Pacific Wildwood Teleporter

Nobody could do it like Gim. We'd all be standing around in a circle, trying to make it move just an inch, just a smidge, and Gim would already have disappeared and reappeared twenty times, like a flickering porch light, there and back, there and back.

I popped some more triasaniline. Big rush, lean over, focus the e-center, make it move, make it move. Gim -- there and back. Damn. I'm just no good.

Nobody else in the circle was having any luck, not even with seven caps and a mantra bought from a true Port. We all just kind of gave up, and grouped around Gim to get some points.

"What you thinkin' about, Gim? What's your mantra?"

There. Back.

"No mantra. No thought. I just go."

"Where you going?"

There.

Back.

"Way out, some berry field, maybe Eastern Europe or something."

"No way! No way can you go that far!"

There. Back. With a handful of berries, calmly munching. He tossed one to me. It tasted good.

Gim flickered, then stopped, and closed his eyes.

"Where can I go?"

The guys were immediately full of ideas.

"The White House!" "Bank vault!" "Karen Ansington's bedroom, man!"

"Mars!"

Gim opened his eyes and swivelled to look at Orderson, who had uttered the last and most impossible suggestion.

"Mars?" mused Gim.

Orderson got excited. "There's a big warehouse for the roadbots, you can see it with a good telescope, right there near Hooke crater, you know, by the Admin complex. That's like thirty football fields of air during the day, when they got all the machines out."

Gim thought for a moment. "I'd have to see a picture, I think."

So we all went over to Orderson's house, and looked at pictures of Mars and this giant warehouse, and maps, and then Gim shrugged. "I guess I can," he said. "Let me warm up."

We all went in the living room, and sat around in a circle, while Gim stood in the middle. He lowered his head, took a few deep breaths, and jumped somewhere. Poof and he was back, and then fwooh off again, and then he started strobing, like a deadly mad flickering light bulb in a murder house -- I've never seen anyone do that. He seemed to pick up light as he went, glowing somewhat brighter with each trip -- drawing power to himself, I guess, somehow -- getting ready.

He stopped tripping for a moment, and looked at us all. "Wish me luck", he said, and -- he was gone.

"Good -- " was all I got out before he disappeared.

A minute went by. We were all nervous as hell. He must be dead. We knew it.

Five minutes later, Orderson swore. "Where the hell is he?" and fwooh he was there, and stumbled, and we caught him.

He was fine. Just a long jump, the longest any human being had ever taken, and we'd been there for it. No trike, no mantra, no nothing. Just. Went.

Gim asked us not to talk about it. said he could get in trouble, that a security guard had seen him walking around. We all swore an oath to this, which is why you've never heard of Gim Gennehy. But I know he went, and I know he went even further out the next night, and I know he started teleporting out into unknown deep space wearing a space suit he made in Materials & Design, and pretty soon a lot of us were popping up to Mars, and that's how it all really started. None of this alien stuff, just some guys from school trying to take trips, and one guy, one particular guy, who could lead the way.

"Where is he now?"

Out there. Somewhere New.

My Blog Is Under Observation.

Interested Parties Want to Know --

Why Would Such Things Need To Be Said?
Are They Against The Law To Say?
We Should Observe His Blog, To Remain Aware
Of Any Possible Subtleties
Or Secret Messages To German Spies
Such Communigstic Claptrap Shuts Its Yap
In The Presence Of The Justice Boot
The Only Thing That Can Save Your Cowardly
Hide From The Brown Hordes.

Scene Twenty Three

DROMEY

He started to see me as his enemy, like an arch-nemesis or something. I could never maintain a dialogue for longer than five minutes. He'd just freak.

GASGAR

What do you think happened to him?

DROMEY

I don't have any idea. Maybe he's dead.

GASGAR

Why did you go there?

DROMEY

To look for the end of the world.

GASGAR

What do you mean?

Dromey sighs.

DROMEY

Gasgar, I can't explain things to you. You never understand, and then you get frustrated, and say things.

GASGAR

Like what? What do I say?

DROMEY

Shit. You say shit.

Gasgar sits back. Dromey stands up.

DROMEY (CONT'D)

If you weren't there, I can't explain. It's a thing the soul goes through, a burning. Everyone in it knows. But no outsider can understand.

GASGAR

That's what I am. An outsider.

DROMEY

No. You're burning with me.

GASGAR

Now. But they were so much larger, more real. That's what it is. I'm not as real.

DROMEY

When I taste you, you taste real. But you shouldn't be jealous. They're all gone.

GASGAR

Burned away?

DROMEY

Vapors. Around us. In me. Can you tell?

GASGAR

I don't smell anything.

I Reach.

I expanded. Full-size, to my borders, and then on and out into the world and the system and the sphere and further. Infinite? Expand to there. I grew small, to try to catch a world. A green, a blue, a red, a yellow, a dark purple and down its empty heights to dark ground, here organic, here geometric, and in a room. A creature.

Back to Earth. Think of the room with the pondering fellow. Connect. Move out to another world, find a sequence operating in Self, and call it out. New. Go to the park. Seek a duck, or equivalent. Connect.

Back to Earth. Lonely Man Cries For Love And Has None. Ignore him. Find the Dreamer. Underneath a rock ledge in a sleeping bag, too close to the stars, shivering in false sleep, nowhere to go, nothing to do, but live. Connect.

The Planet Ten. Metal worlds, vibrant and made like molecules, full of strangers to you. The least known and most unpopular shall be revealed. Speak.

