Tag: time travel

The Superpower Dream

I recall three dreams from last night. 

The most memorable had me with superpowers. Yes, I became known as Time Man.

It started with a gorgeous day and a house being built. Standard construction techniques were being employed, and the footers, floors, and frame were all completed. Don’t know if I had a role in building it, but I remember looking at the house under construction, and walking around it in interest.

I then became aware that a large family were after me. From what I witnessed and overheard, they had superpowers and apparently had established a mission for themselves to corral and stop others with superpowers. Hence, they were after me.

At this point, I didn’t know that I had superpowers, and I don’t know how they discovered it. But now, suddenly being chased by this family of twenty donning costumes, I took off, time-jumping to safety. Why, how did I do that? I wondered after doing that. What exactly had I done?

I figured out that, while remaining on Earth and in the proper era, I’d both traveled in time to a few minutes into the future, and I’d also used PK to transport myself about a mile from where I was. Both of these impressed me.

Some of the superpower family (SPF, in shorthand) found me. I jumped again, going further in time and distance to buy some time (sorry). Exploring my abilities, I found that I had become aware of two arrows of time running in parallel, and that I was using both, but also using the time void between them. (I don’t know how the hell I figured all that out.)

Several SPF found me again. This time, I used my powers to freeze them in time, something that I’d learned that I could do. With them frozen in time, the SPF parents caught up with me. By now, confident in myself and what was going on, I confronted them and explained my powers, and told them that I didn’t plan to be evil, so they shouldn’t be afraid or try to stop me. A lengthy discussion about evil and intentions ensued. Essentially, they argued, how could they trust me, and I countered, then why shouldn’t I try to stop them? I could use their own argument about them. They said they had a history, and I replied, yes, but we’re talking about intentions, and subsequently, about unintended consequences.

About that time, the SPF members I’d time-froze (don’t know what else to call it without more thought) thawed and began moving, and other SPF folks began arriving. Mom and Dad stopped their children and began explaining that an agreement had been made for me to leave them alone and vice versa. Then I went off to play with time and explore my powers.

The dream ended, leaving me feeling, “Wow,” but also amused while wondering, “What the hell was that all about?”

One of the other dreams had to do with Mom and my family. I was having dinner with them. Dinner was being prepared, mostly by Mom and my sisters in the kitchen. The kitchen adjoined the dining and living room areas, creating one space. It wasn’t large, and circe 1960s furniture filled it. For example, the kitchen table and chairs had curved chrome legs. The table top was marbled gray Formica, and the seat cushions were bright red vinyl.

Now let’s get into the weird stuff. A man and his boys had a mirror setup, but there wasn’t any wall between us. We and they pretended to ignore one another while going through parallel activities of preparing our meal and sitting down to eat.

Mom and my sisters began talking, though, and left, surprising me. We hadn’t eaten, the food wasn’t prepared, and they’d left a mess in the kitchen. Vexed by this turn, I cleaned and organized, discovering chicken parts left in plastic bags in dish water in the sink. Mom briefly came by. I told her what I’d found and asked her what she was thinking, but she left without replying. Exasperated, I continued cleaning, and then prepared the meal. I waited for the others but when they didn’t show, I sat down to eat what I had.

I was sitting opposite the man and his son. They were white, both with dark hair. Taciturn and glum, the man appeared to be in his mid-forties. He was overweight and slovenly in appearance, with a flannel shirt over a white tee-shirt, and he hadn’t shaved. His son seemed to be about ten.

At this point, we were eating but not paying attention to each other, but I couldn’t help but surreptitiously note what was going on and observe. While doing that, I saw his son doing something, but I can’t recall what it was. However, I told the boy a better way to do it.

He and I looked at the father for a reaction. After a few minutes, while putting food on a plate, the man said without looking at the boy or me, “Listen to him, and do what he says. He knows what he’s doing.”

The dream ended.

0

Birthday Boy

Two seventeen was on the clock when Dee decided she would get up to wait. Rising, she walked downstairs with the slowness demanded of her diseased-ravaged ninety-year-old body, wheezing as she went. They said she’d beaten cancer, but it didn’t feel like it. Her feet and hips ached. So did her neck and her jaw. She could barely raise her right arm enough to dress. Drugs did nothing for that pain and movement any longer. They wanted to scrape the joint.

Turning on lights, she walked around the kitchen and dining room, looking out windows. It was dark, and she was alone. Although her eyes, mind, and body felt tired, sleep was like a Mega-millions lottery ticket this week. She’d cleaned the house, washed the bed linens, baked and cooked, and worried.

