Corrosion

[RonnySimulacrum]

Corrosion

Corrosion

The morning sun struggles to break through the grey clouds above me. I sweep down through the last trails of smog towards an endless array of blurred and decrepit buildings. I bring the glider up slowly to a flat trajectory so I can take in the view. The city hangs stretched before me, buckled. Dead cars emit a silent hum. I move my eyes along the landscape, unable to push back the feelings of awe and attraction for this tremendously stark beauty confronting me. The energy and barbarism it took to produce such monoliths - now oxidizing with every breath. Entropy is a wondrous process; life and art both found in death. Occasionally greenery penetrates the canopy of rusted metal, weaving towards a scarred sky.

I glide in over this once vibrant city centre ? the scavengers violently stripping anything that could be used to lend advantage against the hot wind and harsh surroundings. It is cities just like this that hold most of the survivors of the pre-bio-synthetic human race. The scavengers spend their days appropriating dysfunctional materials to perpetuate their meek existence. Only rarely do I venture down from the mountains into the outer city in search of materials, only under the harshest of weather conditions, when there is little chance of contact. I now cut myself off from what remained of mankind, retreating into the wilderness, into sacred seclusion. I am now interested in observing human decay, but only passively from a distance.

I slow the glider down a little and bank hard, circling over what remains of the university and its gardens. I can see so clearly all of a sudden. The aspirations that myself and other student activists held in our youth were only distant dreams. The energy and time we used blockading against the mining and logging companies. The time spent helping the Aboriginals reclaim land from the Averaginals. It all seems so long ago now. We thought we had some control or hold of it back then, a chance to collectively make a difference. The same physical reaction, the forces that created the universe were now being used to destroy it. What part had I played in this? Was I an innocent victim of social conditioning, a subject of fate, or had I actually willingly been involved in the city’s wake. An extreme protester for extreme times.

I pull my glider up and out towards the mountains that lie to the north, passing endless streams of rubble that once made up a sea of condos and villas surrounding the city and covering hills. Below hangs what was once the most prized of landholdings in the city. Occasionally on the ground something moves, ducking and weaving amongst the rubble below. Behind me the ocean glimmers like a slowly rippling mirror, melting into the infinite. I pass over what remains of the condos on the hills, into wilderness proper, which surges forward with dense green life. It is like passing over a tidal wave from above - the rampart that separates me from chaos and death. After gliding for a while over the thick green valleys below, I head for my usual clearing on a flat plateau at the foot of a large mountain. Pulling the glider in for a slow swoop, hot air scorches my face as I near the ground, dust lifting up around me as I the earth touches my feet.

After a long revitalising meditation in the dense undergrowth and a small snack from the surrounding flora, I set about the ritualistic task of disassembling my glider and hiking with it for five hours up the hill through dense lush forest towards my much loved abode.

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The hum of my wind-powered generators breaks the natural ambience as I enter the clearing where my house is erected. In front of me, my house lies encompassed by the canopy of three trees. The sun burns directly above me now, beaming down on my little green house that faces due north in the centre of the small clearing. Off to one side, shaded by an Acacia obtusifolia is my wooden shed, where I often tinker with extractions from the plants cultivated in the garden. The whole setup is designed to fit into the wider, lush cornucopia that encompasses the dwelling, remaining as symbiotic with its surroundings as possible. I place the glider in the shed. Birds return to the safety of the trees, as I head to the natural spring that arises on the northern edge of the clearing, leaning in to refill my canteen and watering apparatus.

I take a swig and wipe my forehead with the back of my sleeve. It becomes soiled and saturated. The sun has reached its zenith and is robbing the moisture from my skin. I will not leave the shade of the canopy again today. Doing so would certainly lead to dehydration.

My greenhouse is two metres high and four metres long. A wooden ledge surrounds the interior, where plants flourish in their synthesised Eden. I push through the flaps of dirty translucent rubber that serve as an entrance, and a wave of humidity hits me like a wall. The cacti that I grow in the greenhouse - my pride and joy - tend to take prime position. I have always had a soft spot for succulents. Each one has its own name, and I often speak to them at length during my days of reflection. Watering them slowly, liquid drips from the crown of the cactus ebbing silently down the body to the cool, moist earth below. This simple act of irrigation brings me intense joy. I planted several cacti shortly after establishing my sanctuary; and many of them have now earned sacred places in the wider garden. I spend most of my day fastidiously tending the plants and preparing material for extraction. The greenhouse is deliriously hot at this time of the day but I happily linger in the heat. It is a small price to pay. I am covered in sweat and looking forward to a brief siesta in my hammock, nestled between the cool branches within my house. A bird screeches out a distant call as I make my way towards the ladder and up into the tree.

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Metal twisting and then liquefying before me, the sky is ablaze, people are turning to ash below. Like dominos the buildings fall before my eyes, clouds of dust and smoke bellow up to high altitudes, curling back upon themselves into the fog of chemical wake. From this height all I can hear is the hypnotic hum of my jet engines. Below, the motion appears noiseless. Recomposing myself, I return to my set course and head for the next city.

