Countess Arugula and the Road Kill Crisis

Countess Arugula, adjusting the velvet collar of her midnight gown, opens her front door with a sigh. "Halloween," she mutters, the name tasting like ash on her ancient tongue. It wasn't her favorite holiday. "Too many pretenders having a laugh at the expense of the supernaturally predisposed."

Her disapproval wasn't just aesthetic. Even forgetting last year's dreadful incident with the blood oranges (she still shivers thinking of the creepy intentions of whoever left them at her doorstep), Halloween itself has soured over the centuries. 

Where were the Samhain sacrifices and the graveyard incantations filling the air with appropriate dread and inspire her nighttime prowling. Nowadays, it was all childish laughter and indulgences in corn syrup laced goodies. Seriously, the high levels of insulin in human veins turned much of November into a truly downer blood-sucking experience.

Sensing her brooding mood from the porch rafters, her bat companion, What's On, glided down and landed gently in her shiny, auburn curls. He mewed a demure "What's on?" and made a warm little nest in her hair, patient to a fault in hopes of the spoils of the evening's hunt.

"Poor little guy. You must be nearly twenty now," Arugula cooed, her quartz face softening momentarily to granite. "Sweet think, I remember it like yesterday when I found you abandoned on my stoop. You just rest. I'm sure there will be some spare flesh for you tonight."

Feeling a sudden need for motion, the Countess leaped ten feet up and grabbed a prominent oak branch. Swinging forward, she tucked into a somersault and catapulted herself to the front walkway. Landing silent as a whisper on the concrete path, she saw the evening's main course laid out before her. In all likelihood, it was the result of a mortal's reckless driving in a rush to attend a masquerade party.

Perfect. No chance this creature's blood was tainted with sugar and spice. Without further delay she sank her teeth into the animal's neck. She sensed fear in the creature's spasms as she drained its lifeforce. As her psychic bond with the deer encouraged peace where there was fear, it occurred to her that her actions could actually bring good to the world. She wasn't killing for herself tonight; this was at least partially unselfish act. 

After a few minutes she rose to breathe deeply of the night. What's On fell from his perch in her hair to lick the oozing blood from the deceased being. The countess was only halfway through her feeding, but best to allow her familiar its fill as well.

It was then a cheerful rumble of paws 

"Evening, Countess! Got a good one there, I see!"

It was Smiles McDog, the local werewolf, and self-professed vegan.

"Smiles," she nodded curtly. "I know you usually get first dibs on roadkill. Will you forgive my trespass, so to speak." 

"Tis the first time I've seen you feasting on the dead, Arugula. Growing some scruples, finally?" Smiles chuckled, scratching his muzzle.

"Indeed," Arugula sighed, then brightened. "This creature needed a little assistance to find her path to peace. There was something stirring about lending a hand to ease the fear in dying." 

Smiles crouching just out of the countess's reach, retorted, "There is no reason we can't be ethical creatures. I still cringe at the fact that it took me so long to see the light. Indoctrination dies hard."

"I will give it some thought. Perhaps I can help those who are faced with a harrowing death move forward, if they have the need."

"Reason and compassion lie at the heart of ethics. If we recognize the consent of other conscious creatures, then there is hope yet, even for our immortal kind."

"Anyways, given the full moon is still a week away, there is no reason not to share. Come on What's On, let's see if we can find some other consenting victims, no...consenting souls."

As Countess Arugula floats in a gentle spiral up into sky, Smiles sniffs the carcass and hefts it over his hairy shoulder and whispers to himself as much as to the deer's lingering essence.

"Come on, you poor creature, even though your consciousness is no longer, there is no reason I can't feast on your flesh in private, where both of us can enjoy a modicum of dignity."

States of Change Chapter 44: Equality (Wyoming)

 

States of Change is an ongoing work of serial fiction.

The speculative story-line seeks to inspire thought on ethics, culture and our planet's future.

The year is 2076, decades after Oosa's defederalization. 

