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Diamonds Are Forever

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on December 10, 2012 by javedbabar

Guru Baba appeared in the 3D Unit. It seemed the retired holy man had manifested miraculously. He had in truth walked through the doorway, with Sami too busy to notice, tinkering with feedback loops causing unexpected effects.

“I hate to ask,” said Guru Baba, “but can you please help me with some admin? You know it’s not my strong suit.”

Sami had felt bad about leaving Guru Baba’s side but he’d had no choice. The Authority had repurposed him, changing him from the holy man’s personal assistant to manager of the Transfer Station’s 3D Unit.

His new job was enjoyable – prototyping designs, fabricating components, and creating unusual gifts – but he was aware that Guru Baba’s organization was in trouble. Its charitable projects were struggling, and recent events had been poorly attended. This was all due to a lack of organization, leading to a lack of funds.

Sami had to face the fact that he’d left his previous employer in the lurch. Widows, orphans, disabled people and disaster victims were suffering because of him.

“Guru Baba, I will come to your office after work. I’m sorry I can’t come right now as I have many orders to complete today. Shall we say 6.30pm?”

The sage nodded and left.

Sami’s first job today was fabricating a range of jewellery. It was amazing how things like this could now be designed and made locally. No India or China required.

He set the printer to multi-materials, loaded metal, glass and pigment powders, processed the design, set it to high definition, and pushed GO.

While the jewellery was fabricating, Sami thought about Guru Baba’s situation. How could he help his organization. What was…

A flash of white caught his eye, and then a blue flash, a red flash, and yellow, green and brown. He was dazzled by light. Diamonds! That was the answer, diamonds!

Guru Baba had often used a diamond metaphor for spiritual growth.

Its cut was how you caught and revealed the light that was given unto you.

Its carats revealed your spiritual weight, which was substantial yet also weightless.

Its colour was every colour possible, fused together and shining alone.

Its clarity was the vision that guided your life, making all things manifest.

Sami could make diamonds to fund Guru Baba’s charitable projects! Sure, they provided good abstract metaphors, but they were even better as material goods, and there wasn’t any law against fabricating diamonds, as there was against printing cash.

He knew that a diamond’s atoms form a rigid lattice, allowing very few impurities to enter. The ones that do enter may degrade, but can also improve, the diamond, like grit in an oyster forming a pearl. One impurity per million atoms is all it takes. Boron creates a blue diamond, nitrogen a yellow or red one, lattice defects make brown diamonds, and radiation exposure, green. Their desirability differs by culture. Green diamonds had once been the most precious in Europe, but now it was blue and red.

What didn’t change were superlative physical properties. Diamonds are incredibly hard and have remarkable optical dispersion, creating dazzling lusters. Guru Baba said they were the mineral equivalent of great souls. Like those of diamonds, the tints and taints of people were easily confused.

Sami could fabricate diamonds easily at the 3D Unit. They were allotropes of carbon arranged in variations of cubic crystal structures. He could build these lattices at the push of a button. GO.

What about the powerful natural forces required to make these wonders: high temperatures, hundreds of kilometres of depth, billions of years of time, and volcanic eruptions? In the modern age are these things inconsequential?

He produced a test diamond, and showed it to the rag-pickers working the trash after school. “You joker!” said Jamz. “Trying to trick us! That’s not a real diamond. It’s too perfect. It seems artificial.”

“Isn’t it good to be perfect?”

“Maybe it is, but it is better to be real.”

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Feedback Loop

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Conceptual Art, Sacred Geometry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on December 9, 2012 by javedbabar

The mayor seemed angry and not in a good way. There were times when his ire was productive, like when he stood up for local citizens, local issues and local foods. Lucerne’s citizens admired him then. That’s why they had elected him thrice, despite his style of politics being known as B&B: Bullying and Boring.

“Just coming,” said Sami, opening the door to the 3D Unit at the Transfer Station. He had seen the mayor’s truck pull in, and the way he had stalked towards the container and banged the door. He was angry about something.

“Those models you made for me, they’re not the same. They’re all different!”

How could they all be different? Sami wondered. He hadn’t checked every one as it came off the printer, but he had checked each batch. The mayor was accurately depicted, looking handsome and strong.