Retrograde Party Planet. No one knows all that happens here; it is blocked from the Original Recordings, cannot be seen, cannot be known, though it is said to be impossible, the the Original Recording must contain it -- maybe only as algorithmic static, fritzy spikes on the voice of the famous singer in the vinyl 78, that is where that world is found. Connect.

I am Earth. Deeper down, where the tunnel movies like to dwell, it resembles that not at all. Don't think dirt, think what it really is. It is a Sea. It rolls and slaps and roils and walks up crevices. It is afraid of outside. Cold. Now they are piping carbon tubes made by mechanical ants into the Sea, and drawing it out to be cooled for heat and smashed for heavy metals to power starcraft. What is water? Gasses. Do not trust water. It is a Silver Lie.

Shake them all. A thousand more. Connect.

Tales From The Savannah.

The young woman in Starbucks beamed at me. I mean, a thousand watts of feminine gleam from the deepest well of the ancestral memory locked in her junk DNA. She turned, and stuck out her hips, and ran her hands across her bottom, and then turned back to see if I was looking. A billion bits of reality coursing out from a spirit and physical form designed to attract since the single cell turned bisexual. I cannot, I said in DNA, as I looked down.

She was undeterred. No mere mortal, this one. Something about me triggered impulses that were automatic and ferocious -- she bared her teeth at me in a sex-smile, and advanced, turning to one side at the last second, passing within millimeters of my olfactory nodes to ensure a full dose of the mating pheremone, streaming from her like a perfect aura of goddess will.

I, locked in my cage, shivered in the assault. I know where this goes, I said, in sixteen minute twitches of facial muscles, and a posture learned from chemical compounds. I know where this goes. A symphonic burst of endorphins, new locks, the scent of pregnancy and sympathetic weight gain, deep chemical happiness to carry through sleeplessness and teething and worry, rinse, repeat, and continue forward until the chemicals fade and reveal me: unworthy, small, and dorkish. And then? Hell. Children raised by other men who do not chemically love them. Guilt and longing and despair and the Deepest Sadness Of All.

No, I cannot be there. She read my signs, shrugged, and moved on. Still, a small last flash of smile, to leave me with the feeling that I should leap, that I had made a terrible mistake by shunning perfect DNA. My mind knew other, but my cells tugged, still tapping toes to the ultra-ancient Primal Song that drives us all, us Patterns, us Systems, us Creatures.

The Drive.

When I Woke Up

Grimmity and desole', I have awakened to the New Thing. I was born to ancient rhythms, and I slept in them as a cradle for sixteen earth-clicks. And then POW I'm floating down the Bardo to some SexWorld, where I have something Primary it seems, since all things are magnetized and move to my sense and will. It feels the same, smoky and dark and hopeless, but the breeze is blowing over the sway-bridge, and there are birds whispering, and the sun is oh so bright, and I feel sand in my soul -- six bodies, six souls, six works of the True Art, all surrounding me, caressing, shushing, and then -- wild-eyed tears from faces that are beautiful and terrible, too powerful to bear, I cannot, so I close my eyes. A Lucky Traveller, I sense, but I cannot make sense of this floaty drippy real, where I am borne and thrown and washed clean by purple oceans.

I staggered up, to extreme complaint. And fell, since legs don't work the same, some jointed arrangement unremembered by my pathways, but I stagger up again, and this time, I'm a Motor. Cruise down the slip, looking for answers, and receiving advertisement wisdom, and nought else. There is nothing for me, and I'm too far away from my birth-beach, I can feel the draw, so I return to be buried in them, and there is a strong feeling of rightness in this, so my new person tells me with the crackling fury of good nerves, the sense of Good Pathways, the altered state of my frightened child. Back to sleep.

Twellov

seven creatures that dwelled along the Alanfeld River were descended from a vast band, now all but extinct their language was guttural and cruel, and they were barbarous-looking, and they survived for a time in this state there would come travellers who would ride down the road and glimpse a slice of brown fur disappearing into the deep brush but tales were always made broader than truth and all discounted the story until one day a young pre-scientist, a collector and studier of local flora and fauna was stumbling around in the elderberry bushes by the river's edge, in a deep canyon almost inaccessible to humans, and shrouded in a constant haze by the mist from a steep falls at its head he climbed down looking for a species of beetle, and found evidence of hominids investigating further, he found dwellings buried in small sandy hillocks near the river's edge and they coshed him he woke up in a fury of pain and a haze of fear to the sight of seven large creatures standing around him, arguing over his fate he did not scream and this was well, because they would have killed him then and there he was adopted however and prized for his smooth white skin which they would stroke and admire daily as he grew accustomed to life in the canyon with the creatures although they were hairy and seemingly hideous, and their language was quite frightening, they were actually quite peaceful, and simply fascinated by almost everything around them later he mated with one of the females and their child became quite famous after the discovery of the canyon by a team of searchers paid for by the distraught parents of the young man they would emerge into the world and each find a place, as the last of their kind, although the children would go on to become starfarers.

PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA.

Just keep saying it. He isn't perfect, but for a successful politician, he's close. Smart, strong, ethical, real, diplomatic, considerate, modern, young, and a constitutional scholar. We here at Contingencies hereby reverse all prior bigoted outbursts and hereby wholeheartedly endorse Barack Obama for President.

We also would like to say that we apologize for everything bad we or any commenter on this blog has ever said about blacks, women, Jews, or potsmokers, and pledge to redouble our efforts to gain understanding and acceptance for all genetic makeups, genders, beliefs, and sexual orientations.

PS: Let's go check out the latest from my favorite spot on the web -- New Worlds! Learn something everyday. Powerful editorials and creative outbursts. Meet you there!

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