Calico wiped the sweat from his brow. In his hands he held the object of his last three weeks obsesion. He ran his fingers over his ear, pushing back the few loose strands of hair that hung over his face, his fingers lightly touching the node behind it. He never regretted getting the operation early when they had just been released. Sure, they had some bugs and cost a fortune but he knew that it would be worth it to net surf hands free.
The neural jack had been the computer industries godsend. By jacking straight into the network with out fancy command strings, typing without a keyboard and moving around the world with a thought. The software companies were nearly wiped out, unable to beat the information flow from person to person, until they began packaging for the needs of the netsurfer. The net link had changed the out look of the net forever, allowing people of all kinds to run wild. Old age pensioners became amongst the most feared hackers due to their unnearving ability not to care about the consequences as they were too old to prosecute seriously and they cared nothing for the younger generations.
He ran his finger around the saftey jack that he left in to keep dirt, sweat and other contaminants from getting in. He looked at the device in his hands and could wait no longer. He yanked out his safety with his right hand and held the shiny, new plug in his left. He looked at it enraptured in the new possabilites. If it worked.
Looking over his screen his nervous eyes flittered. He needed some music to calm his nerves. He created a new window and set it for inter-radio, selecting Triple J. In this age of technical wizardy there was no such thing as local radio any more. Music was now sent over the internet to be picked up by a wider audience than normal radio signals. The Australian wide national radio station was the first to move into the global sphere and had ruled the net music lanes from the start. He checked his time. It was about seven in the morning in Australia by now. The breakfast programme. As the two voices chattered away about "Who Punched Humphrey...," he started making final preparations, with sweat running down his head, dangerously close to his port..
Slamming the plug home into his head, it turned itself on. He felt the familiar buzz going through his head and breathed. He sat for a while wondering what to do next, and, as he sat, he felt another sensation, another buzzing, running along with the other, almost imperceptable. It hummed with power, but a power that let him know that he was in control. He needed something to test it on. Fast. His net posse where always using humour, the jokers of the net. So he deceided to down load a bit of Bud and Lou. He made the thought. Even if he wanted to stop now he couldn't. His thought went through his device. The device sent it to the net. The net sent it back to the chemical balanced electron tranmitter that he had built and he began to down load the complete routine onto his brain. Memorised. Imprinted. There.
He felt no different. He thought of the script and like nothing he began to recite it. His breathing became erratic as he realised it worked. His brain had just become a data dump. He wanted to tell people. He wanted to tell his friends, his father, the whole world, that he had created the means to transfer electronic data into brain frequencies. That computer memory was obsolete. There was no sluggy reaction in his cortex. He needed.... he needed.... he needed to have more proof. Just memorising a script wasn't enough, so he down loaded some comic strips. Everyone knew he couldn't draw. But once he memorised the pictures he could reproduce them perfectly, 'cause he knew them perfectly.
He practiced with a few sketches and each one was exactly the same and perfect. He had the bug. He knew he could know and recreate anything. He downloaded some sound files and his vocal cords recreated them.
He had linked his brain to the world and he wanted more. He began downloading everything he could so that he would astound everybody with his incredible knowledge of everthing, cross refrencing with the newsgroups so that he could let them know the real truth.
The CIA world book, the Malkavian Prankthology, the Nine Inch Nails lyrics, some riddles, and some lists. He memorisd the complete Pinky and the Brain "AYPWIP", the Vampire probability/vunerability tests, The Principia Discordia (to make him popular with the "wierd(sic)" girls), the complete Movie Database.
A look of pure joy filled his face as he gained more and more information(some of you may recognise the look. May have seen it on friends, family or even yourself..... You can't mistake this smile). He started downloading more and more, wanting more and more. The 50 things to know about the Illuminati, the gods of Myths and a few Mythess. He took all he could find on the news groups about discworld (this alone took ten minutes to download into his brain).
It was at this stage that he didn't notice that things were going wrong.
When working on the device Calico had made a small error. He had done his study on brain pulses and the programme boudries, but he had forgotten to set the boundries on what was already written in his brain. Although he didn't realise it yet he had just written over all his memories for grade three. His mind had begun to overload. "Too Much Information"
His hormones kicked into overdrive once more and he wanted to know about Leather Garments.
He wanted more Urban Legends. (His eyes stoped blinking but he didn't notice.)
He wanted more Jokes and even more. (He didn't notice that his kidneys had stopped working.)
Like a drug, information flowed through his brain, filling his head with visions of granduer and feelings of Paranoia.
