Archive for the Fiction Category

Make Us Insane

Posted in Fiction on April 26, 2010 by GuNNhead

“Have you ever had an original thought in your entire life?”
I sat there at the table. I’d heard her question, she wasn’t upset, just exasperated. She was standing in the doorway between the two rooms in which we were carrying on our conversation. It didn’t bode well for me. After a pause, I answered.

“Have you?”
She looked at me. My response did not improve the atmosphere as I had thought it would. I’ve always been a bit distant, pensive. I didn’t hear her question in the way she thought I did. I, wrongly, was being more philosophical. It was only after the words had left my mouth that I noticed the discrepancy between our thoughts. I thought of explaining myself, apologizing, but stopped caring immediately. I figured that I’d just continue right on with my conversation.

“Think about it, the futility of understanding the human mind. Put in the simplest form, it is to ask to the truest sense: why do people do what they do? Why does anyone do anything? Studying the subconscious motives of a person, even the self, is as impossible as attempting to understand something larger than the self with no verifiable, empirical facts on it. There is even a fear associated with knowing. What if we actually knew what other people were thinking? Would we even want to know? Do we enjoy, or, prefer, rather, our delusions, our ‘images’ of people? Often times, we could find this preconceived notion of who someone is more enjoyable than the actual person, so much so that is placed over that real person. Then we can no longer see them for who they are, only who we want them to be.

A frame of mind can be a powerful thing. It can change one person’s entire world. One can alter what may be, what is, and what was, change the point of reference. Then, in doing so, manipulate death, show that there is no truth, and that there are only different possibilities to be mused upon.

Here’s food for thought: we’ve all seen The Thing, They Live, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, and a ton others. There is no actual way to trust anyone. It is impossible. What if all of these things exist, what if there are people being controlled by things out there with some sinister purpose? What if you or I are one of these things, or your friends. Anyone could simply be waiting for the moment to turn you to them. Heck, even, maybe, we’re already being controlled. What if we were just supposed to be like all the other stupid animals on this planet, but some parasite or alien virus infected us, changed us, made us receptors for some grand cosmic plot? That’s how the animals know we’re different. You see them, all of the animals, they look at us differently from any other animal, they treat us differently. What if all of our drives and ambitions are just arbitrary tasks to support some grand infrastructure to make us slaves to terraform this planet?

Random synapses firing? Success can be gauged on how well one can ‘connect’ on a global scale, tap into the culture. Those who are the most popular or make the most money are the ones who are the most connected, and so then, we are programmed to like them, for whatever reason. Think of fame, and the ‘guilty pleasure’ shows that are popular, there could be something bigger going on, and the current accepted reality is too afraid of knowing about it to admit it, it would freak too many people out. But maybe people need to be freaked out. The possibilities of the world are truly frightening and mind-boggling if you think about it.”

“Thank you, Jake, thank you; for you have, once again, proven my point.”
She left.

Deep-Sea ARTbook

Posted in Fiction, Horror on April 23, 2010 by GuNNhead

Hey, y’all, my sister made these based off of Deep-Sea Daybook! Great stuff!
Deep beneath the sea that we all know, I continue deeper; my submarine groans under the strain, but holds strong.
There are depictions of what appear to be some creatures fighting, whether this is fiction or an accurate depiction remains to be seen.
The only way left to for me to explore is further downwards, but by radar detects no bottom yet.
Something is attacking my submarine; it’s shaking and is beyond my control. I can see what appear to be the suction cups of a giant cephalopod arm against the viewports.
Here’s me at the art show!
- Dr. Willibald Fievel Richardson, colleague and dear friend.

Underdeath

Posted in Fiction, Horror on April 21, 2010 by GuNNhead

A morning mist rests upon the lake. Loons call out into the early morning air. A figure breaks through the mist, and shambles onto the shore. Enchanted by an ancient magic, something in the world has reawakened its water-logged corpse into reanimation. What goes through its soggy mind? It cannot be known, even if it does have thought. A summer day’s walk along an abandoned path dries out its soggy innards. A gurgling and spurting turn into a haunting moan as the air flows through the inlets, valves, and flaps of decomposing flesh, acting as a sort of gruesome bellow.

