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Hello my fellow Politiores Troglodytes. This Blog is a collection of Posts, Poems, & Short Stories that I write on a daily basis. If you find it entertaining, informative, and controversial, then I have done my job properly. Thank goodness too, because Karma has been on my case of late. I'm supposed to bring fifty people into the fold or I'll have to give back the part of Einstein's brain I inherited. No, I'm not one of the Scientists who got a piece of his brain when he died. Karma said, "Eat this knowledge. It'll make you smarter!" The bargain I made with Karma was, if I could change fifty people into Politiores Populos, I would be rewarded with my very own Lamborghini. So, that's my story and I'm sticking to it! Like what you're reading, then read on. P.S. Populo is Latin for people. Politiores is Latin for educated. Troglodytes is English for troglodytes. And Einstein's brain was stolen by Thomas Stoltz Harvey after his death in 1955 and eventually divvied up into 240 pieces. If you just read that last sentence, then you have just learned something and I'm just that much closer to fulfilling my commitment to Karma!

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

One Dual Consciousness



Meeting of the Minds

“You can go in now.” Says the indifferent receptionists. She is chewing chicle from the Sapodilla tree.
To Rob Francis Freeman, the scene before him seems surrealistic, as a Salvador Dali painting.
The woman wore a Poodle Skirt right out of the 1950's Gumshoe TV series, Rocky King; Detective. Her hair was a three foot high Beehive, “probably with the lice included,” Rob thinks to himself. Her attire is topped off with large black winged coke bottle glasses, black and white Saddle Shoes, and sheer black Fishnet Stockings.
Not once did she ever look up at him, as she concentrated on filing her black finger nails the whole time he was there.
“Thank you.” Is all Rob could think of saying?
He pushes open a door to see that the surrealism continues in Doctor Claus Spreckels' office.
Everything is white.
Not just white, but white on different shades of white. With each section of furniture, knickknack, lamp, and piece of artwork, coming straight out of Kazimir Malevich's Suprematist Composition!
Rob is wondering why, everything here reminds him of some of his favorite Artists?
“When was the last time I visited The Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art?” He whispers under his breath.
Looking up, leaning sideways in his swivel white leather chair, Doctor Spreckel smiles, showing off his brilliant white teeth.
“Come in. Come in.” Doctor Spreckel repeats. Even though Rob Freeman is already half way across the room, heading towards his desk. “You must be Mister Robert Freeman?”
“It's Rob. Just Rob Freeman.” He tells the Doctor.
“I'm sorry.” The Doctor says, not even trying to look the part. “I have your chart here and I noticed you didn't put down a loved one who you want to share your consciousness with.”
He waits only a second for Rob to respond to his question, then quickly adds, “Why is that?”
Without saying a word, Rob pulls out a “sweeper.” A device used to detect listening equipment, cameras, infrared, and heat signature recording units. It's the latest in anti-government tools sold on the “Off World Darknet” to stop Big Brother from listening in, for holographically recording the whole scene, and arresting them on the spot for what he is about to say. It's so sensitive, it can pick up any Government electronic or organic system used today.
“Nice device.” the smiling Doctor says. “You know those are illegal and I don't appreciate you putting myself and the wonderful Miss Jenkins out there, under suspicion by using it here in my office.”
The good Doctor never stops smiling while continuing to talk.
“You need not worry though. I have, how did they used to say it in those old time gangster movies? The Government's Official Inspector is in my back pocket. We won't be bothered here today. But please, go ahead. Make yourself feel comfortable.”
Rob never looks up from the sweeper. He knows if he does, and misses one single bleep from the device, he could be sent to Prison for the rest of his life.
Finished, he looks to Doctor Spreckel, pointing to the open white wooden chair in front of his desk.
“Yes, of course. Please sit down.”
Still not saying a word, Rob moves into the chair, pocketing the sweeper, then pulling out a small round holographic disk player.
Before he can turn it on, Doctor Spreckel interrupts him.
“I'm sorry, but the law dictates that once you enter my office, you first have to read the contract, medical procedure, then the EULA, disclaimer, and finally the liability terms.” Spreckel says, with the eerie smile of a convicted killer. “You might have heard, this process was originally developed for Military use, as a way to steal the consciousness of Leaders of Countries, our illustrious Nation deemed unfit.”
No longer showing his teeth in a smile, a serious Spreckel tells Rob, “There is no possibility of suing us or the Government after the process has been completed and you change your mind. This is the biggest decision you'll ever make in your life. Or should I say, in your life, and your loved one's life.”
Back to smiling, the smile that Rob has begun to hate, the Doctor starts explaining, “Early studies have shown that if both parties are not agreeable to the dual consciousness procedure, one or both consciousness could develop Borderline Personality Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Sensory Processing Disorder, Antisocial Personality Disorder, Split Personality Disorder, Paranoid Personality Disorder, Extreme Anxiety, and a host of minor disorders too numerous to mention.”
Rob just stares directly into the eyes of the Doctor. Never flinching. Listening.
The Doctor pushes forward a manila folder with his company's embalm on it. “One Dual Consciousness.”
“Please stare at the word consciousness for no less than three seconds for the retina eye scan to recognize your eye signature, so it can follow along as you read this document.” Pausing, his grin widens. “To make sure you read every last word, so you can understand what you're getting yourself into.”
Rob picks up the document, stares at the word consciousness for three seconds, and sees it flash red.
He begins to read.

