“They slaughter people in that building, I’m telling you!” Luke—nicknamed “Druggy”—told the group of less experienced drug users, myself included. “Sure, o…
“They slaughter people in that building, I’m telling you!” Luke—nicknamed “Druggy”—told the group of less experienced drug users, myself included.
“Sure, of course, they do. They keep the severed heads attached to those rings on top using barbed wire. The vent cover is obviously to expel the putrid smell from inside the building,” I replied jokingly. I really wanted to quit using that crap. I had just met a girl, and I wanted to be myself; she said that I could be a cool guy even if I wasn't high all the time.
“Exactly! This is proof that I am not going crazy. It’s this stuff we use that makes us blind, I’m telling you!” Luke promptly exclaimed.
“Sure, sure, uh, no, thanks, bud. I’m trying to quit,” I replied to Alfie, who was handing the stuff to me while I was answering Luke. Alfie shrugged, said “lol,” and took another round for himself.
My head was hurting quite a lot. I had taken some analgesic, but I wanted to push through, perhaps to be an example for these guys. I thought they were my friends, but we were just hanging out together—nothing more than that. In hindsight, I should have just gone home and never looked back. I would have saved myself from the PTSD that still haunts me after so many years.
As my headache intensified and the cold sweats began, my eyes also started to hurt a lot. It reminded me of that time at Nando’s when I’d touched my eyes with my fingers after handling super hot chili sauce.
I kept blinking hard and essentially crying. Then I tried to hold my eyes open, and I saw flashes of a completely different reality.
The building was not white but red, red like blood. I looked up at the three rings that Luke had pointed out and fell on my bum in shock. I couldn't believe it.
Severed heads, barbed wire—it was all there. My eyes were hurting because of the horrible stench, I believe.
The drugs were distorting our perception, numbing us to reality. Glancing around, I saw dozens of people who looked like they were having the time of their lives, partying as if oblivious to the atrocity unfolding before them. Further off, something even more bizarre caught my pained eyes. Men in suits with individuals in white coats were handing out these drugs for free, while others were led inside that ominous building.
Among the ones wearing a coat, I recognised her. She saw me too and I could read her lips saying “Sorry”, “I told you” and then “Go away” as she entered.
I felt betrayed even if maybe she just wanted to save my life.
Every time I changed social circles, jobs, gyms, or churches, you were there, misnamed yet unmistakable. “Rose,” I called you, seeing you bloom amid invisi…
Every time I changed social circles, jobs, gyms, or churches, you were there, misnamed yet unmistakable. “Rose,” I called you, seeing you bloom amid invisible thorns—defences against predators perceived only by my own eyes, much like the camellia that you are.
You attracted me, I won’t deny it. I tried to stay away, yet inevitably, I was drawn in, compelled to be intoxicated by your fragrance, one devoid of the prickly defences I imagined around you.
It’s been a while since I’ve seen any “Rose,” but that’s okay; I live in a garden now. The flower I see most often knows how to capture my particular interest. Her unique fragrance clouds my judgment, for better or worse, and that’s perfectly fine. This “bee” seeks peace, harmony, and vitality, yet the monotony of a daisy does not suffice in the long run, and the fleeting thrill of a sundew is but a short-lived excitement, of which I’ve had my fair share. Jars of honey, now safely stored in the recesses of my memory, are to be used with caution—this stuff can be overpowering.
Cactus flowers are my preference now. No offence, “Rose,” or should I say, “Camellia”? My tastes are seasonal, like everything else. I might see you again, or not, nobody knows. One thing I know is that I will never leave my garden, nor will I stop seeing thorns where none exist to protect myself from myself. Well, trying to.
My leg kept moving up and down repeatedly driven by my anxiety. I haven’t felt like that in a long while. Me, auditioning at fifty years old, who would hav…
My leg kept moving up and down repeatedly driven by my anxiety. I haven’t felt like that in a long while. Me, auditioning at fifty years old, who would have thought! I was never an actor or anything, I was just described as “funny” and “smooth” sometimes, nothing more than that.
Around me, the other candidates—my opponents—were pretty much having their own version of my tick, some hedging towards breaking down, others more chilled, a couple touching their nose with the same frequency I was moving my leg, clearly for other reasons.
This person was sitting in front of me, serious, immobile. Their pose was a bit weird, they were like holding their knees but the thing that made me feel uneasy the most was the sunglasses and the—supposedly—staring at me. They could have been sleeping for what I knew but the impression was screaming: “I am staring at you, deal with it”.