Fifty independent States have forged unique societies from 

revolutionary technology and ideology

All Sandeep can hear is the muffled whine of the thorium powered snow-wolf. He hugs Silvia's midsection as she navigates toward the distant maw of the Tetons. Bison by the score wander scattered across the expansive snowscape filigreed with frosted pines. The setting sunlight sparkles as the snow-wolf jets through sporadic fumarole fog.

And it is fucking cold! thinks Sandeep.

 His air-gel thermals and heated seat take the edge off the chill, but each breath reminds him it is fifteen below all around him.  Add to that his dread at the upcoming night together at the Faithful Lodge. The tenth anniversary of his romantic binding to Silvia ought to be joyful. Yet the thought of recent silences between them consumes him.

A soft chime resonates in Sandeep's ear, coming through his visAR.

"Status Check, Sandeep. Your physiological markers indicate high emotional distress overlaid with anticipation. Your thoughts seem to be prioritizing the emotional 'cost' of your anniversary over its 'value.' Care to articulate the source of this inner dissonance?"

Sandeep subtly taps the base of his helmet twice—the code for a private channel reply. "It's the silence, Zen. It feels like we're just two people sharing expenses to stay stave off the chill of aging alone. This winter adventure was supposed to rekindle a youthful fire, but why am I just feeling empty dread?"

"Dread can be a response to an expected negative outcome. Consider the data: Do the silent moments have the potential to build a contented tranquility, or are they becoming voids where difficult conversations are being avoided? As a level three counseling construct I'm required to highlight non-confrontational real-time therapy can itself lead to overly high expectations in the human relationships."

"Ironic, I know. I just feel safer sharing my inner thoughts with you. Still, I'll give it some thought. I just wish things were naturally at ease between Silvia and I."

The lodge comes into view through the thin fog—a hulking timber structure glowing warmly against the twilight. Silvia slows the snow-wolf, bringing them gently up to the covered porch. As she cuts the engine, the sudden quiet seems to amplify the void within Sandeep.

Silvia turns and gives him a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "We made it, Sandy. Ten hours of adventure, ten years of togetherness."

"Yeah. Ten years," he echoes, the phrase feeling less like a celebration and more like a sentence. 

Inside, the fire is roaring. As they sit across from each other at the heavy wood table in the bar, Silvia starts talking about retrofitting the hydro-filtration system at their urban flat—all projects, maintenance, and logistics.

"Observation: Silvia is engaging in 'Task Talk'—a strategy to avoid emotional intimacy. This pattern aligns with your previous reports of emotional compartmentalization. Question: Does this behavior meet your core need for connection?"

Sandeep watches the fire dance in her eyes, eyes that no longer seem to hold a the spark of reckless adventure. He realizes the silences were only empty because he wasn't taking the initiative to shift them elsewhere. 

He sets down his cider mug. "Silvia," he starts, his voice steady.

She stopped mid-sentence. "Yes?"

"We need to talk less about home maintenance and more about our connection." he gestures with a hand wave between them. "I had a chat with Zen while we were riding today."

"Damn, are you going to let IT dominate our partnership. I've said it before...if a relationship can't make it without cloud therapy, then perhaps it shouldn't make it at all."

"And for once I agree with you, well except Zen is a good soundboard for me. In fact, because of that chat, I realize I need to ditch the real-time therapy so I can be more present when we're together."

Silvia’s guarded look cracks, and she laughs out loud. "That is too funny, so are you saying you're going to break up with your buddy Zen?"

The Zen construct transmits "Is that what you're saying, Sandeep. Are we breaking up?"

Sandeep rolls his eyes and taps his visAR to let Silvia know Zen was listening in.

"In a nutshell, yes. I'm going to revert to thirty minute sessions with Zen once a week, if you will join me in them, so we can build our relationship stronger."

Silvia tilts her head. "Well I think I can live with that. anything to get that ghost out of your head all the time. How about we play a game, Sandy. A little fireside Go, perhaps."

"Yeah, sure."

Zen whispers to Sandeep, "Your line of action surprises me, but I actually think it'll be good for you both shifting to intermittent joint sessions. I see you both have next Friday at 7pm open. Will that be suitable."

"Zen wants to know if 7pm next Friday works?"

"Yes Zen it works...now goodnight and let us humans wallow in our imperfection for a bit."