Sami said, “I’m not sure what you mean. I thought they turned out okay.”

“Look!” said the mayor, handing him a pair of small blue busts. Sami examined them carefully. The colour was consistent, so was their size and texture. The shape was the same.

Upon close examination, he realized it was true. They were different. Not in a dramatic way, but a series of small differences accumulated, creating a big difference. Thick hair became wiry, bright eyes became beady, a slim nose became thin, and the strong jawline became clunky. All in all he became a different person, not the one people were voting for.

“I am really sorry about that,” said Sami. “Can you please leave these with me today, and I‘ll look into the matter?”

“Well, you’d better hurry. Today is Monday and the election is next Monday. I need to get them all out by the weekend.”

When the mayor left, Sami tested the printer. It was fine mechanically but he noticed a quirk in information transfer. There seemed to be an extra factor, a hidden one, causing replication variations.   Sami had produced them in ten batches of a hundred. He needed to examine some more models, so called the mayor and asked him to bring one from each box. He checked and then rescanned each sample bust.

He detected qualitative and quantitative components. There was confirmation, correction, explanation, diagnostics, and elaboration of information involved. He detected gaps between actual and reference levels of system parameters, and dynamic data exchanges. He realized there was a feedback loop, a chain of cause and effect.

Sami analysed the mayor’s nose, which had gradually become thinner. This shouldn’t happen with digital reproduction, where every replication is exact. There was evidence of informational feedback, dependent on the context of the gap. Like the mayor’s nostrils, or his vote margins, there was widening or narrowing.

Sami examined the mayor’s jawline, which had become clunkier during the production run. He found traces of motivational feedback, dependent upon the context of action. The mayor used words as awards or weapons, and they were returned in kind. There was a tense dance of reward and punishment.

“So?” the mayor said that afternoon on the phone. “Are you making some other ones?”

“I don’t think they’ll turn out any different. The 3D Unit is a self-regulating system, and recognizes the local democracy process as its analogue counterpart. Your features are affected by your behaviour. It is modelling this over time.”

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Private Parts

Posted in Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 8, 2012 by javedbabar

“Hello Sami, its Alfred from AMP Co. How are you doing over there?”

“What a nice surprise,” said Sami. He said it to be polite, but it wasn’t really. He hadn’t seen or heard from Alfred for three months, ever since the government had declared his 3D printing lab a National Strategic Asset, banned him from opening to the public, and made him a government employee. At the same time, they had repurposed his casual assistant, Sami, to the Transfer Station to run the 3D Unit there, deemed an acceptable public interface for the new technology.

Sami said, “I am doing some good work here. Maybe not pushing the boundaries of science like you are, but I am playing my part in helping humanity. It’s open…”

“Did you say part?”

“Yes, I said part. Why?”

“I need help with a project. Can you come over?”

Last time Sami tried to visit Alfred, he had refused to let him in, and an immediate text had come through, repurposing Sami. He said, “Isn’t your work secret now? I don’t want to get into trouble again.” The Authority knew everything, always adding information to your files. He didn’t want to become a repeat offender. He had heard what happened to them.

“It is secret, but I’ve checked with The Authority. They say you can help me.”

Sami was busy today at the 3D Unit. He had a range of appointments booked to prototype products, print components, and create unusual gifts. His rag picker assistant, Jamz, was still at school, so he couldn’t just leave.

“Look ear!” said Alfred. “You are allowed to be nosy, as long as you don’t mouth off about it. Just come and see, and then give me a hand.”

What is he talking about? Sami wondered. Some kind of private joke? Alfred really is a strange guy.

Sami went over later. Alfred opened the door immediately when Sami arrived. He must have seen him on CCTV. “Come in, come in, my friend.”

Sami saw a selection of artificial body parts scattered around the lab. He understood the puns now. They were pretty tasteless, considering.

Alfred watched his face. “Sorry about that, I was being subliminal.”

A shaven-headed oriental man stepped out of a doorway. Alfred said, “Meet Yojin. I am afraid he doesn’t speak English. He has come here from China after suffering a serious kung fu accident.”

Sami wondered about the “serious kung fu accident.” Guru Baba had once told him about kung fu’s relationship to the power called Tao. It bends like a reed, rather than being stiff like an oak, and has the fluidity of water, the most powerful element, wearing away even stone. Maybe Yojin needed to improve his alignment.