Prowling the kitchen, she regarded the black forest cake on the table. He’d told her that was his favorite once, so she always had one on hand, with candles. She didn’t know how old he was. He would never say. Based on his annual visits, he was sixty, but he’d been an adult on every visit, so he had to be older, didn’t he? Sometimes, he looked older. Once, he’d seemed like a very old man. His hair had been almost gone. What remained was gray and white. It’d been shocking.

Rubbing her face, she sighed. She was too tired to think. She’d been looking forward to this, but she also wanted it done. She wanted coffee, but for God’s sake, it was two in the morning. Once it was over, she’d want to sleep. Yes, but she felt so tired, maybe a little cup of decaf would help keep her alert. She didn’t want to fall asleep and miss him.

No, she would not miss him. That would be a first. If he came, he would wake her. If he didn’t come —

If he came, he would wake her, if he had the time. He was always so busy, busier every time. That’s what it seemed like.

And last time —

Leaning forward against the sink to hold herself up, she entered a reverie. Last time, he’d been in the worst condition that she’d ever seen. Blood all over him, and so gaunt, with disheveled hair. God. She’d wanted to hug and kiss him but the sight of him froze her.

“Peter. What happened to you?” she said. She scanned him with her nurse’s eyes for wounds and spotted several.

“War,” he said.

“War?” she said with shock. Recent news events bounced through her thoughts. “What war?”

He shook his head. “There’s not time for that.”

“But you’re hurt — ”

“I’m okay, Mom, don’t worry,” he said, but a wince crossed his face, turning into a grimace. “You should have seen the other guy. Seriously.”

“Your arm is bleeding,” she said, moving toward him. “So is your abdomen.”

Peter moved away from her. “I know. Stay back. I don’t want to get blood on you.”

“But you may have major internal injuries.”

“I know, but there’s not enough time for you to do anything, Mom. I’m going to be gone in a moment. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I just had to see you.”

“Why can’t you stay longer?”

He had not answered. Peter had disappeared.

So, she had little hope for this year that it would be a longer visit.

She’d read The Time-Traveler’s Wife when it was released. So much of that book was like her experience with her son. But when she’d mentioned it, he’d said, “No, it’s nothing like that. It might seem random, but your visits are part of a much larger timetable.”

“My visits.” The way he said that, she knew it had more meaning. “You’re the one visiting.”

He’d smiled. “It’s really too complicated to explain. This visit would need to be a lot longer.”

She closed her eyes against the press of pain. It had taken her years to accept Peter was real and that his visits were real. Poor little Peter had lived less than a month. That loss remained a jagged wound in her soul. His first visits —

Her Fitbit’s alarm buzzed, reminding her of the time. She’d set it at his birth time, two thirty-four A.M. He always showed up then. As she pressed the button to stop it, he said, “Hi, Mom.”

Dee started and turned. “Oh, Peter. You scared me.” She laughed. “Right on time.”

He looked great. He came to her and hugged her tight, giving her a kiss as she tried saying, “I didn’t know if you’d make it,” while kissing him back.

“I’ll always make it, Mom,” he said, releasing her.

She drew back. “Let me look at you.” Her eyes brimmed with pride. He was so tall and good-looking, with a lean and athletic body, and beautiful green eyes. It was the best he’d ever looked. He could be a movie star. “You have a beard.”

“I do?” He grinned at her. “When did that happen?”

Dee wasn’t sure if he joked.

Smiling at her, Peter said, “How are you feeling?”

She sighed. “Oh, I’m tired and old. I’m in constant pain.”

That’s not what she wanted to talk about. There wasn’t time for it.

“You want something to eat?” She didn’t want to ask, but she had to. “Do you have time to sit down?”

Regret spilled into his expression. “No, Mom, I’m sorry. I don’t have the time this year. I tried, but….” He sighed, looking tired.

At least he wasn’t wounded, or older than her. Remembering who he was and what day this was, she said, “Happy birthday, honey. I wanted to say that to you while you were still here.”

“Thank you,” he said, looking past her at the table. He grinned. “Is that black forest cake?”

Nodding, she smiled. “It’s your favorite.”

He nodded back. “Cut me a piece. I’ll take it with me.”

“Really?” she said. “Do we have time to for me to sing happy birthday first?”

“Only if you cut the cake while you sing,” he said, “and you sing really fast.”

She rushed to do so. “I put everything out, just in case there was time.” Picking up the knife, she sang, “Happy birthday — ”

She stopped as she looked for him.

He was gone.

“Happy birthday, son,” she said to the empty room. “Happy birthday.”

