A concentration of energy humming right between my eyes. Mentally, I try to associate with whatever it is that appears to be trying to uplink this area of my brain with something greater. The associations that take place lead me to think that little of what I believe matters, really does matter. A vision of the cross appears with the center of the cross being the center of my forehead. I try to evoke a memory outside of the collection that is part of my life. Somewhere, I am living by the ocean, inside a small beach shack set upon tidal flats, a fetid swampy area where tiny crabs come out with the tide. Water is pumped forth from the tide, and filtrated using precise graphene sheets that remove the salt. Then, the water is boiled and filtrated again using another series of precise filters. All of this process is powered by solar cells upon the roof of my shack. Another machine sucks in sea life–the tiny crabs, fishes, and mollusks that inhabit the area around me. This machine extracts the meat from these beings, crushes up their shells, and spits out a plate of meat and a brick of cemented shells that will be reclaimed by a drone at some point. I receive wireless information via satellite, and all of my reading materials are digital. A drone delivers me a new device to write, read and occasionally video chat with the outside world. Occasionally, I receive a new set of clothes when my old set of clothes are worn to tatters. I am micro-scrubbed by nanomachines every night while I sleep. All corrosive materials that would age me and kill me are removed and inserted into the glue that cements the shell bricks together. A thin film of UV protection is re-applied to my skin while I sleep, so that if I decide to venture out onto the beach and swim in the ocean, I will not be burn and rendered carcinogenic by the powerful radiation that is trapped by the greenhouse gasses which are increasing with each passing year.
This is not the life for everyone. Many people need other people around them constantly, they need to be caught up in the chatter and drama of whirlpools and eddies of existence that are rarely nourished by a bigger tide of thought and experience. The sea life that I eat is full of pollution, and contains very little in the way of nourishment. The seaweed and crabs, which sustain most of my diet, carry so many trace chemicals that have to be scrubbed from my body each night.
I got here because I was an old man with no remaining kin who felt obligated to visit me on a regular basis. My children, grandchildrean and great-grandchildren lead busy, important and chattery lives. Lives that are not compatible with my temperament. I rarely participate in video chats with them, just enough so that they know I am still alive. I used to have a dog, a long time ago, but this life was hard on the dog, and the dog ran off to find a better life or be claimed by the ocean.
I volunteered to live this way as part of an experiment to see how a human could adapt to living in a harsh, simple environment alone for a long time. The funding for the experiment was cut, but the nanomachines were never reclaimed by the government. They are able to harvest trace minerals from the pollution that washes up around me, and extract the ones that are valuable for use in new technologies. Drones carry away the minerals that the nanomachines have extracted once a month, and a small deposit is made into a bank which covers the costs for repairing and maintaining the infrastructure and automation which sustains me.
In short, I don’t work, and I don’t age, and I don’t really do much of anything except read, daydream and write my thoughts about being someone like me stuck in this kind of existence which is better than any other existence I would want to be stuck in.
The area that I inhabit contains nothing interesting to look at, no exquisite beaches that have been scrubbed of all pollution. There is little that washes up around me which could be described as being anything other than garbage. Therefore, pirates and scavengers stay away from this area. It is also extremely hot year round, as global warming has turned this part of the world into a place of perpetual summer at its worst. The hottest days see the temperature reach almost 150 degrees Farenheit, the coldest nights during the winter only get down to about 85 degrees.
The sea life that persists around here has evolved in such a way that I find to be remarkable, but it is incredibly poisonous to eat if you don’t have the right technology to keep you scrubbed from the toxicity.
If you close your eyes, you can hear the ocean pounding the shore, and it sounds just like the ocean did when it was pristine and lovely to dip your feet into, and gaze out across the waters at the sunset or sunrise, depending on where you lived. Of course, the sun still rises every morning across the water where I live, but the picturesque sunrise seems to have been replaced by a violent, blood-red fire that burns with intensity from first to last rays of the day.
You might want to know what my purpose is, what am I ultimately doing to justify my existence, and I don’t know that I could answer that. I write things that are not especially novel or arresting, and very few people read them. Sometimes, I spend days on end taking buckets of sand and trying to sort out all of the various grains by their color. I sit looking that the tiny grains under a microscope and move them around with a fine needle until I’ve created a few square inches worth of sand that is all of one particular color.
Other times I do something similar with pictures that I take of the stars. I blow up my high resolution images of the night sky, and sort out all of the stars into like colors and shapes. I have other hobbies as well, like cutting and pasting words out of the millions of texts available online and arranging and re-arranging them in ways that is probably less indicative of a proclivity toward art and more of a kind of obsessive, compulsive disorder.