Silvia rolls out the Go board and the stones clatter across the table, a few falling to the floor.

"Ten years and I'm still such a klutz at times," laughs Silvia.

Sandeep joins in the laughter reaching down to pick up the pieces.

The Lightness Without

Found some poetry I wrote back in 2017.

Light shines from outside ourselves

Solar powered hope

Rotating into view each day

It burns skin even as it brightens paths

Blinding possibilities

Starlit nights

Photons slam into our lives

Rebounding at wavelength speed

Unsquared energy over mass

Genesis observation

Racing outward long before we noticed

Quantum flames

Veritas rising Quarks swell into galaxies Cells grope toward civilization Science seek its answers Hearts their meaning Dualistic guardians of truth

The big bang fades into the CMB

Converging ever toward the Big Freeze

Humans sit in the middle and watch

Each retinal impulse our connection

To a universe out to kill us

And praise us, both

Written back in 2017, likely inspired by this Kim Stanley Robinson reflection:

Look at the pattern this seashell makes. The dappled whorl, curving inward to infinity. That's the shape of the universe itself. There's a constant pressure, pushing toward pattern. A tendency in matter to evolve into ever more complex forms. It's a kind of pattern gravity, a holy greening power we call veriditas, and it is the driving force in the cosmos. Life, you see. … And because we are alive, the universe must be said to be alive. We are its consciousness as well as our own. We rise out of the cosmos and we see its mesh of patterns, and it strikes us as beautiful. And that feeling is the most important thing in all the universe—its culmination, like the color of a flower at first bloom on a wet morning. It’s a holy feeling, and our task in this world is to do everything we can to foster it.

Octopeus ex Machina (Prodigy Prison)

A satire inspired by the novel Remarkably Bright Creatures

Pulpo Gallego thrust-glides from air tank to air tank, her eight arms, a veritable polishing machine on each habitat's primary viewing surface. The large center air tank features three American buffalo, a snow leopard and twelve pangolins, all rescues. Two of three of her hearts quicken while imagining how the lumbering antics of these frightful land creatures entertain and educate larval and juvenile octopodes.

As a sixty month old Pacific Giant Octopus, Pulpo is nearing reproductive maturity. Still, she thrills at immersing herself in sanitation duties at Lazy Ledges Landlife Museum. The North Pacific facility is nestled in a remote inlet adjacent to the San Juan Islands. Without her dedication, thousands of paralarvae and juvenile octopodes drifting through the museum daily would leave lasting, gelatinous suction marks and excrement streaks everywhere. She takes great pleasure in keeping the glass surfaces sparkling and transparent.

The currents in the main observation area generally take the young octopodes through a scenic spiral that favors the central tank and a view of the bluffs above, Pulpo favors the often forgotten side air tank areas which feature habitats for would-be broiler chickens, bacon piglets and her personal favorite, a single member of the hominid family, a human by the name of Erik.

The plaque outside his tank is tentacle-etched with artistic flair. The colorful swirls detail how Erik was rescued as a mature juvenile.

Erik the hominid and his mate were retrieved from an adrift dinghy by Activist Team Kraken during a marine-life slaughter vessel raid in 1989. The female was immediately released once she was found to be healthy although irresponsibly impregnated, ostensibly by Erik.

Unfortunately, Erik's psychological injuries were considered extreme as he suffered from exposure to life-long, carnist indoctrination. As such, this remarkably bright creature has been cared for diligently by museum staff for the past thirty years. No expense has been spared. Erik is fed healthy kelp salads flecked with algae crisps and tossed with sea ginger vinaigrette. The ambitious thirty year hominid mission envisions Erik being released back in the wild with a more compassionate mindset on his fiftieth birthday.

Our hope is that Erik might inspire his world-dominating species to refrain from slaughtering millions upon millions of octopode-kind for Greek Food festivals and French Fusion chophouses.

Year 29.7 of Captivity Hi, I'm Erik. I haven't seen another human for 29 years so forgive me if I'm a bit brief in my story. I was kidnapped.