“He was more of a hustler than a fighter. One day he offended a real kung fu master, who removed half his face. He said that was appropriate punishment for half a man. But can you tell that? Take a look. You can’t!”

It was true. Yojin didn’t look at all disfigured. Sami asked, “Has he had plastic surgery?”

Alfred looked very pleased, and said, “Yojin!”

Yojin removed half his face, beneath which was a mass of horrific congealed tissue. His nose, left cheek, left eye, left ear and half his scalp came away with the mask. He stood erect, bravely, still lacking fluidity.

Alfred said, “I scanned him yesterday, did processing overnight, and printed off the replacement tissue using a dollar’s worth of materials this morning. This is the future of cosmetic surgery. What do you think?”

Sami wondered if Yojin was now more himself, or less himself. He looked different on the outside, but had his interior also changed?

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Fossilicious

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Sacred Geometry, Unknown with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on December 6, 2012 by javedbabar

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” Sami shouted. The truck didn’t stop, and continued reversing towards the compost area. He ran towards it, waving his arms, and shouted up to the cab, “Where are you going?”

The driver stopped.

“You’ve got bulk building waste, it doesn’t go there. Can you please put it in the bin over there?” He pointed to a double-height yellow steel container.

Maybe it was an honest mistake, thought Sami, a new driver backing up to the wrong bin. Or was it deliberate, a trick to reduce costs?

Dumping compost was free, but building waste was $200 per truck load. Why didn’t he go to the commercial facility, which was cheaper and better suited to bulk waste? Coming to Lucerne’s Transfer Station was a soft option, especially with the regular guy off today and Sami managing the 3D Unit and waste facility. The driver thought he’d get away with it.

“It’s quite tight here. Shall I help you back up? No? You’re okay? Then go ahead.” Sami kept an eye on his manoeuvres. Truckers were always the best drivers on the road, but they were careless here. He didn’t want any more bins bashed.

As the trucker tipped his building waste, Sami saw it was mainly red, but with cream flashes. Had they demolished a clay brick structure, held together by mortar? Who built like that around here?

When the trucker handed over the cash Sami said, “Where is this waste coming from?”

“The Taxila area, up towards Mt Negra. They’re digging out an old water channel. It’s a long way to haul it here, but there are tough regulations for heritage areas.”

“Was there a structure? Why is the waste red?”

“I don’t know, pal. I just bring it here.”

The trucker drove off. Sami was curious about the waste, and walked to the bin. He saw one of the cream objects, and another one, and more. Though it broke regulations, he climbed into the bin and poked around. The cream flashes were bones, huge bones, bigger than cows and horses. More like elephants. But no, Guru Baba had an elephant’s foot stool as a reminder of man’s brutality to beasts, and Sami knew the scale of elephants. These bones were bigger.

Sami hauled them out, one by one, and lay them on the ground. The red material fell away. Some bones were bigger than he was. He treated them like pieces of a puzzle, but he couldn’t fit them together successfully. Then he had an idea.

He scanned the bones individually with the hand-held scanner, and then modelled the form on his computer. It was the strangest beast he had ever seen – like a triceratops, but with six legs, and horns all along its spine. He looked the creature up online but found no references.

He scaled it down 1:50 and printed out a model in red. It was the first Samisaurus seen in Lucerne for two million years. Sami took it for a “walk” in the yard on a trolley, and said to the creature, “Look, there’s Mt Alba, and over there, Mt Negra. Imagine them smoking, like they were when you were alive.”

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Know Thyself

Posted in Conceptual Art, Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on December 5, 2012 by javedbabar

“Guru Baba! What are you doing here?” Sami was surprised to see his old boss, who had been away on pilgrimage for weeks. During his absence, Sami was told by officials that he had been repurposed  to manage Lucerne’s 3D Unit, and he’d had no choice but to leave his position as the sage’s assistant. He enjoyed his new job but felt bad about leaving Guru Baba, who was like the grandfather he’d never known.

“Can’t I come to see how my assistant – sorry, my ex-assistant – is getting on in the big, wide world?”

