Chapter 6 -The Train Naps

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.

TBC

Chapter 4 – The Sycophant

This cannot be happening right now.

Daisy expired and shook her head as time and time again she did. We don’t exist, we are bars of Nanaimo treats screwed up on Haloperidol mixed with a touch of boxed salad greens. 

So where do we begin? 

She approached Alice who was expecting her as she sat cross-legged on a slice of Dream. “Miss Alice, are you here? Did you have anything?” This role reversal thing just made it all so complicated. 

They were all messed up. The transition from wifi to digitization wasn’t her, pretty much everyone in town KNEW and it felt like people could FEEL the change, but no one would talk about it in actuality.

It’s just so much more interesting. 

What? 

This new job! 

I figured out 5 routes to sudden insight in writing, they are – 

Fast, 

Open and shut, 

Take your time, 

Who cares and 

Believe.

Shall we keep going?

The weekend felt like an eternity. She wished she could swoon over these feelings, but she just craved having her own office and working. Daisy gathered her yellow skirt which had fine white polka dots, a fine white mesh of squid tulle and an admirable edging of white eyelet lace. She pronounced with a deep breath to whomever was not there – Here ye, here ye are, we are short, we are tall, we are bright, we are dull. We are equal and there is something out there telling us we aren’t. Try not to be confused, but to trace your steps back towards home, it isn’t where you feel your bones turn cold and your face falls flat. That’s all she had to do for today, but she was exhausted because she spent days preparing.

Social media nowadays did just that. Having to bring together Others was painstakingly dull, hence why the word always made its way into her announcements. Daisy tried to remember why she wanted this job in the first place.

I don’t feel right. 

Alice from Wonderland awoke from a banana split second to comment, “Recall in your sleep, then awake and for the next every day of your life, return to your commonplace and remember what stands as your truth and reality – resolve, confidence and ultimately, sober things.” Then her eyes shut, but bulgy and half-peeped, she yawned, turned around onto her Dream and went back to bed. 

Chona had a look at where she was. White Spot…hmm…Telus and an escalator as white as pine chairs…hmmm. She was just waiting to see Seventeen and Each Other. It was A Day and she felt 92, but was probably more like a 93. “Don’t forget to measure your immeasurability.” Ugh. It always came out the wrong way. Immeasurability is when one does not make sense for various points and reasons not yet to be discussed. Still, wearing a t-shirt from which her periphery seemed pink, she was holding onto a couple of secrets and there was good reason for it, “It has left.”, “It has gone for good.” I just get worried because I force myself to smile for having an image of my face cropped up in my mind where I look exhausted and homeless. Dr. Waterson at least said I always look flawless.

Daisy quipped all brightly and dull, “Ya don’t NEED to eat the milk, hasn’t this body image disturbance issue been cured?”

Oh just shut up. 

They were both wearing matching lumber jackets. Difficulties often arose in their marriage, however as time was different at least they still had the capacity to travel through the same rate of simultaneous combustive think, it frustrated them both, making them more porcelain and less matte. “We are old.”, “Yes, we are.” 

Daisy remembers crashing the car in 2006, there were banks of snow everywhere as large as clouds plopped down from the sky. She was psychotic and he was possibly Hindu, but as she sped away jacked on thoughts and cigarettes, A Tree followed her, off the main road. She tried to get away, but she just couldn’t and then, they stopped right next to a previous residence to talk. He parked behind the car and walked up to her window that was crusted with ice. 

Daisy remembers the solid air inside her vehicle, her paranoia and delusions stuck amidst cold breath and the dark matter of her car’s ripped seats. She was so scared, more scared than she had ever been in her life as a burly thick man with a bushy red beard approached her on her left side. She rolled down the window and two pairs of eyes extremely intense, proceeded to think. There was silence and patches of foggy air between them. He questioned her actions realistically, but Daisy was determined, “He didn’t die! He was protected by a higher being, I swear this on my life!” It was as if two different realities were panning out at the exact same time, one that was cold and real and the other which was super paranoid and just too hard to bear. But A Tree stood there in silence in between moments of questioning, sort of half intrigued and empathetic to whatever Daisy was thinking. And then, he just let her go. Just like that. She drove away, further and further into it all, arriving at an underground graffiti show that wasn’t worth any of her time, but as per usual she always showed up, walked around like she gave a fuck, because it was her job. 

