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    Techno
    Techno
    Techno
    Ebook161 pages1 hour

    Techno

    By Ray Ogar

    ()

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    About this ebook

    America. today. walking through the city. life is modular. mix and match friends. cell phones. disposable computers. bored kids creating self tailored disorders. finally, sexuality is not an issue. besides its a currency in itself. accelerating technology. and music. and raves. and djs. life is a record where the turntable needle plays only the good parts. floating political communities of winnable radicals where information is prestige. so some thing. wish. want. and believe. isolated micro-communes. a global mega corporation with only three employees. girls who study the history of the united states through all of its 2 am parties. guys who try to forget life from day to day and unknowingly sell their memories on the emotional black market. shopping is a lifestyle. design is a nation. nanotechnology in the hands of the young. some checkout mainframe computers from the local library. others obsess over new versions of the united states that upload daily across the internet.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisheriUniverse
    Release dateOct 30, 2000
    ISBN9781475919004
    Techno
    Author

    Ray Ogar

    Ray Ogar lives near a mall in the suburbs of Houston. He has a B.S. in Mathematics and is currently pursuing a degree in Graphic and Information Design. he has published short works of fiction with Black Ice literary journal, Duct Tape Pree, and various internet zines.

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      Book preview

      Techno - Ray Ogar

      Contents

      Acknowledgements

      Drowning Rave

      Immense Building Embracing Fur Coat

      Dense Hard Drive Courier and Vinyl Womb

      Drexler Softed Communication Artifacts

      Geologic Time Near Flexible Housing Project

      Disposable Information Appliances

      Mainframe Punk Arcade

      Analysis Club in the Thicks

      Nasty Uploader Hull

      Erected Scaled Portable Internet Subspace

      Globalhead Dermatological Information Webbing

      Autoindiginous Mapping

      Girl Flattener

      Wheat Peddler

      Funky Hell Speech Therapy

      Drowning Mark1

      888 Tearing

      Nidus

      Pyxis

      Jink

      Eloign

      Aquix

      Proem

      Phyl

      Nokyo

      Thewl

      Lobbygow

      Apofacture

      Acknowledgements

      unending thanks to matthew remington for critical input and late night editing sessions at various 24-hour restaurants around houston. also thanks to travis mader for years of reading and rereading of this work under all of its various forms. also, lindsey akin for her master wit and fashion sense. seldon hunt in australia for the media swap and comments. travis gentry for graphic and textural consideration. hidden file thanks to mom and dad for the use of their walls. and thank you christopher eibwen goodwin for years of email support and media.

      Drowning Rave

      dael drowns until his lungs breathe in the technology rich ocean. he struggles as a colony of microbacteria line his throat and extract oxygen from the water.

      blocks of sound suspend him in the liquid. music moves through his chest. he gags.

      treble and bass coil in his stomach and compete for tactical advantage. dense sheets of sound pump from an array of speakers floating overhead. his eyes clear.

      shafts of light erupt as a hidden technology removes all salts and impurities from the ocean environment. several hundred people hang in the mix of water and sound. the rave takes advantage of him for the next several hours.

      dael wakes.

      sand crusts his lips. silicon deposits line his throat.

      he sits under the broken steel skins of a beached oil tanker. he recalls crawling ashore but not consciously choosing this point of shelter.

      he realizes last night’s rave was a sentient entity determined to pump dirt and dust into his lungs.

      the day is wide angled.

      his awareness reorients when he recalls the rave and its particulars of bass and sound.

      the mass of the party was a mesh of non-particular sexuality. he was merely a transmission node in the attitude network of young women and men.

      he also remembers someone handing him a small set of aerosol cans designed like _CO2_ gun cartridges. for the moment his emotions collapse into fear of displacement.

      he recalls the crush of hormones and near-twenty-year-old kids. a few moments smashed against a blond girl and being scratched by individual salt grains.

      he realizes the party took place somewhere under the water’s surface.

      dael shakes his head.

      he glances at the men and women who dismantle the oil tanker. shadows collect near him as he settles further under the wrecked ship pieces.

      his skin feels like corkboard. the shipbreakers stop in unison.

      hands to face, they just sniff cans of chemicals and forget everything for a few minutes.