Awakening in a start, covered in tiny beads of sweat, the hammock swings violently from side to side. As I rise I am aware of the perspiration rolling down my body.

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I feel waves of ecstasy wash over me as I watch the shadows of my plants gradually descend across the clearing. Perched on my balcony I can see my entire creation, my sacred space. I have spent years perfecting it, establishing a harmonious balance between nature, myself and the decomposition of the former world. But ultimately only one can win out. The answer is etched in stone.

Red clouds slowly part in the night sky, revealing the white glow of Neo, the last of the three moons to form around the Earth. The lunar being travels slowly in a retrograde orbit, baiting the other two moons into thinking for themselves. Seated on my balcony I slowly draw in thick curls of smoke from my pipe, joyfully blowing silver rings, freeing them out into the night. As the evening drifts on, more clouds break, revealing the sky above. Selene, the first moon now appears in view. As the moons drift apart I listen to the sounds of the night creatures, the cacophony of frogs and insects echoes out into the ether. Bats fly over and land above me in the branches of my beloved trees.

My attention is suddenly drawn towards the water where an insect buzzes loudly over the reflected moonbeams. The pond flourishes with life, like the cities of old. The reflections of the two moons are blurred abruptly as a frog leaps up into the air to snatch a noisy bug from flight, landing with a disorderly splash. Chaos rules both systems. My wind-powered generator stands inert, silently in the garden, like a barbaric statuette honouring the former times. A bird perches, sharpening its beak on one of the old rusted propeller blades. Entropy utilised constructively before my very eyes. The bird leaps from its perch, circling the garden below, and with a sharp dive, snaps the amphibian from the water and flies off into the darkness. Returning my pipe to my side I take in a big breath of air, smelling the abundant surroundings. Drifting into thought I grin, as all of human history slides back into the catacombs, reducing it to a less than a blink of an eye. Humankind resembles the passing of just another age. Life evolves; reconstituting all matter back in to the eternal cycle. I look back out to the sky, stars glisten brightly. Most of the cloud has cleared and all that remains is the two moons parting the sky like curtains.

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The first rays of sunlight are just breaking through the dense grey clouds above. I rise from my bed and head straight outside for a shower. The morning air is cold and fresh, and I take a deep enthusiastic breath, exhaling slowly. Down under the shade of the treehouse, I pull a cord above my head and water falls over my naked body, flowing over me and into the earth; this invigorating act alone prepares me for the day ahead.

The city is covered with a heavy fog, not one sign of human settlement is visible above the thick layer of vapour. All I can see from my runway is dense forest cascading down into mist. Beyond, the sea breaks out of the fog and trails into the infinite. I bring my glider up and descend the launch ramp, feeling the air catching beneath my feet. Gliding through the air soundlessly, I clench the guide bar and notice a little discolouring on the metal. Moving my hand over it, I scratch at the rust. It flakes under my nail and falls away into the rainforest beneath. Fully awakened, I float through the cosmos, transcending the semiotic code encrypted in the vista below.

Fin

Copyright Jonathan Carmichael 04

[gomaos]

Excellent writing there, jonathan...

It actually made me write a few more lines of the SF story that has been on my mind for a couple of years set in Australian bushland...

illegal drug-grower gets hunted by robot who looks like J. Howard, flies and shoots laser-beams,

in an Australia that has been turned into a military dictatorship...

but I can't seem to get past the beginning...

I think I bodgied it up last night...

now it has become completely unbelievable...

what the hell here's what I've written so far, please someone give me some input whether I should continue or not...

hope you don't mind, ronny, but starting it's own thread for it would be pretentious...

here goes...

"new story"

The car clattered over the dusty dirt road.

It was night and there was always a possibility of cattle sleeping on the road, so he had to be very cautious.

Nevertheless he maintained the speed of 80 km/h.

He was nearing the targeted area, and soon he would have to find a good hiding spot for the car, so it would not be picked up by satellites in the air, or possible patrol vehicles on the ground.

He would have to walk the remaining 20 kms at dawn between shrubs and cattle, hoping not to be noticed by the eyes in the sky.

He turned from the dirt road onto the weathered tar road. There were only 3 bridges to pass and then he had to find a hiding spot.

He didn’t know whether the farm that he would normally pass by with his car had people living on it.

He passed all three bridges, very happy finding all of them still intact, and then veered to the left into some undergrowth.

He drove into it as far as was safe and left himself the possibility to return here and drive away with the car.

He hoped that he was still far away from the farm, so no possible resident would have heard his motor.

His was a 2021 model and very silent….

But you never knew.

It was a fifteen-year-old car and all he could afford.

He had carefully arranged leafy branches over the car, bending and breaking them into place. Then he went back onto the track he came in on and spread leaves over the tyre tracks. All this was done by very early dawn light.

He strapped on his backpack and walked away from the car. He had to climb a few fences, and walked through cattle country, about 200 metres away from the road.

He soon made out the farm buildings, on the other side of the road, but could not notice any signs of life. Which did not mean anything.

The grass was yellow and dry, and every now and then he saw cattle standing or lying down in the paddocks.

Since there were cattle there had to be Farmers as well, he just hoped that he would not come across them.

