Part 1 of the Dataverse Chronicles
You uplink into a pervert club, one of the many sin joints littered across the cybercity. Around you dance netheads, sex downloaders, gulch manglers, and all other types of indecent sickos. Freed from the constraints of reality, they meet here to engage in their darkest desires. It's a seedy dive, but a good spot to meet criminal employers.
> Order a drink and wait for a mysterious employer to approach you.
The pervert club's waitress glides up and greets you with a cheerfully synthetic smile. "What drink would you like me to shit for you?" she asks.
> Piña colada.
> Excuse me, did you say you were going to shit a drink for me?
"Yes, we're all rude perverts here, so shit is a thing we like. It's the fecal sensation we can't get enough of. Everything on the menu gets squeezed out of my simulated ass. Do you still want a drink?"
> Sure, I guess.
> Ew, no thanks.
The waitress climbs up onto the bar, squats down, and, with a moan of gross pleasure, craps out a piña colada. You take a sip. It's not bad.
I mean, I love apocalyptic illuminati conspiracy fiction as much as the next guy -- ok, a lot more than the next guy, because that guy's a sheeple -- but come on.
Slow news week? Ran out of Dirt Rave stories already?
We should be so lucky as to have a vast, faceless meta-governmental conspiracy that was competent enough to pull this off. It would mean that adults were in charge. Or Gods.
A thumbnail sketch of the science behind chemtrails is difficult because there are competing theories about what that science entails. But most activists, including Roddie, agree that curbing global warming seems to be the purpose. In layman's terms, chemtrails are believed to be an aerosol that contains aluminum (which deflects sunlight), as well as a cocktail of other toxic elements such as barium and strontium. According to Roddie, this aerosol has insidious side effects, including Alzheimer's, autism, asthma, respiratory failure, pulmonary failure, and stroke.
Another major side effect: California's historic drought. [...]
Hall says she protects herself as best she can, but as a gardener, she works outside every day and is vulnerable. She no longer drives with her windows down, she says, and she bought a water filter to sift out impurities. Occasionally, she detoxes from the heavy metals in her blood by taking supplements such as chlorella, zeolite powder, and bentonite clay. She also eats as much cilantro as she can, which assuages metallic contamination, she claims.
Rumors of sickness and bodily mutation run rampant through the chemtrails community. Hall mentions a fellow activist who tested her dog's blood for heavy metals and discovered thorium, a radioactive element that has been used as nuclear fuel.
She also mentions Morgellons, a controversial condition -- classified by most physicians as a delusional parasitosis -- in which people develop sores they believe to be caused by parasites, insects, or invasive synthetic fibers. In 2008, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention investigated Morgellons among patients in Northern California, a hotbed of self-reported Morgellons diagnoses, and concluded there was "no infectious cause and no evidence of an environmental link."
Hall is unconvinced. "All of us have fibers in us because they spray them in the sky, and they're all over the ground, and they're in the soil, and they're in the water," she says. "These fibers are self-replicating nanotechnology. To me, those are the scariest words I've ever heard in my life."
Marsha Dawson, a North Bay activist who works with Roddie and Hall, agrees that chemtrails exact a disastrous human toll. She says she experiences "memory problems" and lung pain because of her exposure. Dawson drinks Fiji and Volvic water constantly because both contain silica that, she claims, loosens the aluminum particles in her body. She also finds relief in black cherry bark syrup from Whole Foods. [...]
The scope of the program Herndon envisions is mind-boggling. According to him, the fly ash is transported on railways that connect coal plants to military and civilian airports across the country. The ash is loaded onto a fleet of 1,000 or more planes, he estimates, all of which fly off-the-radar, often at night, without transponders or flight plans. These ghost planes, Herndon says, have poisoned the country and induced California's drought. He alleges that certain leafy plants in the Golden State now exhibit high concentrations of thallium -- Saddam Hussein's favorite poison for political assassinations. [...]
"Pretty much one hundred percent of people who believe in chemtrails will believe that 9/11 was an inside job and the World Trade Center was pre-rigged with explosives," West says. (In fact, prior to becoming a chemtrails activist, Roddie was involved in We Are Change, a "nonpartisan, independent media organization" that promotes the idea of a 9/11 cover-up.) [...]
As West points out, the scope of the program that Herndon suggests would implicate every meteorologist, airline pilot, and climate scientist in the world, plus a significant chunk of the Pentagon, Congress, Cabinet, and White House -- and numerous other governments and industries worldwide.
