I narrate Autonomy: Part I of III.
I think I now know what people are talking about when they say they’re “cautiously optimistic.” I’ve become so used to disappointment that lately I’m almost inured to any situation that would provide me with disappointment, especially with my academics, the present focus of my disappointment.
I’m looking at finishing up earlier than planned at my current college and starting at a different college that fits my needs better. I think I’ve found “the one,” but I’ve thought that before and been wrong. I’ve heard stories of worse, stories of better educational situations than mine.
The overall picture of my academic life has been postponing both what I want and what I need in order to cater to the concerns and interests of universities. I’m thinking that I will finally be able to move on now and carry with me what I’ve learned about academia and myself.
I’m trying some marketing techniques out, so this blog entry has a link to my Patreon: http://www.patreon.com/lostfoundpoet. Please consider supporting me there for as little as $3/month. I’d like to think I’m pretty transparent about what you get for your patronage, but I only have one patron right now, so it would be great even for my market research if I could get a few more patrons.
The main point is still this though: I definitely would appreciate the support of my art and my ability to support my fellow artists. I find those to be noble goals in and of themselves; market research is just a way to more effectively support hardworking artists from a business standpoint.
I’m even considering joining some Patreon accounts that are only $1/month as a way to network. I’m with the artists, not the businessmen.
A Flash Fiction Piece in Parts by Matt Maday
Even a—tentacle—is admittedly subjective: connective tissue, an appendage—do you know which one or both? I know the captain and the pilot had/have physical corollaries, but Earth and space are relativistically abstract—like a cardboard pilot and captain in relation to a captain and pilot composed of human blood and tissue. There were so many tentacles that the waving arms of the captain and pilot were merely more of the same.
What life form am I now—and how did I get that way? Is hybrid electro-squid human a possibility? I’m getting close to finding out. The squid didn’t transplant squid parts into my body but rather transfused my consciousness with electric squid awareness. As soon as I get the call to go, I’m leaving Earth, and the squid have explained why better than the captain and the pilot ever explained how to run the ship alone—in the end, the squid taught me how to manage and pilot a ship myself, succeeding where the captain and the pilot failed.
I’m now sure that my supplementary neural network composed of tentacles—and squidnaptic clefts—suffices to explain my cognitive restructuring. I retain fluency in their language —I can always talk squid if I have to, yet there is a cosmic language that I also now speak—or speaks to me rather. There’s a cybernetic bloodstream and a central processor star of a heart that balances the squid solar system through light and sound wave communication.
The night sky pilots and captains me toward brief euphoria because it appears in fractal, brightly colored geometry to me—but those who are disconnected don’t see the enlightened relationships lightly forming from star to star. Those without my experience fail to connect with others—human constellations are inconstant and inconsistent. The squid, however, reorganized my psychologically charged intra-meanings, and they connected my establishment-electro-identity with lightwaves and bio-frequencies in harmony with a solar ecosystem I hear more about every night when I tune into the squid channel. When I finally get the call to rejoin them, I’ll be ready.
A Flash Fiction Piece in Parts by Matt Maday
Just a dream or hallucination not reality—or—a dissociative state that did occur in response to a reality so shocking! that—WHOA UH—having an out-of-body experience when you’re outside your spacecraft and in outer space—that will slap you naturally back to consciousness.
I was right up against one of them squids—those squid—does it matter?! sorry—I was indeed able to communicate via OcTone-a-Ton with the squid commander conveniently due to my cerebrospelunker equip—whoa!—didn’t notice the synaptic rush of electricity until the squid data-dispersed into a star cluster.
I was deeply leaking data. The squid patchers got me intact again, though. The captain and the pilot waved—wove?!—uh—sorry—again wasn’t able to exactly leave it all there in space you know?
The captain and the pilot waved from the ship’s window. I watched a radiant circle of glowing quasar energy delineate space and time and nature.