The autonomous cadaver continues down the path, until it meets a paved road. A slow turn and a shuffling of feet realign its mysterious yet deliberate course. Cars zoom by, thinking nothing of this figure. Minds distorted between reality and fiction, what is real has been turned to fiction, and subsequently ignored in reality.

It continues to walk down this long stretch of road. A mission from elsewhere. Its feet drag along the sand and dirt by the roadside. No one stops. He walks on into the night, into the a new day, and once more into the night. A wolf begins to gnaw on this jerked bit of animated meat, but soon gives up, it is not a flavor worth savoring.

One watching this death march would perhaps boldly and openly wonder why is it doing what it is doing; what is it doing? The simple answer is that it is unknowable. As for what, that answer does not arrive to us, and not even for this drone. It will arrive, to be sure. It has an unflappable tenacity to achieve, like all of its kind. It must do what it must do, whatever that may be. It is both frightening and heart-warming, the way in which it unlives.

It crosses paths with another. This is the only recognition they receive, for their masters exist within them, externally, commanding things they do not understand, it simply gets done by them with no realizations. However, for this moment, there is a recognition between two who live under death. Socket contact, for the most part, but eye contact, in essence. A nod forcing out mutual moans. In large groups, these moans would be overpowering, a cacophony. Mindless in the company of others, doing what must be done.

Eventually, its task is complete. It is sent to rest. At the bottom of a lake, it is safe below the water, deep underdeath.

The Permanent Mind

Posted in Fiction, Sci-Fi, The Permanent Mind on April 19, 2010 by GuNNhead

I am the first.

I was the first.

Today, after more than a century of electech, we have extended our central nervous system itself into a global embrace. A Global village, almost tribal in its interactions.

However: Issues. Bugs. Problems, they were bound to happen. They did. I am the first. I was there, alone, Cyberspace. It’s hard to think of now, like walking into a brand new freshly built city – that’s completely empty, desolate. Glistening towers of data. 3D polymers, rendered and existent within the mind and online in real-time. Beyond real time, faster, as fast as the technog of an enhanced mind. But, at the time, it was 1:1. A snail’s pace by today’s standard, compared to today’s rate. Live a day in an evening. The first problem… now we think differently with regard to how we incorporate ‘sources’ in designing the interface, but, the first problem with our rapid prototyping left a ‘copy’ of my mind within cyberspace. I could communicate with it. He, I, was lost, confused, disconnected. After we reconfigured the entry procedure, the issue never occurred again, but I jacked-in, and I was still there, had come to terms with his situation as I would have, I imagine. He was a valuable source of inside information. I petitioned heavily against his deletion.
There was never a settlement to the debate as to whether or not he was the first AI…

I have a life, I grow up. I’m real, and virtual. I exist on two planes. I am the only unscripted autonomous personality in cyberspace. My other and I were close, but grew apart. Existing in two separate realities will do that to you. Long after he dies, I will still exist here, and I have already lived far longer. He’s questioned my sanity. Understandable. I am an anomaly, an aberration; the one and only, one and only me.

I helped build Cyberspace, having a far more intricate connection to it. Billions now live their secondary lives here. I feel I have the best view in the city, if one can quantify something like that. Directly in the center of it all. 0, Electric Ave. Penthouse suite. The street runs directly through the building, a tunnel. Genius, really. My idea to combine the two structures on either side into a single giant pillar, towering above all of cyberspace, right in the middle of the main street. A fitting place for an entity so pure, so refined. But I digress.

I act as a sort of moderator, an overseer; I filter and confirm all the feedback to improve this virtual realm. As the only one who has a true connection to the world, I can feel what might be best. The power I have, the control is extreme after developing it over the years, but I’m no ruler, I’m only a permanent man in this world of visitors.

Desolation

Posted in Desolation, Fiction, Youtube on April 16, 2010 by GuNNhead