know. and i became sickened, saddened and fearful. because i understood innately that i can die like that too, and so can you, and so can alex and mike and any number of people i love. and there doesn't have to be any meaning in it. it's just the nature of humanity - we all die.
and nobody, nobody knows what happens next. i don't care what anyone says. nobody knows. yet the absence of some concrete knowledge about what happens after death is so terrifying we tell ourselves anything and we believe it because we couldn't otherwise bear the loss and the grief and the fear of just being gone. we can't live with the questions. we create answers and meanings for events. i am so afraid we do that and then we can't see what simply is.
we need to find a way to help each other. to really help each other. not to tell each other what to think, or to pretend to have answers, or to even distract us from being afraid. we need to help each other just be afraid when life is scary and not cheat ourselves from experience or the insight it can bring.
and sometimes we do help each other, in ways we don't intend or at times we didn't think of. i was helped through this specific event by unlikely people in strange places. i was allowed to just be afraid and in agony and sad and all those things we normally try to skip over in life. and it wasn't pleasant but now i can sleep at night and focus on where i've got to go next in life.
and although i haven't picked the specific destination, i know i won't stay here. there's too much out there i've got to go and check out while i'm on this planet.
Copyright 1998, 2003 Prosolar Mechanics