Sami had started this new job almost immediately. He had tried to wrap up as many projects as possible before leaving, but there was only so much he could do in two days. He hadn’t been able to find a successor so the projects lay abandoned. Because of Sami, assistance to widows, orphans, disabled people, and disaster victims was being delayed. He said, “Guru Baba, I am so sorry about…”

“Don’t be sorry about anything! Ha-ha! I know you were forced to go. Who would willingly leave the divine embrace of the great Guru Baba?”

He puffed his chest out, stood straighter, stroked his long black beard, and then shook his saffron robes with laughter. Sami shared the joke.

“Can I make you some tea, Guru Baba?”

“No! No tea! It makes me pee!”

That wasn’t one of his best mantras, thought Sami, but okay, no tea.

“Sami, you know I love tea. Have you ever heard me refuse it before?”

Sami pondered, with fingers stroking chin. “Come to think of it, I haven’t.”

“So why am I doing so now? Solve the mystery.”

“You only drink hard liquor now!”

“Ha! Good one! Go on, try again.”

“You have realized it is cruel to cut up plants and boil them to death.”

Guru Baba looked down for a moment. “You have a point there too, but no.”

“You now only drink invisible tea that only really clever people enjoy. Here, have a cup.” He handed him an empty mug.

“No! Your three questions are up. The reason is that I don’t want to interrupt the scan by going to pee.”

“What scan?” Sami’s eyes opened like flashbulbs. “You want a scan?”

“Yes, make a model of me, life size.”

“Life size? It will have to be done in sections. I only have mid-range equipment here. The high power model is at AMP Co. Do you know what happened there?” Guru Baba nodded, indicating he knew about its possession by the Authority as a National Strategic Asset. “It will take an hour for scanning and a week for production.”

“That’s why I don’t want tea. You know an hour is a very long time at my age. Let’s get started.”

While his lower half was being scanned, Guru Baba said, “You know, when you leave here, you should focus on this. Personal scans. You will make a lot of money. People want models of themselves. They spend their whole lives trying to shape their outer world to be like their inner world. They want to manifest themselves, substantially. This could really change things. If a copy of them exists out there already, they can stop trying to change the world, and start appreciating it instead.”

A week later when Guru Baba saw his model, he looked at himself sternly and said, “Know thyself.” Then he giggled and said, “Pleased to meet you.”

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New Drugs Den

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Lucerne Village, Sacred Geometry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on December 1, 2012 by javedbabar

Samuel’s gang met every night after school. Some came immediately, studious members came after homework, and laggards came after dinner. They rode bicycles to their den, a cave at the base of Mt Alba. Older kids sometimes “borrowed” cars to get there, and gave everyone rides home.

The police knew about these activities but were powerless. They couldn’t stop a child without a special warrant, which required extra paperwork. Also, there had to be a minimum of four cops present as witnesses, each later required to take a polygraph test.

Parents didn’t even try to discipline their children. A single complaint by a child led to their immediate arrest, a speedy hearing, and possibly prison. The result of all this was that children were allowed to run free and nowhere were they freer than in Samuel’s gang.

The first few weeks were exciting, but then kids began to get bored. “Let’s play games,” said Samuel. “We’ll start with wrestling.”

This wasn’t a popular choice, and no one volunteered to participate. Since the death of his friend Dale, Samuel had had no real competition. He could crush any other boy or girl in an instant.

One of the studious gang members said, “Okay, how about some word games?”

They played rhyming, guessing, and spying games and grew bored again.

“Who’s got some cards? We’ll play poker.”

They played poker, blackjack, gin-rummy and snap.

“Did anyone bring video games?

They crowded around Playstation 6, XXX-Box and Nintendo Wiiiii.

The modern world had made them bored. With so much available, always and everywhere, nothing was ever enough. Immersion in abundance became avoidance. They needed escape.

Gang attendance declined till Samuel hit upon a new idea, which was in truth an old idea. Toxins, the oldest pleasures known to man.

They began with drinking games, downing beers, wines, ciders and spirits.

Then came smoking games, with cigarettes, cigars and hookahs.

Then snorting games. Snuff, speed and cocaine.

Then injecting games. Morphine, heroin and amphetamines.

They all became drug addicts, which proved a nice earner for Samuel, and for his next layer of lieutenants. But he realized that to become a successful organization, his own house should be in order. Every night that week he locked everyone out of the cave, and made them go cold turkey, and chased the drug monster out.