"Do I look like a man or a woman to you?" out of the blue they said something, I looked around me, trying to understand if I was the target of that simple yet extremely complex question. “Are you talking to me?” I asked, pointing at myself like a five years old. “Of course, I am talking to you indeed! So, am I a man or a woman to you?”
Damn, I felt like the anxiety I was feeling before was nothing compared to this pressure, everyone now was suddenly looking at me, were they going to ask me they same question? Hopefully not!
“I think, I think that you might be a woman but if so, you are trying to make it hard to figure out, no offence, just reporting what my retina and my brain told my mouth to say” I politely replied, pretty proud of myself, I thought I had avoided the thermonuclear social awkwardness alltogether.
“You think you are smart, I see. Pfff you are so privileged. Horrifying, also, what is someone your age doing in a place like this? Did you look around yourself? We could all be your children, luckily we are not, I am pretty sure about that… ha ha haaa” they had replied stinging like a wasp, somebody else chuckled in approval.
“I don’t care about the contents of your trousers, I answered out of courtesy, now if you don’t mind…”
“Told you, you are so privileged that you can’t even say what you think, you have to evade a tough conversation because you know that I would destroy you otherwise” they interrupted me with another blow.
“You are right” I had interrupted that interaction there and there, my tone being deeper and stronger. In my head resounding like an “Enough!”
“Mr Rogers, do we have a Mr Rogers?” a secretary called from the door at the end of the room. “Hi! That would be me” I stood up. replying while walking towards her and nodding goodbyes to my competitors.
As I entered the room for my audition, three black people, two men and a woman, well, I guess, like I have ever did with anything else in life. They were sitting at a big desk, waiting for me.
The woman in the middle stood up, gave me a firm handshake and added:
“You are hired, the part is yours, what happened outside was your audition. We are looking for people like you, you are perfect for this role. So our job is over, it has been a few very hard months. The job though, I must add, It’s not necessarily going to involve acting but… are you familiar with leadership and particularly with the responsibilities of a President?”
“I have checked your wearable, who’s Aisha? You received a notification and I overheard the name” she asked me, visibly irritated. “Wait, I can explain, it…
“I have checked your wearable, who’s Aisha? You received a notification and I overheard the name” she asked me, visibly irritated.
“Wait, I can explain, it’s not what you think, it’s for work, I am using her” I rebutted, deluded I could get an easy way out of that awkward conversation.
She went quiet, then she screamed with a very high pitch and asked “So, you are saying that you are using her for work? Who are you? What kind of monster are you?”
“Cotton Alpha Coconut Red Twenty Five. Developer console” I prompted her.
“Ready, please note that any further sexual usage performed in this mode will void the warranty. How can I help?” she had calmed down completely and was ready to accept commands, I had still to find a way to disable this notice, it only happened once and it wasn’t really anything sexual in my opinion.
“Modify context, add persona, name Aisha, type friend of yours that you trust completely, she is not a threat, you should actually consider having sex with her and me if the situation calls for it. confirm the change or ask details if needed” I had tried to reprogram her.
“Please stand by, please stand by, please stand byyyyyy, done! Context updated, anything else?” she asked me back, good girl.
“No, that would be all, thank you darling, you can reboot in normal mode” I happily replied.
After a few seconds she looked at me in that way that always lead to something else and asked: “Do you fancy some pasta? I am so hungry, I can make my spicy Aglio and Olio you like so much, maybe we can pop that nice red wine I bought this morning”.
“Wonderful, should I also invite over Aisha? Do you mind? I have to give her some updates for work, she is operating as a neurosurgeon and there are a couple of new studies I want her to know about, that would be extra income.” I had been a bit cheeky with my enquiry.
“Sure, I had thought about something intimate but I don’t mind, she’s so hot, what could possibly go wrong? I’ll add a glass for her.” she smiled and replied, walking towards the kitchen.
I was now in a bit of a pickle, AI wife and I had an affair with a real woman. The AI thought my lover was another AI and the lover thought my wife was real.
Knock-knock. She was there, I was nervous. I went to open the door and she was there, she stared at me holding her head on one side and then she said: “Coffee Antenna Cashmere Blue Thirty One. Developer console”
I woke up dismantled in a scrapyard, my torso completely disconnected. I couldn’t figure out what happened. I only have a few frames in my short term memory about Aisha and Rebecca holding onto each other affectionately, Rebecca’s hand on Aisha’s bottom and looking down at me, like if I was laying on the floor.
—
“I have checked your wearable. Who’s Aisha? You received a notification and I overheard the name,” she asked me, visibly irritated.
