Creator / imaginer: Dabbler in art, literature and sound.
Like a square peg in a round hole,
I’ve never really felt like I fit anywhere,
More Alien than Australian,
More an extra than a terrestrial,
I can’t connect, I can’t remember,
Life has been a parade of ghosts,
I’m out of touch, I’m out of touch,
Don’t invade my personal space,
Or encroach upon my peace of mind,
I am not your content,
I now find myself stepping away more,
Than I stepped forward before.
In this metropolis the sky is made of constant rain-soaked night,
Reflecting neon, shines in puddles and on pale weary faces,
The city streets are crowded, as people escape cell-like apartments,
Some shelter under awnings, or huddle, begging in doorways,
Many face the rain beneath illuminated umbrellas, or dark hoods,
People are the landscape, they pack pedestrian bridges and fill arcades,
They shout from balconies above, fighting to be heard,
Shady deals are made in the sprawling city’s dark corners,
Under skyscrapers covered in illuminated signage that pierce the clouds,
The narrow street markets burst at the seams offering their wares,
What you can’t afford to buy, you must trade to obtain, or steal,
Becoming overwhelmed is easy, commercials float in the sky,
Digital advertising, posters, speakers, announcements, music, sirens,
A million plus sounds all echoing at once,
The darkness delivers exceptional sensory bombardment,
City stench is pungent, street cooking combines with vehicle fumes,
Litter lines the streets, stirred by slow ineffective street sweeping vehicles,
Busy crossings speak and beep, police with LED batons direct traffic,
There’s nothing you can’t get here on the black market, crime is rife,
Life here is sickening, unemployment is high, and desperation fills the air,
There are red-light districts, body modification districts, and worse,
Everybody here is hustling just to stay alive, this city eats people up,
Homeless die silently in alleyways, addicts overdose on pavements,
It’s one of the last remaining fully intact cities following the machine war,
This is Grove Zero (G0), Central City, the murderous heart of the new colony.
*Excerpt from 'Infinite Black: A Grey New World'.
I rarely leave my station, or interact at human level,
Early each morning I connect to my terminal,
After the blue screen lights up my dim cubicle,
I am provided with my daily processes and tasks,
I sit, I respond, and I am responsive,
My vocation is simple enough,
I monitor Syndicate payments from farm holders,
I report on activity, stock levels, and record data infringements,
I monitor and ensure that owed credits are transmitted,
I issue alerts when they are not,
If payment is ignored, I send a recovery team to assess,
They either recover the credits, or I issue a Fire Notice,
If the notice is ignored, I process an account deletion,
A ‘tact’ team will then respond, cleaning the property of all persons,
The Syndicate then installs a replacement farm holder,
In the evenings, when I disconnect from my terminal,
Lay on my bed, I close my eyes,
And am thankful to not exist out in that world.
*
*Excerpt from 'Infinite Black: A Grey New World'.
I feel so frustrated,
Like something inside needs to snap,
But I’m holding it in,
I don’t quite know what it is,
It isn’t happiness,
It isn’t sadness,
It is something else,
Perhaps unspent anger,
Or a lament for days past,
Perhaps for the people I’ve lost,
I think it is my hate for my relatives,
And their flaccid amusement,
Their revolting periodical care,
Don’t feign your amusement for my family,
You disgust me with your weak views,
You are all dead to me.
I don’t understand the world as I once did,
I feel that reality is far too distressing now,
This new world churns everybody up,
Even what I’m writing now is null prose,
It’s random, reactive, and it’s ugly,
There was a time when I embraced the future,
When did that turn into fear, and isolation,
Now, I can’t bear people, when did I become incompatible,
I feel like I’m made of old PC parts,
I’m old tech, I feel obsolete, yet I still function fine,
But I no longer meet the minimum requirements,
Surely someone out there still appreciates effort,
I feel unsupported by those who once celebrated me,
This is of course 100% my ego, however it still hurts,
So, how do I let the old me go, how can I upgrade graciously.
Will any part of me still exist after the upgrade,
More importantly, why do I now identify as a component,
Rather than a human being.
And just like that,
I sink back into the black,
It envelops me,
Devoured by dark comfort,
I no longer resist the pull,
There’s no point in struggling,
It numbs all senses,
It keeps open eyes closed,
It mutes all sound,
It guides me down,
Then holds me there,
Until I can no longer breathe,
And just like that,
It releases its chokehold.