But the monster returned. Samuel’s wholesale dealers were upset by their loss of earnings, and came looking. A fur-coated, trilby wearing thug asked, “Who is Samuel? The Boss wants a word.”

They didn’t know who they were dealing with. Samuel and his gang trapped and killed them and sold their cars.

The police suspected the gang’s involvement but could do nothing, and to be frank, were not inclined to. They thought, let the underworld clean itself.

Many years later, when Samuel was a grandfather and also a godfather, his grandson’s gang was in trouble. Samuel took care of the situation personally, but in the process was wounded mortally. He hadn’t been hit though. There were no traces of poison, nor knife or bullet wounds; no ropes or cement; no fire. How had they reached him?

Modern crime was no place for old men. It was a subtle arena. Electronic signals disrupted everything, communications in the outside world and nerve impulses within. He was no match for the new breed of robot dealers. Samuel’s last sensation was that of flashing ones and zeros, and high-pitched whirrs. This was against established protocols. Computers’ offspring were also out of control.

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Endless Laps

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on November 29, 2012 by javedbabar

Samuel stared at the throbbing red machine with awe. “Where did you get that from?” he said. “That go-cart costs four thousand dollars! How did you get your dad to buy it?”

“He didn’t buy it,” said, Adam, looking so pleased with himself that he could burst like a punctured watermelon. “But I own it.”

“So you stole it – good work!”

Adam looked even more pleased with himself, which was barely possible. “I didn’t steal it. I got it free. You can get one too if you’re quick. The dealer has gone bankrupt and has to get rid of his stock immediately, but he’s not allowed to sell them. Don’t ask me why. My dad says it’s to do with tax on cross-border trade. He’s giving away a hundred go-carts. Go and get one.”

Samuel wasn’t sure if he was being taken for a ride. He made a move to go but then turned back and said, “Are you kidding me? You had better not be. Can you take me down there?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. My dad said I could only have the cart if I promised not to ride on public roads. It’s illegal. I can’t drive it along the Lucerne Valley Road.”

Samuel saw a car two kilometres away, ran into the road and stopped the driver. He explained his desperate situation and got a ride into town. He arrived not a moment too late, bagging the last go-cart going. He was over the moon.

The issue then was to get it home without driving on public roads. This was no problem for Samuel. He rode through farms, along forest tracks, across people’s yards, and made it back to his private road.

Every kid in Lucerne seemed to have a go-cart. Roaring was heard all around the valley, growling in forests, bouncing off cliffs, and collecting in the old quarry and caves. The valley seemed to be inhabited by spirits, a place of legendary monsters.

Kids were allowed to race carts in the Industrial Park. Though it was technically a public amenity, it was legally owned by a private entity. Village Hall behaved like an administrative Cyclops, and chose not to see.

The races became a weekly fixture, and the air on Sunday nights was filled with growling beasts. Samuel made excuses for the first few races, but then was noticeable by his absence. People began calling him a chicken. It couldn’t last. He had to appear on the race track soon but he was afraid. He was afraid of driving fast. He was afraid of losing. He was afraid of killing someone. He was afraid of dying.

On Saturday night he hardly slept. He was thinking of making another excuse. It was a sunny day, he could say he went to the lake.

“Samuel, it’s for you.” His father handed him the phone. “It’s your grandfather.”

His grandfather? Why was he calling? He only called once a year at Easter. He picked up the phone. “Grandpa Albert?”

“Yes Samuel. I hear you’re racing today. Wait for me. I’m coming.”

“Why are you…” His grandfather hung up.

Just before the race, Samuel sat in his go-cart, sweating. He would lose. He would kill someone. He would kill himself.

A thin figure walked towards him, bent over and whispered in his ear. “You are the driver. Have no fear. Don’t worry about what may, or may not, happen. Just drive.”

The figure removed all of his clothes. The crowd gasped. His whole body was tattooed with black and white checks, a living GO.

The starting bell sounded. While everyone stared at Grandpa, Samuel roared away. His Grandpa understood that Karma depended on action. He also understood the Tao. His black and white body encompassed yin and yang, enabling universal motion, or at least his grandson’s.