He knew they were after him.... it was a conspiracy, run by the Greys! The war was on between Eris and Bob, with him in the middle..... No Way Out
He downloaded all he could about the X-Files, because he knew the truth was in there. He began to realise the truth of the Bob theory. The M.I.B.s would soon be at his door ready to take him away..... but he still could not stop downloading. At this rate not even the Bastard Operator From Hell could stop him.
He took as much as he could about philosophy (He lost his memory of how to walk. Not that he used it often anyway)
He thought to himself, "This Is Serious, Mum," when he realised that he hadn't spent half an hour on the thing and he already had well over 20 Meg of material all locked into his brain. He couldn't believe the potential of it. Children singing aria's in infancy. The aged taking on more knowledge from all around and adding it to their experience. The mentally retarded being trained by computer manuals of operation.(For some reason he did not think of the three previous social types behaving this way, not because they choose to, but instead, because they are programmed to. Would you really want a senile gentleman reciting the lyrics of Wierd Al Yankovic because that's they only thing left in his memory as it deteriorates slowly? And he didn't even stop to consider what might happen to someone who crosses over into another such unit.... Having someone download your memories, or putting their's in your head so they can save room. Can you imagine this?)
He started off again, downloading Star Trek Fan-Fic (his mothers name lost forever), all the information from the Doctor Who Home Page (That really embaressing incident with that girl... What's her name, was now forgoten), a few ideas for a peaceful revenge (His mind no longer told his throat to swallow at irregular intervals), the secrets of what Kenny says (all his nerves deadened, so he couldn't even feel the pins and needles in his legs any more. He thought about checking this out but figured why worry when it felt better), and took every last one of Aesop's fables into his head(His heart stoped beating 'cause the brain no longer told it to.... As his brain absorbed the fables he realised the irony of it all).
His father found his body and called the coronor. They took the device with the body as evidence. The father never asked for it back and no one ever asked for it, which was just as well as it had gone missing day after he died. You'd like to think that it was destroyed so no one else could use it, instead of a giant multinational taking it mass producing it after setting a few parameters, inserting viruses, and without any other motive than greed. If you do, then think of it broken into bits by the morgue attendant tripping, then hiding the evidence. What ever you think...... the story ends here.
for any complaints or criticism for me to ignore. Oh and i have NEVER
read a William Gibson book in my life........
If you wanna know what i look like...... yaddayaddayadda.........
Festivale - a webzine I write for from time to time. Articles i wrote can be located here, here, and here.
Greys: the abduction my Whitewolf roleplaying game additive.
(they might even look good soon too......)
To the titles of stories page.
Diatribe for the Big Day Out 1999.
Maryln Manson said to me, "Ron Hitler,
I have heard that you can show me Australia."
So I took him to the suburbs.
We drove on out, heading west,
past the groovy, past the arty,
past the point of no return.
The last good cafe latte.
"Ron," said Maryln in a worried voice,
"I'm confronting, and I'm extreme.
All the people in the suburbs,
become violent and be mean."
"I get in fights all the time,
'cause I'm so confronting.
I knocked out a guy just last week,
his name was Rikki Ponting."
"Don't worry," I said, "you'll be alright
and he'll just get giggles.
The children here grow up with freaks...
You're not as evil as the wiggles."
and then I showed him taberay pensioners,
playing pokies 'til they die,
and I showed him my whipersnipper,
and he got it in the eye.
I showed him the shopping center
where bored teenagers frolic.
and they all crowded round him,
and then they stole his wallet.
and then we passed a suburban family,
"Get into the car." the father shouts
while mother steers the shopping trolly.
"Oh my god," said Marlyn Manson, "I'm freaking out"
"This place is weird, it's sick, it's wrong.
I am a total failure.
I thought I was a grotesque freak,
and then I came to surburban Australia."
Suddenly, I heard a scream
"Oh my god," I thought, "he's become suicidal."
"Oh christ," he said, "I've done it again,
I've got my cock stuck in the bible."
"What do they do for fun," he said,
"these gross suburban pigs?"
"Easy," I told him,
"You'll find them all up the front at tism gigs."
"Drive me home at once," he said,
his mascara was a dribble.
"Ron, how can you stand to be a part
of that suburban rabble."
And there was only one answer possible
and I told him it with glee.
"I don't like the thugs," I said,
"but the thugs like me."
words by ron hitler barrasi
transcribed by the fiend
Thank you for your patronage.
last altered 07/12/01 Queensland time