What does one do with the rest of their life? As it begins, day by day, each day new and made new, by opening eyelids and the illustrious flow of information vectors, propogating beneath. And I start thinking about fermions. And the thought that what I have seen in my reality molding, the melding of new constructs of percieved reality around me, and their phase transitions into waterfountains or godhead dinner forks of giant sentating spiral galaxies just shy of the most infinite point of time, always hampered by Zeno's paradox, the static, almost wired segment of information communication that I've begun downloading brings me to conclusions about the mutability of time. Time, the one god of my youth, the one being I had thought I could always count on. Time unable to maintain a constant flow, in flux. I'm always halfway to the end of time, from each point of halfway. I could be halfway through my life right now.

I want to be a Reality Technician. I want to be able to put that on my resume. I'll send it out to a variety of companies, they'll see my name and then see my position as an RT, and they'll go Well, we've never hired a reality technician before. We never needed it, but now that the idea has come across our minds, maybe we need one here. To maintain a sense of flow. I want to be a Reality Technician because there are many elements readily modifiable in our world. Some are basic like carving stones for communication, or lighting levels. And then the higher things, requiring an alteration of time, a bending where the previously strictly non-euclidean geometrics annunciate the path where at last parellel lines intersect.

Do I have the tools? I had a dream, all of it was layed out before me. I remember the exact curvature of her body; I can see the incandescent intakes of her breath, and I wonder...

The Tools of the Reality Technician
  1. Imagination. Consider the imagineers of bygone days, applying their torn obsessions to paper and parks, constructing temporary realities that engaged the childmind heart. The burst of solar systems and intuition collides with happy accidents. Through acts of disorder, the order of things can be obtained, thought mining in the trenches and caves of the temporal universe.

  2. Desire. This is a multileveled thing, much like the rest of the world upon which one would want to apply modification. There is the desire in abstraction: I want to be a reality technician. I want to create pieces of writing that in some way modulate the world around me. I want to create reality modification devices and I want this to transcend the mundane reality. I use the word mundane here in a very loose way, without the connotative dismissal that may be implied. There is a very fabric by which the world is created, this fabric can only be refered to in metaphor. This fabric is what makes the laws, is what makes the mind, what makes the heart beat, and love to spontaneously erupt from volcanoes of desire. This is the fabric of the second reality, the fourth dimension, beyond atoms leading to molecules and elements.  — And then, the other kind of desire, the desire of now, locked inside of this timeframe to perform the operations of reality modification. To be the technician and not just the dream. The hardest part of desire to break into, to persue.

  3. Augmentation. The world from which the initial steps of modification are to take place are within our own. Communication to the other sides is of a particular necessity. There is much food to feed this fire, coming in the form of musical productions, musical instruments, computing devices, and other hand-crafted makings of love and expression. We build on these things. The psychedelic vision goes beyond the usual associations, rises above its initial drug-haze.

You already have all of this.
What are you going to do with it?

Teleport backward in time. This is now a last week. In the reality where I don't obscure my self as much as here— in the world where I find myself most often trapped, begrudingly maintaining my day-to-day activities, going to college, working at a law firm— in this world I am about to graduate college with a B.S. in Liberal Studies, and am approaching the conondrum of How Am I To Be A Reality Technician? What is the right choice from here on out? What kind of time scale am I working with here?

I am 22 years old. I write, but not nearly enough to be a writer (discipline?). I compose experimental music, but not nearly well enough to be considered a musician. I can tinker and am practically one with my computers, but am uncomfortable at the prospect of using that knowledge as an employment scenario. I spend my time thinking about creative projects that may never be possible for me to complete. Several half-begun and aborted, still-born novels and stories, screenplays and interactive text environments. A deep appreciation of the communicative powers of cinema and sound. All of this, and a desire to take it all beyond this. To realize enviornments, and worlds. To do these things and more. To leave this body and work on the more abstract things in the makings of the universe. To defy my sense of scepticism as to the possible existence of a metaphysical universe revealed to me through archetypal situations and strange anomolies in my perceptive reality. A world suggested to me at times with and without the use of psychoactive substances including LSD, Salvia Divinorum, Psilocybe Cubensis, MDMA, and marijuanna. But I also augment all of that with the ritual use of food though my body is incredibly skinny. I input the air that we all breathe. I listen to the moss.

I start asking the questions. I throw them all out there. I put up one mask only to take it down and put up another, one closer to my face, but I am faceless. I am more monkey than man and more man than monkey. I sometimes doubt that a person exists under my patterns of behavior, but then this is also not completely true. For I truly feel like a being when I enter into a casual relationship, a courtship of the archetypes where I can literally feel the personality structure of a repetitious segment of the cosmic mind fall into place between parties, and the role on a microlevel is played out, as long as I want it to. I can also turn it off, because by being aware of it we are sometimes able to turn it around. Not always, this is when people echo we were fighting, and I wanted to stop, but I just couldn't control myself. But there I go again. Wondering aloud about something, and pretending like I feel strongly that my analysis is adequate. I don't really. But I do. I don't know, I can't find my place in this world and that's all I'm trying to get out. The prose from the begininning has shifted incredible. I'm aware of this, painfully self-aware but it's the truth. I start out in fiction, I teleport to autobiography and that all just atrophies anyway.

Will there be a future for the reality technician? Will we some day integrate and reconcile the different levels of reality into an autonomous whole by which the permeable surface can be breached? I'm awaiting the brainstorm; I've put my umbrella away.

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