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Aquatic Auras

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on November 27, 2012 by javedbabar

Why was he wearing full-on yellow storm gear? The sun was shining and the water rippled in light wind. It is a beautiful day, thought Sophie, it is unlikely that any tornadoes will hit Blackwater Lake today.

The man sat there, nodding. For a moment she froze. What if he was a real weirdo, a serial killer? She had seen a movie called “Banker of Souls”, where the killer wore storm gear to avoid blood splashing his pinstriped suit. She shook her head to dispel the image.

The yellow-coated figure turned towards her. Deep within the hood’s hollow was a crinkled face wearing pink lipstick and golden earrings. It was an old woman rather than a man. She said in a whisper, “How many fishes can you see?”

Sophie saw the woman was mending nets, huge ones of all colours, spread around her. The needle’s motion was causing her to nod. She probably wasn’t a serial killer.

“I can’t see any fish,” said Sophie. “The water’s too dark. Are there many in the lake?”

“Many in the lake! Many in the lake!” The woman was cackling. “Many in the lake! Yes, there are many in the lake. Take a closer look.”

Sophie walked around some blue and green nets to the water’s edge, and peered into the black water. Patches of froth floated on the surface. They must be fish bubbles, she thought. She shielded her eyes to cut the sky’s silver glare, and looked harder.

“Yes,” she said. “I can see a fish. I think it’s a carp. There’s another one too, and another. Three of them. It’s hard to see their colour through the water. Are they purple and silver?”

“Yes, they are.” The old woman kept mending and nodding, and said, “Keep looking.”

Sophie saw silver ripples running through dark water. Not on the surface, they were deep within, rolling and stretching as if with a life of their own. Moving silver within silver. Whole sections of the lake seemed to move, as if these ripples were borne by hidden currents.

The woman said, “Do you see them?”

“Yes, I do. Are there springs beneath the lake? Or flows of rivers passing through?”

“Neither of those. There are fishes within fishes within fishes. You can’t see them all, only their aquatic auras. That’s why I am fixing these nets up. They’re needed here.”

Sophie was bemused by this notion. “Can you catch aquatic auras?”

“Only if you know what you’re doing, and I do.” She continued mending and nodding, and said, “The food chain is always visible, who eats who. The little ones are contained in big ones, aquatic auras show that, and it’s the same for humans too. You can see it in people’s faces. Look at the millions gobbled up by cities every day. Their lives are bounded, frozen within arthritic auras, all grey. The only ones smiling are the big ones you don’t see.”

She looked towards the lake. “That whale in there is taking too much.” She got up and prepared to throw out her nets. “Time to haul him in.”

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Lucky Numbers

Posted in Lucerne Village, Sacred Geometry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on November 26, 2012 by javedbabar

Maybe going to the Lucerne Valley Hotel’s bar at lunchtimes was a bad habit, but the food was well-priced and there were comfortable booths. The staff didn’t mind if you slipped off your shoes and sat in a booth cross-legged. That, along with the short walk through the park to get there, provided Sophie with a refreshing break in her day.

There were plenty of booths available, but a short, blue-eyed man with a shaven head scanned half the room, saw her – didn’t bother scanning the rest of the room – and walked towards her booth. “May I join you?” he asked.

Can you resist someone acting like that? She said, “Sure, nice to meet you. I’m Sophie.”

“Hi Sophie. I’m Michael.” His blue eyes were sharp, like dreamy icicles. “I have always been lucky with numbers. What about you?”

“I guess so, but I’m not sure what you mean exactly.”

Michael took a long look out of the window at Mt Alba, which gleamed like a white space pyramid. “I have a good birthdate. I was born on the seventh of July, 1977. If you write it as 7/7/77 and add the digits together, its sum is twenty eight; then add the two and eight to get ten, and the one and zero to make one, which is the supreme number containing all others, and from which all other numbers come.”

Sophie didn’t know what to say, and now it was her turn to look out of the window at Mt Alba.

Michael continued, “That was what gave me a good start in life. I was born to good parents in a happy home. My father was a doctor and my mother a dentist. They ensured I had everything I desired – a good school, great holidays, wonderful birthday parties, and amazing holidays.”

“You seem like a happy person,” said Sophie . “I am glad for you.”