At least chemtrails are vegan. Better drink Pepsi-branded bottled water, though, just to be safe. STAY VIGILANT.
baby, i know places we won't be found. the old oak growing upside-down in the backyard. the lake of human hair three miles west. canada
our song is the way you laugh, exposing row after row of venomous incisors
she's not a saint, and she's not what you think. she's an actress, whoa -- she's a vessel for forty-six gods whose names taste like cold silver
she wears high heels; all my feet are bare. she's cheer captain, and i live deep under the bleachers, watching, my mandibles gently clicking
i'm really gonna miss you picking fights, and me falling for it, disemboweling you, and stringing your intestines from the ceiling fan
got a long list of ex-lovers; they yearn to tell you i'm insane. unfortunately, none of them have mouths anymore
cause like, we hadn't seen each other in a month when you said you needed space. as per your request, i sent you to a distant nebula to rot.
i could show you incredible things: stolen kisses, pretty lies, the flimsy gauze which staunches the bleeding wound in the sky
don't you worry your pretty little mind. people throw rocks at things that shine. and pitchforks at things that crouch atop their roofs
now i'm lying on the cold hard ground. now i'm melting through it. now i'm assimilating into the magma below. trouble, trouble, trouble.
romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. i'll be waiting. always waiting. i have poisoned and cocooned my fellow capulets to be safe
i'm not a princess. this ain't a fairytale. i'm not molting. those ain't scales hidden beneath. i swear
cause baby, i could build a castle out of all the bricks they threw at me. i could also absorb the bricks into my gelatinous skin as armor
never thought we'd have a last kiss. never imagined we'd end like this, cornered and quivering before these immense, slavering jaws
someday i'll be living in a big old city, feasting on the engorged and ancient creatures in the sewers, and all you're ever gonna be is mean
Fine: I don't tend to make a point of parading around my naked umbilicus either. It's a revolting hole, a foetid salty lint-clogged scar, a gaping absence that's only a reminder of something irretrievably lost. With only that hole remaining the condition of humanity must always be one of absolute disconnection; we've been snipped apart from a primal unity, and it's not coming back until the day we die. Our genitals tell us that we can bring ourselves together, and even create something new; our navels whisper bitterly that we will always be alone. In the enlightened society of the future, they will always be covered; the belly button more than deserves its share of the socially mandated shame that somehow bypasses it in its mad rush southwards from nipples to pudenda. But it's not just that. The navel marks a person as a created being; by feigning for so long to be without one Taylor Swift is positioning herself as a human acheiropoieton, something outside the dreary chain of reproductive existence. A new Eve? Or something more? Something that exists now, and always has, and always will? [...]
All this, she said, was the work of none other than the award-winning Latin pop artist Enrique Iglesias, in his manifestation as Cloud-Man, an empyrean figure she seemed to identify with the God of Abraham. In the beginning, Enrique Iglesias created the heavens and the earth. It's not an uncommon belief; once you notice it you'll find it everywhere. [...]
Usually, this is where I'd rail against the coming Swiftopia, but here I don't really see the point. Taylor Swift is a grown woman and a successful recording artist; if she wants to transform herself into the fundamental substance of the entire Symbolic order that's her business, and I'm sure she'll do a decent job of it. The signifier is essentially hollow; it doesn't matter what it actually is as long as it performs its function. Taylor Swift might have to release a few less commercially-oriented albums to make all this fully possible -- one to allow the translation of Hegel into the new language, another to make sure football commentaries don't lose any of their immediate comprehensibility -- but, based on current trends, the whole process shouldn't take more than about a decade. The only question is why Taylor Swift is doing this; why she's decided to swallow the world.
Abram dwelt in the land of Canaan, and Lot dwelt in the cities of the plain and pitched his tent even as far as Sodom. But the men of Sodom were exceedingly problematic and sinful against the Lord.
And Abraham came near and said, "Would You also destroy the bitchin' with the problematic?"
You shall not uncover the nakedness of a woman and her daughter, nor shall you take her son's daughter or her daughter's daughter, to uncover her nakedness. They are near of kin to her. It is problematic.
If a man marries a woman and her mother, it is problematic. They shall be burned with fire, both he and they.
1 Samuel 2:12
Now the sons of Eli were problematic; they did not know the Lord.
See, now every time someone says "problematic" I'm going to hear "wicked" and wonder whether they're trying to be ironically Bostonian. ("Gretchen, stop trying to make fetch happen! It's not going to happen!")
That's the most boring dominoes pattern ever, though, so enjoy how soothing it is to watch this wall coming apart: