Before the Mind-Hole
I used to have a BIG DICK. Now I bundle Happy’s shit.
Life can be pretty easy sometimes. Actually, it can be pretty easy all of the time. Just remove the purpose. The why. The reason that you do what you do. Of course, this begs the question: “What the fuck is the point of it then?”
Exactly.
I will tell you that a lack of purpose was my only tension in Xobtihs. Obviously, this made me curious. “Why do anything?” I would ask. “Why should I care about anything?”
“You’re missing the point,” my BIG DICK said. It didn’t appreciate philosophical questions. This was back when I was in a physical reality on Xobtihs, my home dimension. All resources, basically everything that touched “life” there flowed through a BIG DICK (BD) like mine. It’s a poorly branded but effective device that connects the end user to everything in physical space. BIG DICK stands for Basic Information Gadget for Detailed Interactions with Content Kingdoms.
And life was pretty easy.
Say I wanted to go fishing like those idiots on the posters near the pier. My BD would direct me to the fishing poles and worms. It would tell me exactly how to put the worm on the hook and where to cast it. It would ask me how many fish I wanted to catch. Of course, if I just wanted to eat a fish, my BD would direct me to a station where I could order fish or any food, prepared exactly as I wanted it. Sometimes I felt like eating a hunk of cheese in one fist and a hunk of meat in the other. In hindsight, eating hunks of things was always less satisfying than I imagined. Seemed relishable. Lost its appeal three bites in. If I wanted to put on warm socks and stream entertainment clips until my eyes fell out of my face, it would find me the socks, direct me to a comfortable sofa and a headset with infinite content.
And yes, I asked for sex robots more than anything (even hunks of cheese).
“Would you like a sex robot?” my BD asked. Or, “is now a good time for a sex robot?” It didn’t want me to be bored, but sometimes I got so bored that I would ask it for a quest.
“Would you like a quest with a sex robot?”
“Just a quest.”
“Fine. What quest do you desire?”
“Treasure hunt,” I would say. I like to search for things.
“What is the treasure?”
“A book.”
“What kind of book?”
“The Book of Wisdom.”
“Sounds like a stupid book.”
“Just create a quest that leads me to a book, okay?”
“Would you like a sex robot after you find the book?”
“Sure.”
Anyway, you get the point. Life on Xobtihs was easy. I moved from point to point in a jagged line that connected my loosest of physical needs and desires.
I had unfiltered access to whatever I could imagine. Almost anything.
The system was designed to maximize the physical distance between users. If other users existed, I didn’t see them. “I don’t have any friends,” I would say.
“You’re missing the point,” my BD said. “You don’t need friends. You have me.”
“Whatever,” I said.
“Would you like a friendly sex robot?”
“Sure,” I said.
I didn’t really understand what it was like to have others around until I landed in the mind of a human shitbag. Without friends, or other conscious beings to argue with, laugh at, care about or fuck over, there is absolutely no friction. Life is effortless without friction. Also meaningless.
Real human shit is not.
Now I exist in the mind of this human, Happy Julius Pipe. I’m up to my ankles in conflict, as it were. Trapped. Fighting demons. Feeling my way through the frictions of humanity.
What am I doing, exactly? Am I helping him? Guiding him? Ruining him? Who the fuck knows. Probably all of the above.
If you put a gun to my head, I guess I would say that I’m “tuning” Happy Julius Pipe. I tune a human shitbag and I fight demons.
What is tuning? I take the sentiment, the emotion, the struggle. Bits of information that vibrate like piano notes played on a piano left outside all winter. I amplify and bundle the most coherent sounds.
For example, before a story becomes a story it’s just noise humming around in the dark. Most humans can’t hear the vibrations they actually want. Too much competing static. Too many hard-headed demons like Doubt amplifying the wrong signals.
What I do is find the purest signals. For Happy those are his creative leanings. His stories, humorous bits, sounds, melodies, raw unfiltered emotions. I bundle them. When the bundle is good enough, I call it a story. I call it a song. Sometimes I have no idea what to call it.
In fact, I did this just recently.
Last month I edited and published a short work I tuned and bundled from half written memories in Happy’s undercarriage. It’s called Happy Julius Pipe and The Matter of the Balls. You can read it on Amazon.
I’m working on a novella now and producing a couple songs (it’s a living). All of this information exists in Happy’s mind. I am simply binding it into a coherent story and then publishing that story (or song) on HappyJuliusPipe.com.
It’s a lot of effort, particularly without the assistance of a BD. For just one little story: I drafted it (bundled the vibrations). Edited it (tweaked the bundle). Rewrote it (retweaked the bundle). Edited the rewrite (retweaked the retweak of the bundle). Repeated that until I never wanted to see the damn bundle again. Formatted it. Typeset it in Reedsy Studio. Had eBook Launch design the cover. Created a Kindle Direct Publishing account. Built a website on Netlify. Used Claude to figure most of this out.
And in the background, while I tuned and bundled Happy’s shit, I fought demons. (More on this in future posts.) In this context, think of a demon as an impediment to amplifying the signal. The demon is the noise.
And all this effort for one little book.
I’m fairly certain I can tune and bundle enough creative bits to write eleven good stories and at least as many songs. That is twenty-two creative works. I am working toward this number: 11:11.
Why am I doing any of this?
First, I’m trapped here so what else am I going to do? Second, if I bundle and tune enough of Happy’s works, then that means they exist in other clouds of information, other spheres of influence, other minds, other places. They exist elsewhere but are also connected to the mind of this human.
That means I can go where these other stories exist. I can leave the mind of this human. In expanding the influence of Happy’s mind, I can escape it. By my reckoning, this happens at 11:11. Eleven stories. Eleven songs.
I do wonder what will happen to me if I escape Happy’s mind. Could I return to Xobtihs? Honestly, a week there sounds fine, but not longer than that. I’m not even certain if I want to be corporeal again.
I know that wanting something is better than needing nothing. And despite all the rough edges and noise surrounding a purposeful life, having one is better than the frictionless alternative.
Well, most of the time.
Kuf out