Monday, December 1, 2014

You Can Play A Mind Like A Vast Piano ... Tomas' Next Adventure 12/1/14

Things happen suddenly. Meteors vaporize continents. 'Soldiers' machine gun babies. A dancer plucked from the chorus by an amorous star-maker goes on to a stellar career. No one knows why. Perhaps time doesn't matter? Maybe the past, present and future are but competing swirls of syrup in a vast eternal smoothie? Sometimes they kiss. Sometimes they part. When reality and illusion are added to the mix things really get complicated. Can you follow all the threads?

Ssssh, he hears something. The sounds... the voices... Tomas hears them. He huddles in a den beneath the hedgerows with other tiny humans. They have warm, carefully cured, mouse pelt blankets. He taught them how to do that. He taught them many things. It's raining out in the dark, wide world. Each drop is so large to them, like a liquid pomegranate falling from the sky. But the original possessors of this den, the ground squirrels, knew how to build, so the wetness stays outside. 

The others sleep, even the few novice vampires. But Tomas, also known as Jonathon, does not sleep. He lays curled by the smooth, dirt wall, surrounded by his rescued brethren. His eyes are open. He detects things... a rhythmic, electric hum... tiny rapid, pin-point tickles... voices... muffled sounds... the smell of ozone..... Then come flickers... The den disappears... He is suspended in a soft, grey void.... a dense, ethereal place. They say some parts of Jupiter's atmosphere are like this... smothering blankets of slowly, flowing matter... not solid... not liquid... not air...

And then the squirrel den is back again.... It's all so fluid... Doctor Franklin appears. He hovers above me like a shield blocking the sun. I hear my own voice... mumbling... moaning... trying to shape words..... lights flash... it gets dark, but the temperature rises, warmer than it should be in a chill, damp, nighttime burrow. Tomorrow will be bright. Tomorrow will be spring. The sun will shine. Vampires can endure sun in this strange place.....

A pulse wracks my body. Iridescent singularities dance before my eyes....People talk. They whisper. But not here. Not in the den. No one here seems to notice. They breath. They snuggle. They sleep..... Doctor Franklin whispers - Not long. ... Someone says - It's so hot in here.... Doctor Franklin says - I can't help that. It has to be warm. Be patient. A few more minutes. A few more minutes. Let him breath. Let him breath..... Another voice shouts - He doesn't need oxygen!..... Can you keep quiet, you idiot?! Do you think I don't know that?! - barks the 'Doctor.' It's a reflex. He inhales. He exhales. That tells us a lot....

The voices fade away. Tomas studies the sleeping humans all around him. It's dark, but not  completely so to vampire eyes. And his gaze falls on a skinny, little girl, wrapped in a mouse-skin blanket. She leans against the opposite wall. Their eyes meet. She smiles and waves.....

(Then it all disappears... Poof! It's gone)

Tomas stares up at a smooth, white, clean, cement ceiling. Clinical fixtures bathe all in bright, metallic light. He rests suspended, held aloft in an energy web emanating from the throbbing heart of Doctor Franklin's harmonic masterpiece, The Grand Armonica. Crisp, uniformed technicians race from end to end, monitoring readings. The Old Patriot sits at the organ-like controls of a large console, orchestrating the whole thing. He says - Tomas... Tomas, can you hear me?.... A technician, holding up a syringe asks - Shall I give him some more?.... The Old Reprobate raises a hand to silence him, then says - Tell me your full name, Tomas and where were you born?.....

For perhaps twenty three heartbeats just silence.... Then a weak response.... The young, naked vampirino hanging in the barely visible, ever changing network of harmonic, energy threads coughs and in a quiet voice he says - My name is Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea and I was born in Granada, which is ruled by The Caliphate of Cordoba.... Then he whispered something in Old Spanish, or Hebrew, or Arabic... None could tell. 

Those in attendance burst into applause. Most were staff people, but some were wealthy guests, there to see the potential for 'life extension' inherently possible in this unusual procedure. The 'Doctor' valued his business world connections and the income they brought in. Benjamin Franklin is, after all, the ultimate realist.

When the cheering died down, the 'Doctor' adjusted his controls, weakening the web and slowly lowering our esteemed life-eater (politically correct term for vampire) onto a waiting gurney, where he was immediately wrapped in clean sheets and whisked off to an uber-tech intensive care unit. 

Human neurons can be very precisely stimulated. The mind can be played like a piano. And now, with our extensive knowledge of each and every region of the brain, we can paint detailed experiences and memories onto the human psyche. Thus Tomas' recent adventure. Those at 'The Bureau' had to know the strength and completeness of his re-mortalization. They needed to know if his energy cloud, or soul had successfully integrated into its new physical environment. He had to experience all manner of stimulation. Did the programmers get a bit crazy? Sure... 'invasions' of The Bureau... panicked flights to the Moon... a subterranean, Dyson Sphere-like lunar civilization.... Escape From New York-like chaos on the streets of Philadelphia... Giant canine, civilized, mid-Victorian alternate universe.... tiny humans raised for food in deep cellar mushroom farms? Looks like some of Doctor Franklin's programmers and technicians want to write for the movies. Lotsa luck. Hope they got 'good' cousins and stay on the right side of North Korea.

But that's history. Tomas is back. The procedure was successful.

Naturally, the poor, unwitting donor lost his mortal body and is now for all intents and purposes completely dead. But he didn't count for much anyway...

<nitey-night...or rise and shine... depending... more next time>

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