Yellow brick road
May 26, 2024 at 10:00 AM
It’s a spider web.
And, um, the cockroaches and the cream
I’ll wipe the tears off the silver bullets.
And with every dream a tear and a tear a dream...
J. Edlund, «Anything to hurt»
«My name is Valentin Belkin», — A creature in overalls spat into the cooling desert. The creature resembled a hybrid of a squirrel and a dog, walked on its hind legs and had a tail that would fit a cartoon lion. The subconscious mind is a scary thing. However, as this incomprehensible creature decided, everything must be done in order. And untie this horse. And bind it up. And then start the story, if it comes to that at all.***
When you have something strange in your blood at twenty-five, when you accidentally take tests, it is perceived as not caring. When you start to glitch and fall unconscious in the middle of a half-empty bus, it's «probably a drug addict». But the reality is scarier and more prosaic. Although this pales in front of the ferocious brainchild of the domestic medical or defense industry. You see, a ray gun to destroy tumors in the head should quietly kill unnecessary things, and not turn a piece of the brain into a radioactive paste. Or did this shit give ionization, but did not give induced radiation? What's the difference now? Now, according to the radiologist and the experts, everything is fine. Like, now that you're dreaming of all sorts of unknown... artistic fantasy, it's okay. But damn, it's not okay! Close your eyes on the subway and be awesome. Close your eyes on a commuter train and be awesome again. And be afraid to fall asleep at home. Although, outside of Moscow, it was a little relaxing. A cup of coffee drunk in the evening turned the night into a pussy extravaganza (I need to be honest with myself at least about the mat, otherwise like a muslin young lady). Vodka? Well, if you're going to get pumped up, then with single malt whiskey, not «palenka». And this, I'm sorry, costs money. And it didn't work out somehow with alcohol. It doesn't work. But something else goes through the head. Just feel some wave of slop, rolling through the space, which you «see» in closed eyes. Now I know what it is, but I used to get to the point where I was actually going to be a jerk. Some would say I’m a fool to have endured it for five years. Perhaps I am a fool to have endured thirty years of suffering. But it happened as it happened. To be honest, I still don't know who set me up like that. It is clear that some of my friends knew that I had a «laser mark» in my head, and that I did not ask them about «only to no one!», and in general, but somehow it is disgusting when they solve their questions with your illness. Nevertheless, one way or another, but only incomprehensible and unpleasant people came out to me. One of these people, Sergei Petrovich, with an unnamed surname, persuaded him to participate in a strange experiment. They promised a lot for this, but not with money. Medical examination, rare drugs, if necessary. «Shooting» out of turn from that bandura in case of relapse. Yeah. We didn't live with brains, there's nothing to start with. Tests, a non-disclosure agreement. Here I specifically peed and was happy at the same time. Such things usually mean that they won't throw me out after using me, but they will give me a chance to die for a sweet soul. They asked me if I played the old-fashioned «Sublustrum». Well, this gluconautics attracted me a little, I'm already constantly in such a «game». That's what I said. They asked me to play and «get into it». Yeah. It's done nicely-depressingly, but the bullshit is complete! Then they showed the patriotic cartoon «The First Squad». There are no words. That's how I normally perceive anime, if not all kinds of Pokemon, but here… And you can't say that «cranberries». But it didn't work out somehow. And then they asked me what I knew about the parasites of consciousness.***
The further into the forest, the thicker the guerrillas. No, of course, I've heard that a freaky joke can be considered a virus running through the brain. The analogy can be traced. But only an analogy. It's not for nothing that all sorts of sectarians harass their neophytes with diets, meditations and drugs! In society, it seems to me, such «brain infections» arise spontaneously. There is also, however, a magical thing called religion, but it looks more like an innate disease of humanity. And it is difficult to call a disease something that, even occasionally, made at least some people out of a set of cunning animals. But no, infections exist. Yes, not anecdotal ones that everyone knows about. Allegedly, some part of the brain may not be used by the person himself or for co-scratching his sense of belonging with unfamiliar Internet fools. Like, there are some processes going on in the turtles, and the details are a great mystery. At that time, we were sitting in a coffee shop, because Petrovich also did not like alcohol at work, and that's when surrealism began. It started innocently: the visiting family had a small daughter. And my daughter had a backpack with a cartoon pegasus of such an iridescent blue color, as if it were a symbolic image of all the dreams of different «special ones». Well, here I messed up everything! Maybe I was chosen not only because of the burn in my head, but for the ability to pour shit on any completely innocent thing? — The found effect correlates with such crap, — Petrovich clanked his cup on the saucer. — As soon as the next shit boils in people's brains, sales grow. — Did someone stuff the secret twenty-fifth frames into the cartoon? — I decided to «tease». — Twenty-sixth, damn