Moving to Wordpress.com

I shall be making a move to Wordpress.com, if you have been reading this blog, and enjoy my writing enough to follow me, you have my appreciation.  If you found this blog after the move, I am sorry.  This is the new address   http://undergardenstories.wordpress.com/    The Undergarden Stories is where my writing shall be posted at from now on, if the Machine Mind Pt. 1 hooked you, then by all means, visit me at Wordpress.

The Machine's Heart Pt. 1

The day we turned the Machine Mind on....it was a day that went down in history as the greatest step forward in man-kind, a leap so large that there would likely be no other that surpassed it.  Later, we discovered that although the leap was indeed large, this leap did not go forward.  It would make every decision, every computation, every choice in the lives of billions. There would be no more wars, the Machine Mind would lead us, all of us, every country, every city, every building, every job, every person.  Too late did we realize, that without humanity, a leader would no longer make decisions like a human.  It would choose the most effective, regardless of cost to Man.  And so the day came, the day that so many science fiction epics had at their base, the day that the Machine Mind computed that the only way to keep Man from killing itself, was to kill man-kind itself.  The Machine Mind enacted a program in which more than three-quarters of the human population would be systematically wiped out, putting to each man, woman, and child a number based on factors such as experience, segregating them between what the Machine Mind decided were useful, and what the Machine Mind decided was useless chaff, necessary to be burnt off for the prosperity of man.  It had decided, and so it had decreed, to let Man thrive, kill Man off.  The world splintered on that day, a tumultuous storm erupted in a moment, a riot of international proportions brought governments to their knees in a second.  But the Machine Mind, in its cold, calculating brain had already determined this outcome, it was, after-all, a computer rivaling the power of all the collected informational power of the entire world, and all of history.  Something like a man driven mad could never have held up against the calm, computerized tactics of the Super-Computer, and so, the Machine Mind carried its task out, immediately, stupendously, without remorse to hold it back, without regret to make it stop, and without compassion to its creators.  It mercilessly wiped out entire countries.  In light of the reluctance to obey the super-computers decision, the Machine Mind decided Man-kind itself was useless.  Now the war has begun, not for resources, not for land, but for Man-kinds very survival.

Bright Blue Sky

The Skies of my home, the bright blue expanse, inviting, accepting, the bright sun basking the broad green covered land in warmth, in serenity, from mountaintop to valley, this sight, one most pure, one most nostalgic, one where we said goodbye.  'I will wait for you' she said, 'I will be here, as long as it takes'.  These were days I could never get back.  Though memories may stay rooted in place, caught up in the underside of the world, time, and life itself, moves forward, steadily, hungrily, ravening ever toward some unknown goal, some sight we can not yet perceive, and maybe this is what is for the best.  Should we see this sight, would we gain the enlightenment we seek, would we cringe at the sight of a visage that we once adored, loved even, the face....of fate?  The grand wheel of life spins, and once shall come 'round again, until all we know, is only what we knew.  Were fate a person, surely he would be despised by the world, hated, cast out....but we adore, love, and even worship this enigmatic foe.  This is my story, of the past I cling to, of the life I once knew, no longer.

Haunted

I am haunted by this memory,  a dream of a child, lively, innocent, friendly, kind, beloved.   I am not this boy, but I knew him.  I am haunted by this memory that reminds me what I am not.  In the end, I am just a weak, conniving, scheming, scoundrel who can do no more than plan, work for, enact betrayal most deep to destroy this innocence, this naivete at the world.  To show a child the real world for the first time is a despicable act, contemptible by even the roughest of scum in prisons, and to force this on that innocent child is a deplorable dream of a mad mind that has long past without sleep, without knowing the touch, the laughter, the love of another.  The only one who smiles at this raving lunatic is this memory, this fevered imagination that he should not be the only miscreant, drove him to this, to create this new man, broken, hollow, raving, alone.  I am haunted by this memory, of childhood, of innocence, of blood-free hands.

Descent To the Undergarden

On the path, bathed in light, and on this path sits a fork, to the right, the not so gently sloping road to the top of a sky-lit mountain top, to the left, soaked in darkness that the sun can't penetrate, the route deeper, into the Undergarden. The road to the right, long unkempt, left abandoned for it's implied difficulty of passing, becoming intraversible with time. The route to Undergarden, worn even deeper with countless crossings due to the promise of an easy journey, deeper, down into the Undergarden. And so you walk, willingly, obligingly deeper, till the sun has no hold on the horizon, even the insects begin to fear the silence, bodies strewn across the path, left separated from all those in the world they used to belong, abandoned, alone, they say silence is the loudest cry never heard. At the end of the invitingly easy walkway, the Undergarden, a place that has seen no light in more years than there are people, a place where the maddening sound of silence is suffocating, poisonous, it gets into your veins, corrupts you. And in the end, in Undergarden, the world of light is nothing but a hazy memory of the past, a fleeting delusion of the mad, that must surely never have existed for themselves.