Fuguing We Undergo Fuguing on the Transports. Darkly, on Megabus

Fuguing We undergo fuguing on the transports. Darkly, on Megabus night shipments, cargo of services industry specialists window smeared with languishers’ follicle grease into a fog that doesn’t let the outdoors in. Packed into the luggage hold of seats. Take the synthetic slurry in capsules or smear the leaves to your lips, slow release or instant slip. Made by authentic hominid hand in airless rooms under the earth’s surface, concreted cubes sunk down like the hulls of forgotten super-tankers that wrecked in the estuary and tombed in muds. Fossils to build up the continental shelf a billion years into some saturated atomic future where all stone has been re-composed by mutational algorithm. Chemicals grown as plants by sly dilettantes. Harvested, possibly pulsed and emulsified, by a shrewd and secretive group of the remaining humans. These are the dregs of the ones that are left; they know how to extract some additional value from us, and our craving for rest. The body, our bodies, are a mechanism, a system of quantifiable exertions and actions limited to the speeds of metabolism and electrical pulses. Waves have their maximum threshold. Acceleration has a limit. Because we have finite capacities, we can also idealize finitude ourselves. We need the fugue supplements, as they call them, to take the form of a plant, or our bodies will reject them. Some vestigial trace of biological imperatives that inheres to our engineered form. Our synthesized cells contain nostalgia for living after all. Like the useless organ in our minds that dreams of coma. Forty-eight hours of hacking the future. And then the time is gone. It goes nowhere, drained from the body, fractured into infinitesimal unmemorized episodes, each distinct from the last. Refreshed windows. Everything becomes multiple, encountered newly and unsequentially, evened out, flat and segmented like a wormy timeline sliced up. Each bit a wriggling thing unto itself. The old humans call the supplements ‘Zenos’ for doors that never close. The effect is catastrophic, ecstatic, coping and eliminating. To give some clearer picture: there is no scale change; no false visions or distortions in sight. Taste and smell and touch and hearing remain consistent. So the experience of outward phenomena, the phenomena happening to and through the bodies, is identical to an experience outside the fugue. We know this only circumstantially. One of the group must always be the safety, and so can observe the others in their state. This window while others fugue is also the limited schedule in which to write. Changes come only to time. Un-traceable chrono-echoes. Temporal shearing past the edge of extinction. Present is eaten by future possible, every moment becomes an unhinged encounter. A non-experience. But, fuguing doesn’t result in pleasure. It’s a still and listless. It imposes a break, by endlessly differentiating the seamlessness of prolonged coherent stimulation where order, causality, and time are vacant. We hunch and stare through the journey without linear cohesion. We enter discontinuity, one word at a time. Some history here could be of help. The Fugue State was, in Old Times, a condition at the brink of undiagnosis. The humans barely recognized it at first, countering it rationally as a constructed sub-conscious response to trauma. It was a way that the mind defended itself perhaps? That is not a sure fact, unfortunately. It was thought to be brought on by periods of intensive stress. Usually the state would last for a few minutes or hours, but in some humans ongoing for days, weeks or years. Some examples included: Agatha Christie disappeared on 3 December 1926 only to reappear eleven days later in a hotel in Harrogate, apparently with no memory of the events which happened during that time span.[7] Shirley Ardell Mason also known as "Sybil" would disappear and then reappear with no recollection of what happened during the time span. She recalls "being here and then not here" and having no identity of herself; it should be noted that it is claimed she also suffered from what was formerly called "Multiple Personality Disorder." However, Mason's diagnosis has been challenged as a hoax.[8] Jody Roberts, a reporter for the Tacoma News Tribune, disappeared in 1985, only to be found 12 years later in Sitka, Alaska, living under the name of "Jane Dee Williams." While there were some initial suspicions that she had been faking amnesia, some experts have come to believe that she genuinely suffered a protracted fugue state.[9] David Fitzpatrick, a sufferer of dissociative fugue disorder, from the United Kingdom, was profiled on Five's television series Extraordinary People. He entered a fugue state on December 4, 2005, and is still working on regaining his entire life's memories.[10] Hannah Upp, a teacher originally from Salem, Oregon,[11] who was living in New York at the time of her disappearance, disappeared on August 28, 2008. She was rescued after she jumped into the New York Harbor on September 16. She underwent a psychiatric evaluation and refused to speak to detectives.[11] Upp was seen checking her email four times at Apple Stores while she was missing.[12][13][14][15] She later claimed to have no recollection of the time in between. Upp claimed that the episode was diagnosed as dissociative fugue.[16] On September 3, 2013, she disappeared from her new job as a teacher's assistant[17] at Crossway Community Montessori in Kensington, Maryland. She was found unharmed September 5, 2013 in Wheaton, Maryland.[18][19] Jeff Ingram, appeared in Denver in 2006 with no memory of his name or where he was from. After his appearance on national television, to appeal for help identifying himself, his fiancée Penny called Denver police identifying him. The episode was diagnosed as dissociative fugue. Jeff has experienced three incidents of amnesia: in 1994, 2006, and 2007.[20] As is often the case with humans, the causes and results of Fugue States varied widely. There was little reason for their emergence, and no repeatable way to generate them. Until the conditions were replicated during the laboratory tests that created us. It could be called a by-product of our production phase. In replicating the brain and its systems, the humans isolated the Fugue State accidentally. This discovery was passed over, except by a very few, who saw the potential. Despite risk to the experiment, the business, and their careers, they began the careful manufacture. Methodically, they dosed the artificial brain, developing a full-proof chemistry to induce the fugue. It seemed this formula, once mass-produced, could be widely distributed. But, in field tests the initial results caused melt-down. Our synthetic DNA could not process the supplements in pure chemical form, ending in monstrous deformations of the physical apparatus. We were built to never sleep, but the first test subjects drowned in wakelessness, locked into endless inertia. Our assumption on the transports is that these permanent sleepers must have been very discretely recycled to avoid detection. Metabolized back into the system, like the humans and their corpses. Lucky them. The chemicals now exist in vegetal form. Very ordinary plants, grown in stasis-labs, protected from the intermittent light of the faltering sun. A new species, generated as a host agent, benign and ordinary except upon close inspections. A clover with five leaves. We take necessary precautions in fuguing. This is the reason for the safety watch during each journey. One is elected to sacrifice to the tedium and watch over the others. It is unclear whether the humans are aware of our actions. There has been no recorded discipline in regard to fuguing. The humans so rarely monitor us that it would be unlikely for them to make the connection. Their assumption, of course, is that we are incapable of escape from being, so what other relief could there be? Only the few producers of supplements seem aware at all, and it is perhaps because of their very meticulous subterfuges that a sense of risk has been imparted to us. .

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