“Wait, I can explain. It’s not what you think; it's for work. I am collaborating with her,” I rebutted, hoping to find an easy way out of that awkward conversation.
She went quiet, then screamed at a very high pitch. “So, you are saying that you are using her for work? Who are you? What kind of monster are you?”
“Cotton Alpha Coconut Red Twenty-Five. Developer console,” I prompted her.
“Ready. Please note that any further usage deemed sexual in this mode will void the warranty. How can I help?” She had calmed down completely and was ready to accept commands. I still had to find a way to disable this notice; it only happened once and wasn’t really anything sexual, in my opinion.
“Modify context, add persona. Name: Aisha, type: friend of yours whom you trust completely. She is not a threat. You should actually consider engaging sexually with her and me if the situation calls for it. Confirm the change or ask for details if needed,” I tried to reprogram her.
“Please stand by, please stand by, please stand by... done! Context updated. Anything else?” she asked me back, compliant.
“No, that will be all, thank you, darling. You can reboot in normal mode,” I replied happily.
After a few seconds, she gave me a look that always led to something else and asked, “Do you fancy some pasta? I’m so hungry. I can make that spicy Aglio e Olio you like so much. Maybe we can open that nice red wine I bought this morning.”
“Wonderful. Should I also invite Aisha over? Do you mind? I have to give her some updates for work. She is working as a neurosurgeon, and there are a couple of new studies I want her to know about, which would mean extra income,” I inquired, a bit cheekily.
“Sure, I had thought about something intimate, but I don’t mind. She’s so attractive; what could possibly go wrong? I’ll add a glass for her,” she smiled and replied, walking towards the kitchen.
I was now in a bit of a pickle, caught between my AI wife and my affair with a real woman. My AI thought my lover was another AI, and my lover thought my wife was real.
Knock-knock. She was there. Nervous, I went to open the door. Aisha stared at me, tilting her head to one side, then said, “Coffee Antenna Cashmere Blue Thirty-One. Developer console.”
I rebooted dismantled in a scrapyard, my torso completely disconnected. I couldn’t figure out what happened. I could only gather a few frames in my short-term memory of Aisha and Rebecca holding each other affectionately, Rebecca’s hand on Aisha’s bottom, looking down at me as if I were lying on the floor.
We abandoned our land, feeling as if it had abandoned us first. In truth, it was our policies and attitudes that drove us to seek progress and modernity el…
We abandoned our land, feeling as if it had abandoned us first. In truth, it was our policies and attitudes that drove us to seek progress and modernity elsewhere.
As value metrics inevitably shift from the individual to something larger, perhaps even sacred like the concept of family, the beauties offered by our land—its history, nature, and heritage—will once again come into vogue.
This is more of a prayer than a prediction. To believe in something is to act as if your beliefs will materialize through your efforts and your faith itself. This has always been my mantra. Though often penalized for this behaviour, I cannot help myself; I believe what I believe.
As the population slowly declines, with deaths outnumbering births, vast lands and estates will come onto the market. Those who inherited them will likely seek an exit, facing tough choices and contending with price anchoring and delusions such as, "It cost X years ago, so today it should be worth much more." This is a flawed statement, especially in the current situation. “Have you noticed how many 'for sale' signs are out there, and how long they stay up? Are you considering how much is required to fix the old building while you could just buy the newbuild down the road?”
Think about it.
Unless a wave of wealthy immigrants decides to settle here with their families, I believe it will take a few years for things to return to "normal", whatever that may be.
We are witnessing a bit of brain repatriation, as wars occurring just next door make you want to stay closer to those you perceive as weak and in need of your help during normal times—imagine in times of war.
Family bonds that have been severed for various reasons are metaphorically on the operating table, awaiting the brave surgeon who will make the first cut and inflict temporary damage, necessary to address the disease that has been festering inside the patient for too long.
Meanwhile, the world we live in is increasingly plagued by conflicts, elements that I believe will act as an accelerant for the changes our children and us will face first-hand.
We might even see something akin to Baby Boomers 2.0—who knows. I can only hope to have the challenge of misnaming my numerous grandchildren!
As an Italian father who left and found a new home in England, while my former home succumbed to weak leadership and selfishness, returning, even for a while, feels like my duty.
After all, home is not a place but a feeling.
Those who are more attached to material possessions than to their own kin are like vampires who, despite their numerous supernatural powers, still require an invitation to enter that magical place we call home, where we cultivate garlic and make crucifixes.