This Contract Agreement (herein “Agreement”), is made and entered into this Date of “September 30th, 2113, by the One Dual Consciousness Incorporated (herein “ODCI”), Host Client Rob Francis Freeman (herein “Host”) and Consciousness Client ____________________ (herein “Secondary Consciousness”).
The parties hereto agree as follows:

1.0                 Scope of Services performed by ODCI

In compliance with all terms and conditions of this Agreement, ODCI shall provide those services specified in the “Scope of Services” issued by the World Court of Law on the date of January 1st, 2097. ODCI agrees to the “Highest Professional Standards” in performing those services, to the satisfaction of Host & Secondary Consciousness.

1.1                 Compliance with all Laws
    
     All services rendered here-under shall be provided in accordance with all ordinances, resolutions, statutes, rules, and regulations of any World, Federal, State, or local governmental agency having jurisdiction in effect at the time service is rendered.

1.2                 Performance Schedule

Time is of the essence in the performance of entering the Secondary Consciousness into the Host. Once the Secondary Consciousness's vessel perishes, the Host must be present to receive the Secondary Consciousness. If any party, (aka ODCI, Host, or Secondary Consciousness), have second thoughts, regrets, or show signs of instability all services will be null and void.

1.3                 Records

ODCI will be responsible for all records of Host and Secondary Consciousness before, during, and after the date the procedure is performed. ODCI will then inform all Government and Licensing Regulating Bodies.

1.4                 Legal Actions

Host and Secondary Consciousness, after signing this agreement, give up all rights to suing ODCI and all Government Agencies regulating this process.

After twenty minutes of speed reading 30 odd pages of legal documents, Rob looks up at Doctor Claus Spreckels, who seems to be having a conversation with himself.
“Yes Mr. Freeman. I also had the procedure done to myself.” Claus Spreckels says.
To Rob, it almost seemed he heard a hint of irony in his words.
“Myself and my lovely wife Bernadette, who actually was the first Secondary Consciousness transferred here at One Dual Consciousness.”
Rob, seeing the strain in Doctor Spreckels' smile, wonders if it was a mutual consent to have his wife placed inside his mind. He has heard the old tales of men or women who couldn't live without their spouses and had paid handsomely to have the transfer done. When it was still illegal.
Then, after a short time, either the Host takes his or hers own life, or goes insane, because no one had screened the Host or Secondary Consciousness back then to see if both parties were sane or not.
Today, with the World Government having its hands in every business venture here on Earth, most people believe these underground operations are part of the past.
But he investigated Doctor Spreckels' background, and found him to be as greedy as a prodigy of Plutus. The Greek God of wealth. And Rob feels, with the right amount of bitcoins, he will do any consciousness transfer he asks.
“Again Mr. Rob Freeman. Whose consciousness do you want to transfer into your own?” Doctor Spreckels says with renewed vigor.
“The application says you are not married, your parents are deceased, and you have no other close relatives to speak of.”
The good Doctor cocks his head to one side, with an expression that surely wasn't his own, and asks, “Is there someone you are hiding from us Mr. Freeman?”
“Let me just say, I have an unlimited access to any amount of bitcoins you ask.” Says Rob. “I made my fortune during the height of the lava tube mining on Mars.”
“That's all good and well.” Interrupts Spreckels. “Just tell me whose consciousness are we transferring into your own?”
Rob stares into the eyes of Claus Spreckels for a long time, then says, “My pet dog, Pepe.
The End


This is,
 I Really Do Have A Good Friend Who Loved His Dogs More Than He Loved People
Yet
With My Magnetically Friendly Disposition
I Reached Out
Grab Hold
And Brought Him Out Of The Depths Of Solitary
I Hope That Was A Good Thing
Jim Hauenstein,

And,
  
“Solitary. But not in the sense of being alone. Not solitary in the way Thoreau was, for example, exiling himself in order to find out where he was; not solitary in the way Jonah was, praying for deliverance in the belly of the whale. Solitary in the sense of retreat. In the sense of not having to see himself, of not having to see himself being seen by anyone else.”
- Paul Auster -

That is a story I wrote and I am sticking to it!

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