So the silent time filled with whatever it was of choice in the intuitive section of life.

The Gamer was like an oarfish. Held in homeostatis in the feed of every screen from the world like a bubble of water from the deep waiting on the traversing zooplankton, including tiny euphausiids and shrimp into it’s feild of verticality staring at the sun as if the ass of the tail would channel the food necesary but alas there were moments where the oar fish could no longer sit in its vertical barstool in the sea. The gamer was similar in its waiting for the feed to change. the 1 million hours of listening to the speaking voices of the postcazters the news and the bilious fools that assume the postition of almost foetal curl in front of the screen. Yet this one was rare. He was not looking for fame, likes or virality. He sat like a meditative state of being from the 1990s where there was no media other than TV programmes or walking the streets to quell the boredom and hoplessness of a future already dead before it was born.

“So where is the future going.” He said to himself aware there was no listening devices in his room. He intimately invoked the Julian Jaynes moment of the bicameral mind. Where one uses a inner voice to reassure that one is not insane. The childs mind of a invisible friend. We all needed one in the Techno-industrialisation of the new human. The Analogue generation he was born into that saw every change of technology like the silent generation saw wolrd war 1 world war 2 veitnam, afganistan, iraq and then Ukraine. It was a direction different to that of the 1900s born, he knew he has the feed special. There was a wall of screens.

The screens all fed into a filter that fed the overlap of eveyone vocal that sounded like a stream bubbling. What he was waiting for was the moment of the double slit experiment where the synergy happened. the wave particle interlocks into a word like de-ja-vu but better its an evocation of the harmonic resonance. It was what he was listnening for.

The house was liminal space a home built within a large industrial wharehouse. It was self sufficient solar, batteries and was registered as some kind of three letter agency mining centre unmanned, yet there was someone there.

Listening.

Waiting.

He heard the pin drop in his scorpionic gamer char.

“Yes. thats it.”

The evocation from the moment a strange low-fi song appeared. He quickly triangulated the origin of the signal.

“K-pop J-pop singing acapella in a…. international waters oil rig…” He said the words out loud listening to the voice echoing from some weird use of the long wave signal that only ham radio and meshtastic enthusiasts used.

It was beautiful beyond belief. The music sat in his head as if he had seen the rebellion of the mind from the control grid in one song of vulnerabilty.

“What the fuck.!!!”

He looked at the registra that was deep in obfuscation so that no one could tell what company it was that made this nothing place produce music outside of the control grid of the algo.

He quickly made up a go-bag of things to live off while on an oil rig. Stuck in the middle of nowhere the dehydrated foods, solar panels and low frequency electronics would keep his life from being detected.

Thoughts came back about how much he had spent in money and crypto to get his identity removed from the internet and the control grid.

“Fuck it… if someone can survive the archonic grid killers then its worth it.”

He took to his heli-pad and used the minature zeppelin. Knowing that a balloon would not be detected amongst the other weather ballons. A drone would be shot down but helium is different it can not be detected by radar of which he knew why they were demonised and banned by the powers because it was something cloud like.

“Here we go love. Lets find someone that survived the Jinn of the earth.”

The zeppelin worked off the roof and into the sky above the satellites and scanners. The text on the side of the zeppelin.

OARFISH - 1