And of course there were other inhabitants of the bush, those who were always close to the ground: Snakes.

Some of the world’s deadliest snakes lived around here, and he had encountered them more then once.

The worst were the brown ones. On a few occasions he had almost walked onto them. Once he saw them he had stopped in shock, not moved another muscle, then very carefully retreated.

A few times the snakes had been erect already, ready to strike, but then refrained from it, luckily.

But once you got bitten that was it. There was no way of getting help, especially if you had to walk 20 kilometres to your car.

But let’s not get carried away… .It was unlikely.

He had walked past the farm buildings on the other side of the road without noticing any human figures.

It made him confident he had not been seen by anyone either.

He thought about the past when things had still been “normal”.

He had lived in his little house in the bush with his wife and two children, and for a brief time, 2 years they had been happy.

Then, as he had foreseen and feared, the ultra-right-wing “One Country-Party” had taken over government.

They claimed to have won the elections, but it was plain for anyone who was the slightest bit informed to see what had really happened.

The members of the former ruling conservative but still somewhat democratic party

had been killed and replaced by robots, or rather, androids.

The technology developed to perfect androids had taken place in secret controlled by some very rich people.

They also had resurrected the long dead “One Country Party” and used it as a dummy for their plans.

Soon after the rigged elections the country had been turned into a totalitarian dictatorship run by those who controlled androids and robots.

You couldn’t just live in the bush anymore, a hundred miles away from the next medium-sized city, unless you were a stock farmer or growing commercial crops.

This was directly aimed at those “hippies growing drugs in the sticks”.

(that's how far the story has progressed for now, the action part is all in my head but I can't get past the beginning)

I don't know, should I continue, or what?

[ 02. March 2004, 09:26: Message edited by: gomaos ]

[RonnySimulacrum]

Firstly Gomaos, Thanks for the vote of engorgement, I need that at the moment, have had lots of criticism of my work lately, which is good as wall as bad for me. The major problem I was told (with my above piece, anyway) was that it used the first person pro-nouns to often. Well I still have lots of lesions to learn, but enjoy trying anyway.

Just before I start, I would like to add, at the moment I am drinking coffee, groove out to Radiohead and charging my car battery so I can get to work later (maybe I should just ring in sick-I wish).

Anyway back to your piece

Well I like the idea/concept and the way you have executed it so far. It is political and culturally relevant to today’s struggles, and unluckily almost plausible. Well, one could say most corporations acutely act like robots anyway, if so it is very plausible, if not already happening around us. I love how you have kept it with an Australian feel, I find this is missing from lots of Oz s-f, and that is a shame. We have so much to right about in Australia, and it can come with such a spiritual slant, the dreaming is the best s-f mythology going.

Ok so the problem is getting over a hurdle and into the main body/action. Well only you know what the main action is, so I cannot give you that answer, but the trick is to have something in the start be a catalyst for the main action. Whether it is the characters motives or something that happens to him that forces him into soup.

Well it goes with out saying that you should finish it. I know that finishing a story is very hard sometimes. If you are like me, you come up with at lest one mad idea a day and we let them just fade away, well some times it is better to force ones self to get down and do a botch job that lose the idea. The best thing to do I think is just keep righting, not thinking to much about looking back and just punch the thing out. Tell yourself that this is just a draft so you are not to hard on yourself, just let go. Then when you have finished, you can make a world of changers, see what works and what is maybe needed, or can be done away with. In the end whether the work turns out like you wonted it to or not, you will have something and gained one way or anther from getting the piece out of you.

Well just some comments hope they help some.

I LOOK FORWARD TO READING THE FINSHED WORK.

Ps I would gladly accept any comments or ideas to help me with a redraft of my pieces. Anyone?

[ 02. March 2004, 13:41: Message edited by: RonnySimulacrum ]

[gomaos]

Hmmm... I didn't say much about your piece did I?

What I like about it is the ambience, one almost wants to be there, gliding over the landscape...

it's almost like listening to music...

it would be a piece ofmurmuring, ecstatic synths symbolizing the flying...

with atonal crackling electronic noises which would picture the burning cities and devastation...

one cannot help but ask: What happened here?

If it was nuclear war, how come the rainforest and plants are still growing?

But then again, it's in the far future, hey, the earth has 3 moons, so it must 1000s of years from now, and who knows what doomsday-device has caused the devastation and the killing...

It is like some of the 70s and 80s "Heavy Metal Magazine" stories, it would fit perfectly in there except for the ethnobotanic part...

(Whinge, cry, I lost my priceless heavy metal magazine collection in time because I was moving around to much)

perhaps you should add some action and make a novel out of it...

just an idea...

[RonnySimulacrum]

Thanks Gomaos

Yes, your description is just how I wonted the story to feel. Ambient and not human centred, let the environment speak. Yes there are some strange things going on, I do not see the destruction of the cities in a modern nuclear sense. And hell there are three moons, are we on earth, as we know it.

Heavy Metal Magazine, you geek Gomaos, I only have one HMM.

Not time for a novel, it is killing me just trying to get forbidden fruit out of my way.

How is your story coming on?

Did you cheek out undergrowth?

http://www.undergrowth.org/index.htm