It’s a cool quiet Saturday morning, a time to think about life,
Still drowsy from an evening of drinks and a restless sleep,
I sit and contemplate the second piece of my puzzle, my father,
The things he has taught me, and how he helped shape me,
Now elderly and unwell, he’s constantly in my thoughts,
He taught me to be a good man, and to work hard for my family,
To be honest, loyal, trustworthy and kind, although some may scoff,
He taught me to help others, whenever they may need it,
To do what I say, and be where I say I’m going to be,
Actions, not words, are the core foundation of being a man,
He taught me to protect and love my children against all odds,
To be tough, yet playful with them in equal amounts,
To pay my bills, pay my own way, and to not take advantage of others,
He gave me the opportunity and tools to succeed in life,
He ensured technology was available for me to learn and live easier,
He did his best to get me here, while carrying his inner pain silently,
His memories are leaving him now, and he seems fragile,
Not the once strong soldier, mechanic, truck driver, builder he was,
A life should be remembered, not stolen from your mind by sickness,
Sickness took his wife, took his hair, but never his dignity or humour,
He has seen and done so many things, and helped so many people,
And he rarely asked for help along the way, but time is a cruel mistress,
And she creates wraiths from mountains.
Dusk falls on a tired dusty rural landscape,
The long shadows of the late afternoon have faded to grey,
In the distance, bright city lights flicker to life, lighting up the sky,
The distant volume of Central City’s chaos rises to a murmur,
There is a comfort to be being isolated, distant from humanity,
Away from the energy, constant sound, and movement of the city,
Tech still fills this rural space, but it is subtle, used where needed,
Out here it is functionality over convenience, tech for survival only,
No unnecessary body mods, or implants, some city escapees do have them,
But out here they are few and far between, chop-shops are a city thing,
Grove 18, or G18, is some distance from the hot spot of Central City (G0),
Since the war, most people are cautious of machines, however,
Salvaged tech has been repurposed, constructive rather than destructive,
Varieties of hover vehicles have replaced the wheels and tires of old,
Important, considering the surviving roads are overgrown and damaged,
Raider crews on hov bikes can be a threat to farming communities,
But the Syndicates keep them in check, for a price, a cut of your proceeds,
But, don’t pay your Syndicate, your property burns,
Or worse, you and your family are deleted,
Aside the turmoil, nature still exists, savage and beautifully untameable,
Forests reclaim dead townships, creating new habitats and secrets,
The grey new world is brutal and unfair, but that is the way of all things now.
Beyond my machine world the Infinite Black, exists 'A Grey New World', a dystopian future set following the war with the machine hellworld as outlined in my art series, and book I co-created with Jeff Oliver.
I have been (very) slowly fleshing out all aspects of this new post apocalyptic world for a while now, and I will continue to release parts of it here. The final product will consist of poetry, art and short stories.
As twilight fades, a new day begins,
This vast metropolis never sleeps, however,
A voice awakens inside a pod, activating the lighting,
A gentle white light illuminates the chamber,
The sleeper stretches, then requests coffee,
A glass emerges from a countertop flap and fills,
They rub their eyes as the outer window shutter raises,
And a glistening cityscape is revealed as they drink,
Breakfast consists of synthetic fruits and oatmeal,
Morning ablutions are brief and efficient,
Once clothed, they head out into bright morning sun,
Voice activation secures the apartment pod as they exit,
And they step out into the shadows of Megacity skyscrapers.
Welcome to the future, where clocks now strike thirteen,
Individualism is no longer celebrated,
That human condition has been politically corrected,
One central government keeps humanity in stasis,
One totalitarian leader wields blind control,
Sprawling interconnected megacities rise,
Tech controls the nihilistic mindset of a dead generation,
People disappear by night without warning,
Artists, journalists, writers, free thinkers,
Lives are deleted as the world embraces sterility,
Psychological pharmaceuticals are outlawed,
Desperation fills crowded dystopian city streets,
Populations sleep in instability, controlled by fear,
Supervised, manipulated, punished,
This is not the promised bright new world,
This is despotism,
This is now.
Dan Verkys 