The train made its usual stop at Chi-Town. Chi-Town was the last remaining urban centre, where transforming humans dabbled in post consumerist delights like colourful French macarons and antique Balenciaga dad shoes. It was a place for fun and rest.
Daisy sat up. She was awake for the last little while finishing her sandwich and still wondering about Mr. Beaver in the hat. He was gone, probably somewhere between Life and Elevententeen. She was happy to be at Chi, she wondered if her best friend from Calgary was there, Linz. Linz worked with WestJet, a now defunct flight carrier that was sold off to Chapters, a distributor of Paradise Lost. Really, the world was so different now. The practice of social marketing has become a language in and of itself. Depending on one’s technological cognitive ability, SM could provide sustenance or increase relativity of binary disease. After all this time, survival of the fittest was still the game. Daisy’s ultimate goal was to become ultralingual as this was the only true way to cure illness. Humans don’t want to be sick. They don’t want to to dead or alive. Illnesses like depression and bi-polar mania are now coveted by animals as it gives them the ability to solve the difficult riddles that humans have not been able to unriddle over the past couple of centuries. This is why coming across a beaver or a snail was so intriguing to Daisy. She just wanted to know what they’ve found, so she herself could unlock some riddles from time to time.
As she stepped off the bus (she’s been off the train for A Day now), Daisy headed directly to the Nike chain where she would change her outfit into something more practical and beguiling. Her mind thought of lime green, neon orange polka dots and always always white eyelet lace. Animals were attracted to that fabric for some odd circumstance; they believed it to be cream buttering their dreams. Daisy picked something out then headed to the cash-in to check out. While waiting, she made her third eye blind to prevent identity theft, then headed to the bag wall to pick something out to put everything inside. Her next stop was Yoga Passage. It was time to reset and recharge. Yoga these days was literally a moment to decompress. Everything left your body as your soul lay suspended in a neon blue hue, rearranging all of your locations and transformations so you could see properly in A Day or Two. Daisy has been practicing since another life, when she was named Chona and did not finish her teacher training practice as Alice from Wonderland halted a sour pursuit of a man named Justin Patterson that would have led to a full-fledged intoxicated state if the relationship was not stopped by a major car accident. Laying in Savasana, Daisy fondly remembered that life as Chona was full of creativity and ideas that could have and should have been realized. She shut her lids and drifted off into sleep. She could see letter z’s in italicized font drift into space followed by little emoji limes and puffy digital rainbow stickers – it was the stuff of her man made adventures.
This time the mirror showed a faint reflection of silvery blue clouds.
Daisy was gone for too long. She timidly arose from a nap and could feel her neck bent and sore from the left side. Rubbing it, she felt the temporary relief of coming back to Life after journeying tumultuously on the other side. The train was still moving across moist carpeted land with moss coloured greenery and trees that look like LEGO pieces. She didn’t quite understand when she transitioned back, but she was glad to be here smelling the faint stink of ham and cheese, quite possibly brie.
When you time travel you don’t require nourishment. You only need the specific ability to qualm emotions and transfer to and from sight and blindness. You don’t actually want to see the workings of Elevententeen, what’s behind there is extremely frightening. The framework is made up of spider-like grids, but when you see it, it moves and pulses like a living thing. Daisy shuddered at the mere thought of it. She quickly patted her yellow eyelet dress to ensure it was still in existence. Another way to halt the screams (screams occur when your brain computes the framework pulsing) was to enter Elevententeen with a very specific wardrobe, preferably containing bold colours, pattern and texture.
Sighing Daisy remembered what it was like in social media school to learn about plain old graphic art and design attributes. That stuff was existential now, it served no purpose. People only wanted multi-dimensional graphics, that breathed and pulsed and held meaning. I guess altering genetics in 2019 completely erased humans’ needs for new things and surprisingly technology. Technology also no longer occurred. It was too fickle and rambunctious, so nobody cared about it. It was only about Artha, Manipura and finding pure butter that could slip you back through the framework unnoticed and at a slippery pace.
Daisy shook her head fast and opened her eyes large. “I need to discern if this sandwich comes from land or the sea.” There were no humans on the train today, only empty seats and a refined beaver sipping quietly on Earl Grey. “Well, he looks. Dry relaxed, so I think this comes from the land.” The beaver heard her think and adjusted his frames while cocking his head North East. He wanted to see if he could grab the newspaper from thin air instead of having to hold it in his hands. Paper was so archaic, he thought. Daisy wasn’t sure if he noticed her. Her heart skipped a beat and stopped for a moment as he again adjusted himself out of what looked like discomfort. Inhaling a deep breath, they both fell deeply asleep.
The reflection on the mirror was blank.
The frog says these spikes on my head are for the better. The slug proclaimed eggactly. In any case, we don’t need to get there until day strikes, so we best gather the lilac tulips and expect the worst forecast. It’s causing an itch on my lumbar spine you see. Well, the splotches should be chilled by then, then the Writing will no longer require to borrow our hindsight. Are you essentially describing When? No my dear, insight!
TBC – The Adventures of Shady and Slime.
“Dude, I’m not coming up yet, I’m not ready.” Daisy was so frustrated, why did he have to control her like that? Why was he in charge and not her? The tag of her green Champion jumper rubbed on her neck and she irritatedly scratched it like a black spider climbing doughy cement. From here on out she was done being told what to do, “I am going to succeed, if it’s the last thing I’m capable of, dangit, I WILL!” Tiny black pills leapt off her skirt making their way down onto pillows marking the street like jewels of yams protruding from the earth. What the heck…where…am…I? Daisy felt silly and stern, “I thought the map was taking me that way…hmm…I am going to have to reconfigure.” She stuck her finger down her throat to feel the recess between her clavicle and sternum, yup, the bump was still there and it felt mightier than before. With a giant sigh of relief Daisy whipped her hand out and quickly rubbed her brow of the pink and yellow sweat trickling wayward towards the bottom of her clogs. The colours were debating with the sunset arguing against this theory: Can we reproduce smells? If only I could see my thoughts. “Is it still not working yet?”, “No.” Okay, well then…let me think. I have zero capability of calculating the difference in time unless it’s through true visuality AND I have thus far only found value in doing everything. Everything is creating. Everything is putting it together. Everything is adding it up.
Chona’s mind went blank. She sat solemnly in the imitation art chair wearing the same worn out neon pink Cotton Ginny t-shirt and whatever pants suited her OCD in that moment of time. To shower or not to shower, that is a key. To remember cucumber, coffee and sex as per Sting singing virtuously, according to the Kama Sutra – a person with the principles of this science, who preserves his virtue, his Artha and his pleasure will obtain the mastery of Each Other. Seventeen always looked like that, predisposed to sleep, but still needing time for rest. Chona Fe yawns and gives up for a bit then hands the paper over to Alice. She bites into it like a rabid snail, if that could ever be possible, but don’t shit the pail because snails are like tricky people. If Daisy could pick just one to imitate it would be the unusual teen at Starbucks. Its head was gargantuan and grotesque because colours from the rainbow of death oozed out of its shell. “Why the HECK would you want to be that?”, Chona Fe answered in a stance of pride, “Well, because its power comes from within, and they are not secret, they are just shown to begin.” So. Alice goes back into hiding and the teen just shrugs. The adventure has now begun, let’s see where it will lead us, nearer to or farther from Elevententeen.