it! Got nothing. We checked it out. And not only the cartoon. Yes, there are a lot of psychos on the Internet, but not half of Moscow! — Is that half of it? — I don't believe it. — Unconfirmed data, — The special employee waves his hand, — The result of modeling. — And why do you need me? — Did you play with a toy? — Well, I played, — I answer. — Do you understand the idea of shimmering worlds? — No, — My answer is honest. — In my opinion, these are some kind of ill-composed near-death visions, not worlds. — And you say you didn't understand! — Petrovich waves to the waitress with a grin to carry the bill. And this shit from the backpack is staring at me with the senseless gaze of a shark. Also with a grin. And it gets scary. And who wouldn't be scared if any person could experience sudden and unexplained activity of the inter-ear nerve nodes? The activity is abnormal and wild, often leading to unexplained fainting. I asked how it was detected. It turned out to be simple to the point of banality. Ferrite antennas were used. So they are worthless, but their size does not depend much on how long a wave should be taken. At least detect hertz. It was impossible to recognize one human brain, everything was drowning in noise, but this is Moscow! Several thousand people near the antenna could already create enough power to work with the accumulation of the signal. If only their skulls worked in sync. And the whole nightmare was that some secret infernal figure was forcing them to work synchronously. There was such a slow wave of excitement, forcing the bark and even the wood of the brain to drain oxygen and nutrients from the incoming blood, as if solving a difficult task. The only question is who dictated this task to you. Actually, that's when they told me why they needed me. The guys wanted to «look» into this very task through my «eyes». I squeezed my eyes shut. A cup of coffee in the evening did its nasty job: a wave of mental slops rolled right through the walls of the cafe.***
There was a book about a fascist called Sturmfogel. Like, Petrelstnik. There everything revolved around the next «special», «other», «not-mugls», «gifted» and other Aliens. Although, I am unfair to the latter. However, both, as for me, deserve only a burst from an impulse rifle. So, these «jedi», from which it was not possible to save Golacteko once again, were able to direct a significant part of their own consciousness to some conceptual city, existing in everyone’s imagination. Salem was called. Generalization of the images of the City of Heaven. Especially, in the tribes of Central Africa and Oceania, no other way. Sarcasm mod off. Well, how many junkies on the eve of the zero was printed? All remember, and memory will end. Out of memory and all that. But, pancake power, in some ways the author was right, there is some «psychic» space, according to Petrovich and those who are behind him. So this is the model, built from the dreams of many people, when there are really a lot of people in a certain territory. But only to see the edge of the «inner» eye this stuff is possible only in the process of dying. And certainly not to walk there, especially with the same potential corpse. This underworld, like, for each a little bit of his own. And he lives his own life, connected to the world with ours. Even if this connection is similar to the gameplay on your computer with the possibility of an accident at the substation due to worn-out equipment and the price of continuity. It would seem, what is the point of this, if the ordinary person can not even in a dream be in this «computer model»? And the thing is serious: this thing has spread over the heads, without asking whether you want to be an unwitting «processor» to model all the processes of such a world-delusion. And I, with my hole in my brain, I’m like a debugger looking inside this psycho computer. Actually, this peeking in the hole in the fence was called «Phase-28». There’s something with sleep phases. This is about the way it was explained to me, when I was already lying on film on top of a little warm tight liquid with catheters in the veins and in uncomfortable plastic «panties» with hoses. Then the lid closed. I was asked to reach for the red brace. Yeah, it moves easily. It’s an emergency exit from the inside. The lid was pressed again. The air went into the mask, tasteless and intoxicating. For sure, oxygen with xenon. The lamps were zamming. Seven hertz, fifteen... The pipe leading to the needle has become heavy. Everyone, let’s go...***
What he wasn’t ready for was a drum in his ear. To panic Valentine was prepared, he conducted tests on automatic: examined his hands and fluttered his tongue in his mouth. There was a reaction, though belated. And hands did not change, all the same strange squirrel paws. But the thumb of an unusual kind was in its usual human place. Hurrah-hurrah-hurrah! — Satellite, answer the Basement! — It's A Satellite. I hear you, — Valentin looked at himself. — Why am I naked? — It's okay. Start running the program! — Uh... the pattern on the palms is floating and changing! — Accepted! What is the nature of the change? «Geez, they have nothing to do there?» — Thought a big squirrel-dog with a long almost lion tail. — Fractals. The drawing repeats itself. — Look at the sky. This is where Valentine froze. Through the piercing blue of the sky with a faint ringing rushed in impossible combinations of the planet, and rotated, fluttering, nebula. — Bring him back, — Someone said in his head. The sand fused with the ring, and in the center fell, cracked, charred skull of a strange creature. Valentine didn’t see it anymore, he frowned at the bright light coming from behind the lid. — Well? Hooray to the pioneers? — Said the woman mockingly. — More like the fame of psychonauts, — Said Valentine, banging his teeth at the drugs.***
