Are You Gonna' Wipe? (short story)

Are you Gonna' Wipe?

“Are you gonna' wipe? Eric asked his friend Brad walking down the hall..

“Thinking about it. Not seriously.” Brad replied. “We're both getting old enough. Don't you, ever think about it?”

“I just don't get it. Why do people do it? It looks like hell. Those guys go through hell. . . I saw one meek as a lamb getting beaten and tortured in the subway one night. His mind had just been wiped apparently. Orange jumpsuit and everything.”

“Wow, horrible! But how do you know those weren't his own people? . . . Mad because he E-r-a-s-e-d them?”

“Naw dude, this wasn't that. Well, I mean, I hope it wasn't that.” He shook it off. “Well, I mean maybe I hope it ~was~ that, It looked depraved and, and I had my niece with me at the time. I kept my distance.”

“We all do. Why though? Why would anyone want to become a man-baby fumbling along and relearning how to live?”

“I don't know people like it. Say it's like becoming another person.”

“I'll bet. . . . but I don't see the point. What's the benefit? Are you sad or something? You got to be a sad sack or something if you want to wipe. Are you depressed Brad?”``

With a smile he answered, “My girlfriend is looking for a 'new' boyfriend ha ha.” He doesn't have a girlfriend. “You just don't get it. They're all weirdly good at stuff. They're like super heroes. Their brains recombinate more efficiently, they learn really fast. I mean 5 years that's the usual. . .For the return customizers.”

“But they're ruining the country!” Said Eric with a loud all be it playful demeanor. “Why do we got to put up with fricken zombies? Nobody knows them, and those that do are soon to be forgotten by them. It's pretty selfish if you ask me. Isn't once enough? You'd think if you HAD to forget everything and start again you'd do it once. Not every time you get bored. You know almost everything, time to forget it all again.”

“I think that's why they do it bro. They learn more. They must right? . . .Like I was just gonna' say, I think it's that they get a fix of curiosity again.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, shit man what are you gonna' wipe for? YOU don't know ~shit~ You're only 23. Can't do it till you're at least 25 right, and what are you really good at?

“My job, you dick.”

“Oh is that it? Those blokes got their nails into you huh? Singin' your praises at the office are they? To erase your whole mind?! You're so good at your job that they want to trade you in for “the new guy”? Some gifted moon face. . . .They ain't asking you to stay. They're asking you to go away.”

“That's a thought, but who would get the last laugh? If I'm the one that recombinates. Can't recombinate if you don't forget. I'd be flushing those fakes down the toilet.”

“Fuck those guys. I'm your friend. What about me? What am I gonna' do?”

“Smell you later dude.”

“Stew in your own farts. OH you disgusting fucker!” Excited he says, “You get to re-discover your natural talent all over again!”

“Ha HA HA, disgusting, oh yeah, that's right!”

“Your farts are the WORSE dude. They still today say someone lit off a stink bomb at the prom. . . Oh, that's the classic Brad story. How could you want to lose that gem!”

“I wouldn't mind forgetting.”

“NO! How could you want to wipe after that shit?! It was epic. It was the highlight of your life, our whole gang from back then. Nobody buys the 'official story' on THAT one. Not after the movie theater incident.”

Brad couldn't listen to Eric any longer. It all began to drone on. How could his friend not get it, that his whole life is a fart joke. Time to say goodbye this evening. Maybe for the last time, his friend.

Eager to grow up. A different person. A reason to doubt official stories about his character. His defined life, but his farts were gonna' still stink. He was gonna' be an idiot. Bound and determined to relearn things in a different way. A twenty second century trend. Forgetting. Being used. Over and over again. Forgetting, relearning, Forgetting relearning. Finding out who you are seems exhilarating. A child's mind in an adults predeveloped brain. Focused learning. Focus driven like a true genius - a higher perspective. Mozart's hands falling onto the keys of his definitive story. Already knowing how to play. What kind of high would that be? A refreshing brain like a rebooted and amazing computer. It was unquestionably appealing to him.