      it’s a delicacy for the them to whiff american aerosols. one of the shipbreakers itches at a blue dye covering his body. the fingernail scratch activates cleansing microbes and other chemicals inherent in the blue film. dael smirks at one of the simple-ai dismantler drones working in symbiotic fashion with the men.

      the boxy orange robots never pause. dael watches the slow breakdown of the tanker’s shell.

      the ship looks like a massive dissection study on the gray beach. its black husk seems to ripple under the men’s blow torch and cutting fires. he runs a hand through his dye job hair. he really doesn’t care. he just wants to remove his hangover. he disagrees with the generic proportion of his body he’s not as physically defined as the men scattered across the landscape. he sighs.

      dael fumbles for the cartridge he was given last night. he takes in his own aerosol cocktail. a few seconds.

      all colors decrease in saturation. he almost sees in black and white.

      the cocktail trades color for enhanced perception of detail.

      several shipbreakers move from their rest spot and re-strap climbing equipment to their bodies.

      all but the explosives technician return to work.

      the young man scratches at the bacteria-laced dye on his skin.

      he looks to the stereo speaker casings and other rave debris lying about the beach.

      glossy flyers.

      disposable phones.

      easily replaceable turntables.

      he looks to dael then fiddles with one of the breaker drones. did he see this fragmented youth at last night’s rave? he sulks in the ship’s lowest doorway. his eyes on dael.

      the technician abandons the drone.

      the robot device lowers, waiting. he decides he won’t be needed for a while and scratches more. he ignores the other breakers and moves towards dael.

      the day’s heat isn’t bad once the explosive’s handler and dael are completely in the shadow of the tanker. dael looks at the guy’s face. he’s hispanic.

      he’s not from bangladesh like shipbreakers are supposed to be. nor does he have neatly patterned face stubble like dael. the two young men look to one another as if they were preparing to insert sensitive nuclear warheads into each other’s body. the shipbreaker rubs an antibacterial enzyme over his arms and fingers. the two guys shake hands.

      afterwards they cue each other for specific sub-genre references.

      techno.

      jungle.

      experimental. nothing.

      dael sees the name of the tanker, an american word, tattooed on the shipbreaker’s arm.

      the one name is just an entry added to a list of hundreds of ships the guy has broken.

      or the list could be men or women he’s taken apart. he’s using me, the shipbreaker thinks, it’s a type of currency or information exchange. they talk for a few minutes.

      they act more like mechanics toying with a glass engine until dael breaks into basic internet jargon. they share .jpg upload protocols. trade web environment patches.

      the technician demonstrates a few novel search engine routines in the sand.

      finally dael shows the guy how to do basic hacking within the borders of the united states.

      the elaboration of encryption. the overly complex shelling of most web-sites. one of the shipbreakers calls to the technician. the transaction ends.

      sand seems to clog the two men’s movements.

      neither can decide how to break out of the economics of their shared language.

      dael walks off.

      Immense Building Embracing Fur Coat

      cichli sinks into the information field of his fur coat.

      he can’t remember the coat’s brand name or where it was originally grown.

      besides he’s modified it beyond its original technical specifications. the fur’s information gathering core grips the ambient signals around him.

      the silver lined coat seems to pull the taller buildings of the city close to his face. it’s as if the windows of every store front, business and home crowd around his body.

      he can touch the tops of buildings. he’s a private gene pool boxed in by titans. cichli passes into a commercial free signal zone and opens one of the thin disposable cell phones in his pocket.

      crackle on the cell phone; useless, cichli throws it to the ground. he heads for a generic phone booth and calms himself despite the fear he has of being crushed by a car in one of the small iron spaces.

      this particular elaborate ritual of using non-private communication appliances allows cichli the luxury of anonymous caller i.d. he usually doesn’t give anyone his phone number. it’s only that he tries too hard to remove himself from everywhere.

      at other times he realizes his participation in society’s flow can’t be helped. cichli’s hair reorients.

      the substance that remakes his hair into a chipped black glass becomes restless in the warmth of the booth. a few more finger punches on the phone keypad.

      cichli wants to talk real-time to his vinyl statistics contact. waiting for the phone to pick up he removes one of the thin laptop computers from his inner coat pocket. he starts typing while he waits.

      a few entries describing

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