Archive for satellite

Satellite Mushrooms

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Lucerne Village, Organic Farming with tags , , , , , , , , , , on October 1, 2012 by javedbabar

Bobby was surprised that tomatoes preferred listening to commercial stations rather than official state radio. Commercial stations were full of inane chatter and annoying jingles, rather than well-programmed classical music, but plants seemed to prefer them, probably for the same reason that humans did. They was more fun.

He tried a few different stations in the hothouse, and also began broadcasting in the fields. The results were consistent – always Munchies over Mozart, Burgers over Beethoven, and Wiggles over Wagner. It was sad but true. Crops preferred crap.

A forest of mushrooms grew beneath the satellite dish in the garden corner. Was this dish for television or internet access? There were no cables leading off from it; they must be buried. He called another worker over and said, “Hey dude, what’s this?”

“Duh! It’s a satellite dish. What do you think it is?”

“I know it’s a satellite dish. I mean, why is it here?”

“Who knows, my friend. I don’t get paid enough to answer technical questions. No one has asked me to do anything to it, so I don’t care.”

He pointed to the pink fungi growing beneath. “Maybe it’s there to protect the little mushrooms from the sun. They don’t like too much sunshine, you know. Why did you plant them there?”

People make strange jokes, thought Bobby. “I didn’t plant them there.”

“You did too! You planted them there! I saw you!”

Bobby could ignore him or play along. “Why did I do that? Please remind me.”

“Because you’re a fun guy. Get it? And there wasn’t mushroom under the dish, so you squeezed them in. Now when you pine for savoury flavour, you just pick one!”

Bobby said that’s enough.

“I’m not talking shitake, pal. Why should I button it?”

Bobby wasn’t paying attention, as he’d noticed something strange. Each mushroom looked like an upside down satellite dish. It was an exact replica in pink. Maybe he was reading too much into things, after all that was their natural shape – bell ends.

But there was something stranger. Each one looked the same but also seemed different. Each had a distinctive character, almost a personality. They seemed alive, more than a vegetable should be.  One mushroom was fat, one was thin, one was shiny, another, tough-skinned; one, wet; one, almost dead.

He hadn’t been smoking the good herb last night, so why was he seeing strange things?

The fat one seemed lazy; the thin one, active; the shiny one was happy; the tough one, angry; the quiet one, sad; the almost dead one, well dying, and in a way relieved.

The other worker said, “Look pal, no need to be so glum. I’ve got a trick I can show you.” He fiddled with the dish connections. “I studied electronic engineering,” – he looked up – “things didn’t work out, but I did learn a thing or two.” He hooked the satellite dish to his smartphone. “I can’t get a decent signal in this valley, but let’s see what we can get here.”

His smartphone had crystal clear reception. They flicked through food, health, beauty, action, romance, and crime channels. They forgot about the mushrooms, and any effects these channels may have on them. Lazy, active, happy, angry, sad and dying. They were now affected themselves.


Finger Pointing at the Moon

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry with tags , , , , , , , , , on August 28, 2012 by javedbabar

Sami must have fallen asleep. When he awoke, his holy bossman Guru Baba was lying beside him, not breathing.

Oh my God! thought Sami. Why did I make that haiku about death? He’s an old man suffering with dementia. Maybe he’s had enough of living. Was he just waiting for someone’s permission to die? What have I done?

His gaze was filled with cherry blossom, scattered everywhere around.

Just then however, Guru Baba raised a hand. His arm rose stiffly and pointed to the last cherry blossom clinging to a tree. As he did so, its petals fluttered down.

His finger continued pointing beyond the non-existent blossom. Sami noticed that Guru Baba’s nails were neatly trimmed and shone silver. It seemed that he’d had a manicure, or maybe were they just catching the moonlight. Did Sami’s own nails look the same?

Guru Baba had powerful hands for a man in his – maybe eighties? Sami recalled when the sage had beaten everyone at arm wrestling at the “Measure your spiritual strength” booth on Arcadia Day. No one could believe the power of the old man.

“Why are you still watching my finger?” said Guru Baba. “Why aren’t you looking at what it’s pointing to?”

Sami was perplexed. “But the cherry blossom has fallen. It’s not pointing at anything now.”

“Not pointing at anything! Not pointing at anything!” Uh-oh, he’d got him mad now. “Not pointing at anything! What’s that big glowing ball in the sky? That satellite of earth moving at one kilometre per second, whose core is formed of iron, sulphur, and nickel, that has water frozen at its poles, whose gravity affects earthly tides and the water in our bodies and brains.”

Sami hadn’t noticed the full moon beyond the cherry tree. It had sat above the lake earlier, and had travelled during the night, but he hadn’t paid attention. Maybe he had fallen asleep.

Guru Baba continued. “The Roman goddess of the moon was Luna. She rode in a chariot yoked to oxen with crescent horns. Her followers were called lunatics. Have you become one of them?”

Sami was very respectful of Guru Baba. It was his honour to be the assistant of one of the world’s leading holy men. Sometimes, however, he’d had enough of his whims and ranting. He said, “Guru Baba, haven’t we watched the moon enough tonight?”

There was a change in the sage’s demeanour. He said, “The more you look at something, the more you will see.”

“Then why can’t I watch your finger? It would be fascinating for me.”

Guru Baba considered this quandary and said, “You can. Go ahead.”

As Sami watched the sage’s finger, it glowed and seemed to disappear. He followed its previous direction. One of the moon’s craters became suddenly prominent. It seemed an eyeball watching him back.