Pulpo Gallego presses her tentacle to the hominid's observation glass wall. Her arms pulsate colorfully wondering if the barking hominid understands any of what she intimates. She has devoted her many months to the museum's cleanliness. Sure, the vending machine which boasts plant-based, pickled sea cucumbers and peppered scallops is a delightful bonus. Between mopping and scrubbing, Pulpo often contemplates how octopus-kind transcended their survival-of-the-fittest evolution over the past few centuries. She wonders if Erik and his species are even capable of compassion. While she has worked at The Ledges, Erik has shrieked, banged, and spat from inside his habitat. Regardless, she likes to think she has a special connection with the bipedal primate. Of course, his cryptic grumbling and flailing may simply be too foreign for her to understand.

Pulpo and all her cousins' emotional intelligence has been hard won, especially since octopuses evolved without the need for significant socializing behavior. Despite having evolved to survive alone, modern octopodes developed their social skills artificially, which has enabled Pulpo Gallego to meet up socially each week with her chatty "Arm-Marms," allegedly to arrange shells and sip algae oil.

The Arm-Marms frequently speculate with trepidation upon what being an octopus mother might be like, since as mature females, each of them are mere weeks away from the joy of being offered a male's spermatophore nodules. Pulpo herself daydreams of Not Cala Mari, the male octopus who drifted in two weeks ago and made a home in the sunken death seiner at the south end of the inlet. Her mantle quivers in waves of seagrass green at the thought of his nodules detaching inside her.

If honest, her deeper orgasmic thoughts center on her would-be clutch of 180,000 eggs. Of course there won't be time to get acquainted with any of her paralarvae since she will perish soon after they hatch. After hatching, the marine elements and predators will claim 99 percent of them before they gain a full foothold on life. And sadly the human deathships will over time steal 99 percent of those that do survive into young adulthood, all part of the millions of octopodes destined for deep freeze and/or charcoal grilling by the land hominids.

Over many months her shell craft group has grown close. Sharing exhaustive rainbow flashes of primal fears has unified their sentiments on their species' likely extinction due to hominid impacts. Nevertheless, at the end of the last Arm-Marms session a gentle mellow signaling is exchanged symbolizing the empowerment of their aggregate life-times of reproductive planning. Final tentacle-tip goodbyes are twined flush with fluorescent pastels of hope.

Year 29.8 of Captivity I managed to get out of my prison cell once about twenty-seven years ago. My intent was to escape up the bluffs, but then I saw several fattened chickens in a nearby cell. Sure, I've gotten used to the tasty kelp salads, but I was taught as a youth that I need animal protein sources. I gnawed through three hens before the damned octopi security pulled me off and sealed me in my cell for good.

Pulpo makes one final visit to The Ledges facility. I look at Erik in his air tank habitat and deep down I know this isn't the life he would have chosen for himself. I squish my eye up against the viewing glass to size up his hairy alien form as best I can.

He doesn't cower behind his mock-up entertainment box as he did when we first met. And he rarely shrieks or grumbles anymore, which I take as a sign that he's adjusted. Today he simply lifts his two upper arms and extends both center tentacles in my direction. I'm smart enough to sense it might be a gesture of displeasure. I respond with a full-body orange glow implying the hope that the kindness shared over our many-month connection will serve as a bridge to interspecies harmony.

Year 29.9 of Captivity Communicating with the latest octopus prison guard outside is useless. I collapse on the slimy camper-van mattress next to the fake console TV in my cell. The TV itself is only good for hiding my precious barnacle treasures, each one a wished upon trinket calling for the US Navy to blast apart this insane prison and rescue me. I occasionally stare at the TV pretending Flipper and Love Boat reruns are on. It's partly how I resisted dementia for so long. Still, over the years, I've gradually gone numb and I rage internally, fantasizing how I will kill every one of these so-called intelligent monsters. If I escape, I know where I'm gettin' my next serving of extra protein!!

Pulpo Gallego side-strokes out of the museum entrance portal and catches the outgoing current. An expanse of dead coral glides beneath her and her body sighs with pink and cobalt flashes, conveying subconscious sadness at not being able to attend Erik the hominid's upcoming release party. She'll probably have hatched her clutch and be long dead before Erik even reaches his atmospheric civilization. Empathy surges colorless within her mantle.