Allow me to circumvent.

I didn’t get sued, I bounce back, always toward the same direction from which I came, but my goal is to eliminate these occurrences, because deep down inside I am able and determined to succeed. The brain is able to do that. Act godlike and everything or, neuroplasticity.

How many years did it take? Oh, I don’t know, maybe 10.

(tbc)

Chapter 3 – Editing in A Day

“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.

(tbc)

Chapter 1 – What Goes on in Daisy’s Head

How do you write anew? How do you continue to post after a long weekend of stuffing your face with turkey and cranberry sauce to the point where by holiday Monday you’re lost in a hazy misconstruction of football episodes, your daughter’s Super Monsters Halloween edition and extra pumpkin pie, pumpkin coffee cake streaming through your veins? I drove into work this morning feeling like I took a 5 month mental hiatus and that it would take another 5 years to get back to where I was last Friday in terms of thought processes and drive. But this sobering feeling, is it better than the former? Which should I be chasing? There is no need to chase if the answer is right there.” And so, I ignored CBC and the Mr. Stephen Quinn and tried to nap in my car only to think, if I don’t get up to my desk right away, I will fall asleep into this sluggish slump and it will impact the rest of my week in a very negative way. “Dangit, it’s starting already,” quipped Daisy, “I’m not ready to travel, dangit, dang you, dangit, DANG YOU!” I’ve fallen, it only lasts 2 days, but the clock will tick up until the 21st and I only have so much time to regroup and reiterate my success using succinct words and a logical progression of content.

Daisy looked upward, towards the roof and saw a glowing star leaning on its edge, skirts away from abandoning friends and arriving onto a dust covered pillow. Puffy and  like an oyster, she rolled over in bed, drawing her arms over her face and pushing down to feel that cold cozy pleasure she so longed for throughout the day. Today was bright and sunny, bold rays peered through large windows allowing light into her Brooklyn studio apartment. The girl was ready for A Day, ready to do the job she did best – ‘social media marketing’ for an up-and-coming TED startup company in the SoHo district of Elevententeen.

Elevententeen was a designated area for a group of bright communications pupils. They had three things in common. One, they were Bipolar Type 10; two, they had recently quit ‘drinking’ and; three, they lived with an intent to impact the digital landscape like no other humans have done before them.

Daisy grabbed her pillow and immediately clicked on her Insta app, that nagging suspicion to see The Need fed her like a rich, decadent chocolate drink costing tons more than a third-hand Prada bag nabbed off Vestiaire (and Seventeen). She quickly clicked, but then something else happened. It did not open, she did not see the grace of her favorite celebrity and his infantry, she just heard a sound, a long drawn, slowly creeping vibration of ‘digital air’ and the only thing she could think of was, “That content had just become redundant however, I can’t seem to see the validity in re-writing and re-working the same concept more than 3 times, then after that it will become null and void. The success that emerged from it last week is no longer there.”

“It’s locked!”, “Were you able to get back in?”

No, so I decided to just write. Write down your thoughts Chona, write them down and write them down again. Get back to your spot on the list, get back to you, this new you, but sadly I already have a headache developing from the idea of it. Will she be able to leave the content as it is? Will she usurp the value of its flow by editing it down, editing it all out to make complacent sense? Can you back away and still smile and feel success? That is something Alice from Wonderland would say, “Things aren’t worth that much once you start editing out the originality Miss Chona Fe, but I think this is what you think then isn’t that the way?”

(For TED) Next topic up, something a little more logical and objective: awakening technicality in your creative mind using conscious mental activity & a design case study on selling social media ideas to small businesses.

Tip: Trust instinct, not visuality. For example – She’s too excited! I think! Or, “Believe in yourself. The rest is up to me and you.” Or, Keep things simple. Have a rational objective. 

(tbc)