How is it any different? He thought. You got idiots walking around dumb and you've got really talented smart people almost mythically lost in the shuffle of their professional lives. This could never have been a possibility without Anarchy. The current tide of our day. Individuals unhindered by expectations. Inequal relationships tend towards fading away. People all sort of blend into each other.

These recombinates began as an underground scene at first. Accidental augmentation mishaps, or mental manipulation fetishists, suicidally creative nut jobs. They began like social memes popping up about neighborhood crackheads mysteriously appearing in people's neighborhoods. People sharing strange experiences with strange moonfaced creatures fumbling around their living space, cloud storage smearing about the blocks. Setting fire to everyone's psychological walls. Kind of a big mystery back in those days. Now it's pretty common, but there remain those of course, trying to push back toward the death cults and violence controlled days. Bunch of sick fucks those fucking second wave new world order Americans. They made even the holocaust look like a giant mercy killing. Stretching out the suffering of their work forces almost indefinitely. People working themselves to death and saying thanks for the job opportunity. Entire lives wasted. (People died for this!) Some doing dirty work so depraved and unjust they became blue clad parodies of ethical behavior. Robotic automatons. Policy minded programs, get with the program they'd say. If they didn't enjoy something, their government would just recondition them back to a state of enjoyment. Men would actually brag about how bad ass it was that they were being sent off to die. It's heart breaking history to watch those old propaganda videos of New World Order America. Men born to die, women obsessed with positivity and blaming men for every little thing. Wrong in their lives. Mislead in their lives. Hell on earth. Following order. It's hard to imagine today, but that's ancient history, right? We've grown past that now. Mostly. . .Evil control obsessed people are just like a bottom dregs social subset now. They're no longer the norm. We in general just put up with them. Unwanted broken racist grandparents. Or we would leave them alone, if they would leave the recombinates alone. They're the new minorities these days, the old noncoms. The remaining order followers pushing their ancient religions on everyone and the new recombinates especially vulnerable. Mental victim mind molesters, jealous of evolutionary change. They love to gloat in those sadistic mind rape scenarios still lingering from when pedophile politicians ran social conduct. Indoctrinating the recombinates clawing at their sidewalks drooling all over themselves trying to get hold of their new found and functional conceptual engine.

Out with the mental state of policy minded indoctrinated thinkers, in with an adults reasoning with a rapid deluge of reality. Statism just sloughing off like dead skin. The hold outs just mentally deficient sad luck cases, too terrified to live here too scarey to die.

Headed towards expectation we all are conceptually. Eventually most determined recombinate people in today's society, well, we leave them alone. They learn to fit in fast enough. Six months maybe. But there are always two kinds of people right? The good ones and the bad ones. Those that take care, and those that take advantage. It's hugely frowned upon to demean a new recombinate. It would be akin to pedophilia in public to most, but to the new worlders, those melancholy self segregated and nostalgically motivated order followers. For their ire, recombinates are the food of the gods ripe for the picking. Futile as it seems, they inflict the initial indoctrination upon them. (Most recombinates.) Fucking cultists till the end, can't even see their cultivation goes nowhere. The evolution of the species has left them behind. No longer relevant. Recombinates representing everything the old death cult hates. The humanity that's moved on beyond authority worship. Men which will eventually end up having complete power over them, because they're prisoners in themselves. Flag waving thrill killers that can't convince anyone to pay attention to them any longer. Left behind, by humankind. The recombinates are the arrogance of innocence. Walking around like no one owns the place. In the same public spaces between peace of anarchy, and the statist occluded terrorism. Stay in the public spaces, the crowded places. Avoid the dangerous statist minded hold outs within their 'safe spaces.'