The tidal current pushes Pulpo forward and her daydreams shift to how her offspring might one day be truly loved by hominid kind, and not with a wasabi rub and side of basmati rice. She chuckles darkly. Seriously, maybe with Erik's help the human herd will finally pick up the diplomatic slack and work to forge a healthy planet full of healthy ecosystems.

As the kelp forest and its multitude of sea urchins fades behind her, Pulpo's eight arms tingle in harmony. Her mind anticipates the ecstasy of securing Not Cala Mari's spermatophore nodules inside her. In the distance, through the swirl of ocean debris, Pulpo sees the skeletal beams of the deathship wreck bringing her ever closer to her destiny.

Humanity's Ego

To many moral systems are obsessed with the morality of humankind...for humankind's sake. Essentially we consider our species sacred and envision some coming age of transcendent wisdom and unity that will bring world peace. 

I think most humans are completely missing the point of finding value in others. Our selfishness is blind to most anything that doesn't benefit other humans, whether those humans are our friends and family, our local community, our nation state, or even more inclusively all homo sapiens. 

Even the most kind and thoughtful people refuse to throw a wider ethical net to capture respect and compassion for all living beings. Most of the eight billion humans on Earth fund in some way the captivity, abuse and slaughter of hundreds of billions of thinking feeling creatires annually. In addition, they support the slaughter of trillions of conscious beings that live in our planet's wild land and ocean spaces. 

And they give it hardly a second thought. 

Evolutionary motivations continue to override our attempts as a species to live with compassion on our shared planet. Instead, through capitalism and spiritual pretense most of us act as if humanity is the only thing that is sacred. Our technologies have made us too successful, and rather than self regulate our numbers and our consumption, we become fascinated with faith-based and rationalized "solutions" that fail to take a truly holistic approach toward a sustainable world.

Sure, we need to connect better with each other as individuals and communities, but not just for our own benefit. We need to adjust our aggregate behavior so that the Earth's synergistic ecosystems remain healthy. Abolishing animal husbandry and wild animal harvesting alongside reducing human population in the decades to come is the real salvation our dpecies can strive for. 

Sadly, humanity's ego needs a wake up call that can probably only be achieved by calamity. The current capitalistic, pyramid scheme (human overpopulation and overconsumption) world we live in needs a hard kick to the balls.

Natural law seems finally to be providing that hard kick in the form of instabilities including climate change, zoonotic disease spread and global resource and cultural unrest.

Hopefully, the societal implosion isn't so catastrophic that we don't recover. Science, technology, and philosophy can lead us forward if we let go of the egotistical brain-washing that blind evolutionary and cultural forces have instilled.

We must use the tools of humanity to sustain a balance with the whole of Earth, its ecosystems and our fellow Earthling species.

Om.

States of Change Chapter 43: Gem (Idaho)

 States of Change is an ongoing work of serial fiction.

The speculative story-line seeks to inspire thought on ethics, culture and our planet's future.

The year is 2076, decades after Oosa's defederalization. 

Fifty independent States have forged unique societies from 

revolutionary technology and ideology

Ten days paddling had taken its toll. The rush of the Snake River ebbed, flowed and tumbled. Autumn downpours had made things dicey here and there but thrillingly beautiful all the same. The dawn launch will lead Gem down the last thirty miles of their adventure. As a sun peaks above the horizon, enchanting Venus fades into the background sky. Gem powers to the center of the river and glides with the current, a smooth finale to their rollercoaster waterway experience. 

In a hybrid contemplative and meditative moment, they reflect silently: Hard to believe I have had my AR implants offline for more than a week; that's the longest I can remember ever being disconnected.  Ten days of old school, wetware adventuring!

Gem's skin glistens with the damsel-fly filigree of nano-wiring, all fully inactive. Not a single bit of data has synced or flowed for their entire trip. The emergency sensor array on the bow of the campinggear laden kayak is the only elec-tech even in passive mode.