Funny thing is, every time, he was in the same place. Almost the same. It was a kind of circular valley in the desert with characteristic passages marking the course of long-dried prehistoric rivers. It was cool there. Each time it was twilight. A heavy evening without the characteristic low latitudes of an instantaneous drop of darkness or a pre-dawn clock. The desert at the latitude is not even Moscow, but Tver. And the sand is strange. Large, with some granite crumb and dark. By the way, if you believe your feelings, a little bit moist. So tiny that just not dried up until the bell. It used to happen when, on a dry and windy spring day as a child, you’d lock yourself behind a leaky fence on a construction site, and there’s a pile of debris. Looks like. Valentine did not look at the sky. There was a nightmare of the astronomer. It's not a good idea to get upset once again. And everything else began to blur as soon as it understood that everything around is unnatural, like pink sausage in the store, in the production of which no animal died from reasons other than natural. The third time, the bipedal squirrel-dog even went somewhere. Scratched his groin, hummed, and walked across a long-cold circle made of scorched sand and kicking the black skull. The skull crumbled, smelled burning. It was like burning paper. — Bring me back, — Said the creature, pulling its tail. — Satellite, what happened out there? — This is Satellite. Basement, emergency evacuation required. I have a contact. — This is the Basement. Satellite, don’t move! Let’s get... What kind of contact? «Sexual, damn it!» — thought Valentin. The sand crunched and heated around them. The sensation of falling into the water... The liquid under the film was swaying. The red emergency LEDs were on. Carefully, so as not to damage anything in the injection system, the man reached for the large handle. I blinked at the bright light. — Belkin, who the fuck is bothering you? — You won't believe it. Some kind of horse in a panama hat. And with a pattern on his ass.***
Most of all it was like interrogations. Where was going and what saw... They asked about the drawing. Valentine answered honestly, in detail, but then it became tiresome. And this compass with two arrows, painted on the horse at the place where the mark is usually placed, and this stupid hat made of gray and green fabric. No, I can’t be more specific, the color in the twilight is bad. Looks like a cartoon? Who the hell knows. It must be something like the original cartoon. No, the original was there in a dream. And also, this horse looked like an Earth counterpart, as well as a human ape. — It's hard to explain, — Belkin took a sip of strong cheap tea from a faceted glass, trying not to swallow too much floating tea leaves and other sawdust, — As if the proportions of the horse had changed. Well, what happens if you stretch the chimpanzee's legs, remove the fur, reduce the jaw, what else is there?.. — Do you think that object was intelligent? On weekends, you will meet a horse in a hat in almost any park. — Did she put it on herself? And corrects, right? A hoof with an opposing finger? — Does the creature have toes on its hooves? — I'm not sure if there are any on the hind legs either, but there definitely were on the front ones. And the hoof itself is not like a hoof, but something like a hard cushion with a nail plate. For some reason, it matches the color of the wool. But I can't say for sure, it was a little far from this thing. —It's strange, — Replied the specialist in incomprehensible things. — It's very strange.***
They let me rest. The train was rejected for some reason of its own, and a car was allocated. It was necessary to solve problems at work and take a vacation in a week. Well, what are the problems there? He got a job as an administrator in a non-governmental office, then the authorities saw how he wrote scripts and programs to automate his work and further spitting at the ceiling and genital hanging around pears. And now he is only listed as an administrator, someone else is watching the grid and for less money, and Valentin writes programs for specific tasks. The bosses sell these programs or give them to familiar customers, then sometimes Valentin rewrites and adds beauties. Should I clean profiles over the network, taking into account specific settings? Pzhalsta! Automatically merge photos from the camera, sort by date, process and add thumbnails to the selected folder? Yes, easily! The tasks are not difficult, but they are complex, and they should be solved with one button «Do great!» and, as a rule, only one client. A dream job. But these are not your dreams. Valentin, sitting in the car and looking at the road, thought how soon he would be ordered a program that selects the same person in the photo and, for example, automatically covers up pimples, increases muscles, removes the stomach or lifts boobs. It was coming to that. In principle, there was a lot of such dirty tricks on these Internet sites of yours, but the client — is a moron with conceit! — always wanted something unique, and so as not to get caught in the absence of taste. I remembered my own unfinished strategy somewhere «gathering dust» on the hard drive. They were already arriving when they shook the phone in their pocket. Petrovich called. — It's me. Did you find out? Well, I was planning to get rich… Look at that cartoon, okay? Yes, about these fucking ponies.