“I was allocated an auspicious candidate number for my exams – 1122334455. The double digits reminded me to check and recheck my answers. That’s why I got A grades in everything.”

“Well done.” Sophie’s soup and sandwich arrived. She asked, “Are you having something?”

“Yes, thanks, I will.” He said to the waiter, “A double burger with the works please, and a chocolate milkshake,” and then continued. “My social security number is 0101010101, and that was very lucky too. It ensured that I always got good jobs, and then spaces between them to rest. I have never looked for a job in my life. They have always come to me when I have needed them.”

Sophie said, “What are you doing now?”

“We’ll come to that. I joined the army for five years. My service number ended in 9413, which means ‘nine die to one live’ in Chinese numerology. Knowing that ensured that I was that one to live every time. It was like an amulet deflecting enemy bullets.”

“Wow, did you…”

“My telephone number of 9876543210 means that every conversation, however frantic, always tones down, winds down and ends peacefully.”

Sophie wished that Michael would give her some peace in which to eat her lunch.

He said, “My lottery numbers were lucky. I won the jackpot.”

Her ears pricked up. He was a nerd, but a rich nerd.

“It’s a shame that your name is Sophie, which adds up to five. That has never been my lucky number.”

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Old Masters

Posted in Conceptual Art, Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on November 13, 2012 by javedbabar

Sophie was relieved that the It’s Mine! show was a success. Her first project at the old quarry could have gone wrong, with people turning their noses up at the local eyesore with a history of accidents, pollution, corruption, industrial action and financial trouble. Instead they welcomed its reopening as the return of an old friend, albeit a very artsy friend.

Rather than praise Sophie, her CEO said, “The show was good, but it didn’t bring any money into the village. My name was attached to the project. It would have been nice to have commercial success.”

“But the site was approved for community use only. It wasn’t meant to make a profit.” God, her CEO was a bitch. Why was she making a fuss for no reason?

“Well, we need to produce another show, this time to make money.”

Sophie began working on it right away. The last one had taken three months to arrange, and this one should be quicker.

The production process proved an uphill struggle though. She couldn’t get anybody interested in a second community event.

The notion of projecting images across the vast, bare spaces of an old quarry should excite people. It was hardly a run of the mill event. But the artists involved argued about the order of the work shown, copyright fees, and signing waivers.

The Director of Lucerne Arts council, Eric Yahoo, said, “We are artists, not used to success. Fame and adoration are difficult issues for people seeing themselves as outsiders. We are now seen as valuable members of the community, and what self-respecting artist wants that?”

Sophie called the art critic of the New City Sun. He said, “The Lucerne Set is now old news. The old quarry has been done before, and the public wants something new.”

Wasn’t an old thing a good thing? thought Sophie. Her grandma always said, “Old is gold”, but then again she did have self-interest.

But good things are timeless, like the world’s great stories that her grandma told her at bedtime. Myths like Osiris, Beowulf, Gilgamesh and Percival, classic novels like Ulysses, and ancient texts like Tao Te Ching and Bhagavad Gita. Yes they have all been “done before”, but you can do them again, and again, and again. What would the art critic say to those?

Such productions take time to arrange, and myths require scale. She would like to get digital projectors, each with an individual server, add high-end fibre-optic technology, and computer-controlled dynamic event lighting. The impressionistic evocations and intriguing relief effects would be enhanced by audio-punch and video-precision. That would all cost money. Right now she must work with what she had.

Eric Yahoo managed to source ten more slide projectors. One came with a carousel full of slides of Old Masters’ paintings.

Sophie sat with Albert, the old quarry’s manager, viewing the slides. They saw Leonardo’s virgins, Michelangelo’s nubile boys, Raphael’s coronations and weddings, Titian’s flaying and mauling, Bosch’s hell on earth, El Greco’s disrobing, Constable’s horses and carts, Turner’s mystical seascapes, and Blake’s heavenly visions.

Sophie and Albert looked at each other. He said, “Old is gold.”

The Old Masters show drew crowds daily, and most productions were sold out. The Old Masters were innovators, trying new colours, perspectives, textures and forms. They would have appreciated the latest technology. Their paintings’ multiple viewpoints, bright colours, sharp details, and superhuman scale made them seem hyper-real.

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