Another thought rolls gently inside Gem's mind: The on again off again trance-like state of communing with natural wonder has been enlightening at a core level. Especially when I find myself shower-singing out of the blue. Is the singing simply to add some pseudo-companionship to fill the time or is there something deeper at work? 

Resist, a classic prog rock song from the Ooso prog-rock era now slips past Gem's lips as a tree speckled canyon slides by on both sides of the river.

I can learn to compromise

Anything but my desires

I can learn to get along

With all the things I can't explain

Pausing, Gem mulls the feelings in their heart: I truly have discovered something sacred these last few days. Early on, sure, the data disconnect was hard, missing social media threads, family and friend AR game nights, entertaining misinformation memes, interactive stoicism workshops, and just the never-ending pulsing flow of information and updates on minutia ad infinitum...data, data and more data. 

Was it day four when I let out that particularly exuberant sigh? After that I let the thoughts of everything going on that was out of my control just go. And then the paddling and maneuvering began to flow without afterthought. Past relationship memories, artistic ideas, and simple tasks ahead still surfaced but without any imperative intensity.

Mid-thought, mid-paddle, their lyrical outpouring continued:

I can learn to close my eyes

To anything but injustice

I can learn to get along

With all the things I don't know

With only hours left on the Snake River corridor Gem's accumulated inner peace caved momentarily yet the stream of consciousness continued of its own accord: By day's end I will be back in the ambition race. Will I be satisfied with that? Although living a life of peace for this trip has been centering, I know deep down there is more to life than this escapist, flowing, river meditation mindset. 

They inhale the air, deep and moist. It'll be okay. Maybe I'll figure out the relationship thing finally. A life with the right companion would be a completely new river to navigate, discover and enjoy. The challenge would be finding a great match, willing to spend time both together and separately, an in moments time might just stand still for each of them as they discover their best selves together. 

On that mental vision, Gem smiles, a smile that is part of a greater reality, a reality where warmth and chill intertwine in thin layer of river mist, a reality where the Rabbit Moon now gently drifts high in the western sky, a reality where Gem starts singing anew.

I can learn to resist

Anything but frustration

I can learn to persist

With anything but aiming low

Rush's full song Resist can be listened to HERE

Derring-Do

"Attack the day like birds of prey!" - Rush (Force Ten)

The circumstances of the world beyond our control might be labeled DESTINY, though I prefer framing that concept as "luck." 

Within ourselves, raw and refined DESIRE nudges and compels us to pursue a path through that seeming chaos. 

The third and perhaps most important element in this trifecta of sapient existence could be simply termed Derring-Do, or the will to act. I consider this mindful capability the crowning element. Sure, it can be driven by inner inspiration, but how we act embracing or defying the desire and luck of the moment is core to our inner character and our deeper efforts to pursue a satisfying journey.

How we act is guided by the accumulated experiences, skills and ethical concepts we've learned. Incorporating these lessons into our daily lives happens both unconsciously and with great contemplation. The devotion to building the best world and best self we can muster may require sacrifice and suffering, alas if goodness is the result we push on through.

One way to ratchet up our derring-do is to begin each day by envisioning the things, small and large, we want to accomplish. By mentally itemizing the things we want to accomplish, inside and out we give ourselves an agenda to strive towards. Whether it's working on life projects or personal virtue, executing everyday tasks, or pursuing pleasureful activities, reviewing them (perhaps in journal format) assembles a trajectory for our day to follow.

Subsequently, our intentional actions throughout the day will have a psychic framework of sorts to attach to. Whether we're pursuing these things alone or as part of a team or with a partner, the framework envisions each step we take as we navigate through the good and bad luck moments and channel our inner desires to make it real.

At days end, we can review our progress. By gently evaluating our accomplishments and comparing what we had envisioned to what we have actually done we can systematically improve our effectiveness. Whether as a journal entry or mental exercise this can serve as a check list moment, but also a practice of self-gratitude and self-guidance. Accepting ourselves as empowered though imperfect human beings strengthens our wherewithal. Mindfully growing our capacity for compassion and reason, we can increase the goodness we project into the Universe for ourselves, for the ones we love and for the flourishing of a joyful world.

Give the song Animate by Rush a listen

to amplify the Derring Do in your life