Recombinates remain in the public eye today. As most people are recombinates of some sort. And for the most part even those who are not are very unswayable with the statists efforts to convince them of their snake oil propaganda and half hearted policies from decades ago. In reality they are the 'retards' in todays culture, (ironically a term once used to demean the mentally impaired) the held back statists. Ironically I guess. They are the ones left behind by the rest of society because they are too stupid to understand. Pitiable almost subhuman because they can't be brought around. They are those left behind. The nursing home fiascos of the future, your statist uncle or grandparent. Nobody wants them. Violent old political religious types. Sometimes nice and smiling other times dreaming delusions of bloodbaths in your communist blood. Brad heard that once, actually thought he said 'commy' but still, pretty unbelievable delusions these people still live in. They're not too cool to have around you. Pitiable, leave them to their nostalgic little symbol collections and hidden propaganda basements from their “golden age” if they ever actually had one, is that something they talk about? Insisting vehemently, as if they're winning some argument they made up, with the phrase, “and I turned out fine! I turned out fine!” “People died for this!”

Anyway, recombinates coming to a town near you. Zombies, meek as sheep and put out on the street. You just spin them right around if they show up at your door. Could be dangerous, you don't know if the statists recruited one and tried to brainwash it. Needless to say they have a tendency of disappearing. Humanity though, has come a long way from these ancestral statists. We don't mind so much the risk. We're no longer being led anywhere. We're no longer on a leash called government, and we're mostly spiritual although we're still curious to a fault.

Anarchy brings with it an aura of spirituality. A reconfirmed empathy and practiced consideration among us. We're free. Unimaginable of course to those that can't see. The statist hold outs. Crazy uncles. Nasty old people. What's really changed?

Instead of immorally asleep order following zombies we have wide awake and meek gluttons for punishment and a, 'built in' do your worse attitude. They drive the evolution of humanity.

Anarchy is openly practiced as a virtue. Voluntarism. NOT the typical dodging of responsibility and consequences of the charitable politician that used to be so popular.

“Intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings.” Salvador Dali

“The only idea that they have ever manifested as to what is a government of consent is this, that it is one to which everybody must consent, or be shot.” Lysander Spooner

“A man without his government is like a cow without her butcher. Useless. Aimless. Spoiled meat.” Caligula Rothschild McNasty

Some see it as life affirming, but more than that humanity affirming. Anarchy affirmed by evolution. Mankind is still headed somewhere it's just not being -led- there. Except the few into the dark basements of 'Traditional Values” and horror. The dejected souls that are no longer allowed to vote away all evil, putting their frustration into Jeffry Dahmer dolls destined to become superior to them in almost every way. They can't wait to snuff out another offensively free individual from their playing field. They're quickly dying out, but they ain't dead yet.

Anarchy be damned. They're still out there. All around us. Slave minded sadists holding communion with ballots and ties and podiums. Cult members, but they're less visible. Out-shined by changing individuals. People learning at astounding rates. Apologetic and understanding creatures these recombinate people. They seem to know what matters even if they go through frequent bouts of naivety.

It's the world that's full of shit. Are you gonna' wipe? Brad slept in. Cozy under his layers upon comforting layers, woven fluff and loose comforters, stale sheets. He was a bit cold, having forgotten to turn up the heat before falling asleep. Once he was up he felt the warmth of the sun rising through his skylight. The sun's warmth welcoming him to sit on the back porch a moment, the thought of digging through his clothes hamper as usual a distant one. His mind, which yesterday was working overtime, was decidedly silent as he sat there. He felt as if he should still be stuck in contemplation and consideration. He felt happy. Content. Calling in sick on perhaps the nicest day of the year. Arrangements had already been made.

He stood at the counter wondering along the lines of how profound it seemed to introduce himself at this point to the woman as he stared blankly at the hard wood Receptionist title on the desktop. Just then as the two began to speak, the door behind him flew open and loudly enough to embarrass his parents his friend Eric screamed, “BRAD!!”

Startled by the moment Brad let one rip. A YUUGE booming fart. The look on Eric's face as he realized what just happened must have been iconic to say the least. A satisfactory stupor fell over him as well, at the same time feeling both separation and urgency, a glint of prepared forethought at the soon to be looming stench of a nightmarish bog of inescapable fart vapor, a hint of lingering panic at losing his best friend overwhelmed by the whole out, burst. The receptionist quickly asked covering her nose and without thought, “Are you gonna' wipe?”