0

The Character Mix

Philea’s voice remains strong. She retains control of the story boards, dictating what’s going on. I’d prefer some shortcuts so I can finish the novel (and series, Incomplete States). 

Not going to happen. The characters know what they want to say to convey the scene’s meaning to them and how they want the scenes to portray them. Kanrin is straightforward when he speaks and pragmatic in his actions, but likes to keep his speaking to a minimum, letting others fill the gaps. He doesn’t ask questions, but wait for people to volunteer insights without being prompted. He knows that many people like to give their opinions, and within these opinions are some aspects of the truth, or enough to give him direction. His story telling tends to be direct and shorn of observations. He’s also very patient.

Handley is more scattered. She tends to do free-association streaming of thinking and interaction. She gets angry at people and hold grudges without sharing why with them. She’s also troubled more than the rest by the entire series and its concepts. They don’t make sense to her, and even while she experiences them, she’s attempting to either rationalize them or reject them.

Meanwhile, Pram has become more physical, aggressive, and belligerent. He’s also awoken to the awareness that he was used and that most people don’t consider him a nice person. Yet, is it really him? Or are his interactions being manipulated to drive him to a specific end? Impatient to be free of the circular complications, he’s always asking the others for information.

He also knows from his external memory that he wasn’t always like this, but he’s trying to unwind the cause and effect to better understand how and why he changed.

Because of his experience in Returnee, Brett is more philosophical about the situation and open to ideas about what might be going on. His experience taught him that systems and perceptions can’t be trusted, and that we often only have a sliver of the available information. Brett is also a rememberer, able to recall and understand his other life-experience-reality-existences with greater clarity than the rest, giving him deeper insights into the struggle they’re all enduring.

Richard, another rememberer, is less talented as a rememberer than Brett. When it comes out eventually that Brett is actually Richard’s replacement, Richard becomes bitter and sullen. He wants the others to want and need him, and is desperate to do and say things that will raise his esteem.

Then we have Philea. A scientist in most of her life-experience-reality-existences, she’s the most intelligent of the group. Her intellectual prowess (and technological breakthroughs like her time-traveling machine, Wrinkle), enhanced her value as a target for the organizations, species, businesses, and other entities who seek to master and control the forces that this group have encountered.

Although Philea isn’t a scientist (or engineer) in her current incarnation, her thinking style and logical expression remains similar, but less practiced. Fleeing and jumping the Wrinkle as hostile forces close in and try to take them, her new experiences awaken greater insights in this part being written now. I always knew and respected this piece existed, and that it would come to be written at the right moment. That moment seems to be now. Her revelations awaken the group to greater depths of involvement and complexity.

Still, I was surprised with her introduction and references to Kything. While writing like crazy during the past week, I wondered how this was all going to tie together even as I typed and edited it. Philea dropped the reveal on me at the end of yesterday’s writing session.

Good to write all that up. Permits me to think through the craziness and reassure myself that I’m keeping up with developments.

Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

2

Today’s Writing #106

The confluence of two events created an excellent writing day.

One, the coffee shop was busy.

Two, Philea seized control.

Maybe due to the Ashland International Film Festival (AIFF), or maybe because of the cold spring rains and chilly weather, the coffee shop was busy when I arrived. I found a table but no outlet for my laptop’s powerpack. Well, I decided, I’d take what I could and write. If a table with an outlet came open, I’d seize it.

Sharply aware of my HP Envy’s short time on battery, I ordered myself to be focused. There was no worry there, because Philea had taken over.

Philea is one of my series’ main characters. I mentioned the other day that I dreamed five muses rode in on horses. One dismounted and transformed into a character, becoming Philea, a character introduced to me when I began writing the second volume of this quadrilogy back in 2016.

Philea has been center-stage since the night of her appearance in my dream. Going back to a previous post about her from January, 2017, reminded me of how strong and independent she is as a character. As before, she didn’t have any stage fright today, but strode out into the action, introducing a quickly realized rich setting, a new character, and greater background information on this leg of her journey.

The bottom line of this confluence: I ended up writing three thousand words in less than fifty-five minutes. There was a lot more in the tank at that point. Philea knew exactly where she was taking me. “I need to stop,” I told her when the computer issued a warning. Half of my coffee remained in the cup.

“No problem,” Philea replied. “I’ll be waiting here tomorrow.”

I hope she doesn’t stand me up. Fantastic day of writing like crazy. I hope every writer has the chance to experience such days.

2

Retrofloof

Retrofloof (catfinition) – a time-traveling cat who insists on living in the past.

In use:

Lady, the little gray tabby with a tawny belly, was a retrofloof, disappearing as suddenly as she’d arrived, with as little explanation to it.

He didn’t worry; another retrofloof would soon show up. Other people thought retrofloofs were strays, but he knew that cats liked time-traveling, and preferred (from his experience and perspective, at least) to go into the past to relive their past lives.

How did he know the cats traveled into the past? They’d informed him that it was what they did. Not all who disappeared were retrofloofs, of course; some were alterfloofs, choosing to live in alternative dimensions. But Lady, she had told him, was a retrofloof.

 

0

Tuesday’s Theme Music

It feels like an eighties kind of day. I should clarify that it feels like a day from the nineteen eighties, vice another eighties, like twenty-one eighties, or seventeen eighties. The clarification is needed to reduce confusion that older people or time-travelers might have.

If you didn’t live in the nineteen eighties, you probably don’t know what I mean. Having lived in that period, I’m not certain what I mean. I’m assuming that I lived during the nineteen eighties. I have memories of the period and events. But, for all I know, I could be an unknowing time-traveler. I also could be suffering from a disease whereas I think I’m someone who lived in the nineteen eighties, or a robot, or alien, unaware that I’m a robot or alien. I could be a fiction character, writing about that time to make a point to others, or entertain them. Or, I could be living in a virtual reality where the matters of nineteen eighty that I remember are all fake, to make me think that I’m alive. Who knows, right? We assume we do, and cling to that, because it’s safer and more comfortable than alternatives, and as far as we know, it’s true.

So, here’s “It’s Like That,” by Run-D.M.C. It’s a song that I think I heard when I thought I was living in the nineteen eighties.

On Earth, BTW. Just to clarify.

0

Imaginary Physics

“What do you have?” he said.

“Chi-particle. Can you break it?”

“Can I break it. We can break anything here. I’ll give you a tachyon and a baryon.”

“That’s not enough.”

“I think that’s fair.”

“It’s not enough. Throw in a meson.”

“No way. A chi-particle isn’t worth a tachyon, baryon, and meson.”

“I disagree.”

“Take it somewhere else, then. Know how hard it is to get rid of a chi-particle?”

“Know how hard it is to capture an extra one?”

“If it’s so hard, and they’re so special, why are you trying to get rid of it?”

“These are special circumstances.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“I need to change a chi-particle.”

“Look, I feel you, buddy, but I’m pretty limited. It’ll be hard as hell for me to get rid of that. People don’t want them. And Chi-particles have imaginary mass. Know what that does to real mass?”

“Yes, but they’re faster than light. They’re faster than tachyons. They have the longest half-life of anything out there. Hell, they’re the fundamental energy-particle of life.”

“That’s why people don’t want them. They already have them. Everyone has one. They worry about what another chi-particle will do to the relativity of simultaneity.”

“Yes, but Blink drives won’t work without them.”

“Blink drives are in the future. I have to deal with the present.”

“There is no future or past, there’s just now.”

“Oh, no, don’t start trying quantum bullshit on me. I’m an eternalist. I’ll not have presentism in my shop. You want to talk presentism, take it somewhere else.”

“Okay, okay, forget about time.”

“Forget about time?”

“Just give me a pentaquark and a tachyon, instead.”

“Where do you think you’re at? Look around you. You think I have anything as exotic as a pentaquark here?” He laughed. “Next, you’ll be asking for a heptaquark.”

“Well, what can you give me, then? Make an offer.”

“What about some leptons? I got every flavor you want.”

“I’m already lousy with leptons. Try again.”

He thought. “What flavor of chi-particle is it?”

“Human, of course.”

“Human huh?”

“I wouldn’t be dealing with you, if it wasn’t a Human chi-particle.”

“Okay. I’ll give you a tachyon, baryon, and boson.”

“A boson?” 

“Yeah, that’s a good deal.”

“You kidding me?”

“You won’t get that anywhere else.”

“A Higgs boson?”

“Now you’re trying to take advantage of me.”

Both accepted the swap after sniping at one another for a few minutes. Neither was satisfied, but then, nobody ever was, dealing with imaginary physics.

 

1

The Now Card

From my dream came the understanding I needed to enable me to push some struggles aside.

I’d conceived that only Now is real. There is no other time. You can ‘travel’ to another time but it’s Now, then. When you ‘travel’ like this – I’m uncomfortable saying ‘travel’ because that implies a physical movement, but I use it here for convenience while working out what term best suits – you’re shifting awareness of Now, not ‘traveling’ anywhere.

Semantics? Perhaps to some, but with important consequences. There’s only true awareness of Now, with an understood and accepted version of past events. These are what was passed on as history. Whether they’re true is another matter.

The future is a concept of what will probably happen, given the various arrows of time engaged. Some of those arrows are more strongly attached and fixed. Still, the future isn’t not necessarily what will be experienced. Except, we do not know; our expectations shifted without our awareness so the future that we experience is naturally what was expected. This is partially a biological and neurological survival mechanism.

To help me cope with the story telling, I conceived of a pack of cards to describe the scenes of ‘Now’ that emerge from Chi-particle looping and entanglements. Cards of ‘Now’ are being shuffled and dealt; these are then experienced. Fine, that was working out well. But I kept trying to adhere to a logical and chronological story-telling process. Yet the cards didn’t support that. I was struggling to reconcile the two aspects. They seemed diametrically opposed. Through my dream, I discovered that I’d carried my card analogy too far.

I’d thought of the looping Chi-particles and the resulting Nows as a deck of cards. They were shuffled and dealt. I saw this as players being around a poker table. Each card was dealt sequentially, around the table. That’s how the story would be told.

That was so flawed. The cards of Now being dealt do not have this order, consistency, predictability or tidiness. Instead of people sitting around being dealt hands of poker, one is being dealt poker, another is receiving a gin rummy hand, a third is playing hearts, a fourth is dealing solitaire, and so on. Each is both player and dealer. In the next hand, the person playing poker is now playing spades, and so on, but they’re struggling with that shift. Some vividly know they were playing poker and expected to continue playing poker. They don’t understand why they’re now playing solitaire.

That is a large part of how the entanglements emerge. We have beliefs of who we are, what happened, and what will happen next. The entanglements skewer every aspect. This creates a complex matrix of possibilities and story arcs. It’s difficult keeping them straight and then telling them in such a way, without elaborate explanation to the reader, so the reader grasps what is happening while the characters can’t grasp fully grasp it — although emerging grasps of what’s happening are part of the story.

Okay, time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

0

Those Characters

As I wrote about my dreams and my personal life today, I drifted through thoughts about my characters. I’d worked hard to develop each to be unique but each has their own hook.

Handley, the space pirate, is embroiled with inner disappointment and dissatisfaction with who she is and what she’s become. She wants more but doesn’t know what she wants. She thinks herself brave. Physically, she is brave. Morally, she’s a coward.

Pram, the colossus and employed terraforming supervisor, is self-assured and relaxed. The changing situation challenges him in ways he never expected to be challenged, which leads to self-inspection and growth, but also causes a hardening against trusting others.

Brett, the footloose fourth-waver, hates dying and being resuscitated, regenerated and resurrected, but he also dislikes life. His alienation had been growing throughout his life. He’d never noticed because he’d taken refuge in memory and sex. Both are artificial, external constructions that are extensions of his personality; they’re not real, but they’re safe. Eventually, as it happens so often, his familiarity with them and they with him breeds a contempt that drives him to actively seek a change. Even he’s unaware of how the depths of his needs.

Philea is a trained scientist. She loves her math, her physics, her learning. People aren’t a need nor desire. She’s enamored with the puzzle of the situation. ‘Doing right’ is secondary to ‘finding answers’.

Forus Ker, a Travail, is the most complex character on the surface. He changes the most as he actively seeks to understand himself and develop his skills and talents while embracing the role his people (or destiny – or is it a God?) has thrust upon him. He never wavers from trying harder and doing more.

Then there are others. Monads, who believe in their manifest destiny and are contemptuous of others in their species and in other species who don’t recognize and accept their superiority. There are the Sabards and the complex role they’ve established for themselves and the altruism they consistently demonstrate. And there are the other Travail, who have come the farthest in grasping how wrong their understanding of existence is and how little they truly understand.

On some days, before I begin a new section, I need to consider which character is in the lead for those scenes, and what they know and when they know it, and then, the overarching characteristics and behavior that drives their decisions and actions. Few of them are pure in their intentions. Sometimes their emotions (save Philea, so far) dictates behavior counter to their best interests. Other times, especially with Handley and Forus Ker, they’re following orders that they don’t understand, but which they decide they must do.

Then, as other characters, are space, time and technology. Things break down, evolve, or dissolve with sudden revelations. They are also considered as each new scene is begun. Sometimes I realize that I’ve overlooked one aspect or another and go back to rewrite on the floor. I feel like I’m looking at sprawling mosaic that’s telling the history of a complex encounter. I slip in to get the closer look necessary to see, hear and explain to the reader what’s going on. But once in a while, I get trapped in the mosaic and find the need to extricate myself and gain distance once again to see the other parts.

Once separation is established and clarity is recovered, I take a deep breath and go back in.

0

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