VOICE & VISION

A short story by Mr D Tweedie – Copyright 2012

A dark figure slipped gently toward the end of the bridge in a haze of drizzle, quietly fleeing from the vein of heavy traffic. A lattice of vertical splines spanned the edges like the vertebrate of an impatient serpent; whilst strands of branches from trees reaching into the air blurred the scene. Amid the lean alleyways and narrow paths, I caught a fleeting glimpse of one of its bizarre denizens darting through the patchwork carnival of stores and accesses. I tried not to think about it, as I fought my way through a psychotic parade of strange harlequins, their scarlet tongues protruding perversely into the air and shrieking like a horde of carnal hyenas. I leaned into the curling wind, fending off the demons surrounding my impoverished spirit, as an aluminum can tossed in the wind clattered across the street. A carousel of vehicles surged toward me, slashing the air with waves of water, their rubber tires churning out turbulent rain filled gutters. I screamed involuntarily as the gloomy shafts of dense columns amid the city rose menacingly above me.

I unconsciously stumbled into a shop; it was a frilly boutique filled with a bewildering array of bizarre and lurid objects, guiltlessly laid out in an air of risqué femininity. I immediately began to feel my throat contract, as the still dryness of the air began to smother me in fear. My hand lunged for the door …the sudden appearance of a tall burlesquely clothed man frustrating my earnest desire to escape; I had to avert my eyes, naively thinking that there would be an alternate mode of exit. A pair of tightly fitting fishnet stockings drew suspiciously toward my line of sight, such so that I had to jump quickly out of the way. The awkward juxtaposition of trying to adjust the structure of my balance caused me to fall backward into a book-rack of lewd photography. It was at just that moment to my horror that I felt a pair of hands lurch toward me, I struggled in fear as my face slid slowly down through the stark and graphic images …shrieking …as the visages of woman in make-up and corsetry fell toward me on the floor. I had to quickly recover, bounding back to my feet again and pretending to feign little surprise. I held a book closely across my face, in a confused effort to hide my identity. The doorway was clear, a hot stream of sunlight poured through the passageway. I saw a distinct chance to make an unobtrusive escape as possible, when all of a sudden a huge grotesque woman made an untimely appearance in the doorway. This unfortunate event caused me to miss the door jamb by inches. Inadvertently, I crashed into the window front and landed behind the curtain display overlooking the street. I had difficulty breathing, drawing a number of dead flies into my nostrils, as I lay face down among the plastic and tinsel décor – bravely planning my next mode of escape. I had found that I had fallen onto an imitation blond mannequin; I quickly launched myself back into the air with the plastic female in my hands. It was then that I began to realize that I could be seen in full view of the street; my skin crawled across my flesh with fear as I leapt toward the curtain in an impromptu attempt to regain full control of the situation. The shop keeper began to scream hysterically at me as I lay on the floor with the mannequin lying on top of me. Subsequently, I reached for a curtain hanging from an adjacent display for support, unfortunately the rail that held it up came loose, hitting the shop owner full on the head and sending him careering into a cabinet full of sexual paraphernalia, he screamed horribly as he pulled the cabinet toward him in an effort to prevent himself from falling. I had to get out; the shop owner, whom was now trapped underneath the display cabinet, began to squeal in a high pitched lingering tone of despair, as it was apparent by this time that I had overstated my presence and that I should cautiously tip-toe out quietly toward the door.

Escaping from the burlesquery, I tried to pace myself – I had to fend my way through a group of angry neo-Nazis brawling with a crib of black power members, my mind warping underneath the pressure. Wind swept through a naked alleyway, bits of newspaper blowing around in a vacuum. I choked with fear and grit in the gale. I slipped into a kind of disused market entrance laid out in an early form of architectural masonry, void and hollow except for the disturbing ghostly presence of some its mysterious spectral inhabitants. I cowered within the shaded protection of the curb hoping not to attract any attention as I approached the doorway of my lawyer. Orange stained corrugated roofing hung over the upper impediments of the office like the crimped loin cloth of an ancient Phoenician boatman, the porch now somewhat neglected in style had been converted into an asphalt pavement. I tried peering through the faded sun bleached curtains of his office; I froze with fear as an air piercing scream rapidly rose into a high pitched crescendo, eerily left the villa. It was my lawyer – he carried an aura of immanent paranoia about him whilst simultaneously screaming hysterically into his little black cell phone, the palm of his hand outstretched upon the window glaze like an enormous feline. He was a very tall blithely lit person with sallow cheeks and an eye that distended remarkably from its socket, as if it was about to fall out and hit someone on the head then bounce off like a soft rubber ball. I tried to replace my fear with calm, confronting him with the pretention of giving him money. He was wearing a grey flannelette suit, sporting a vermilion red tie and squatted like a desert nomad on the floor with the little black cell phone pressed tightly against his ear. Suddenly he sprang to his feet and screamed “What do you want?” Then he began to sweep large sectionsof legal documents straight onto the floor, which had been carefully arranged in piles high on his desk. He then cried out angrily “Your case has completely withered in a barrage of disrepute!” He then picked up a very large round speaker cone and hoarsely voiced at its apex “Get out … get out …get out of my office …now!” He then leapt like a large primitive cat onto the desk and laughing maniacally through the aperture of the megaphone, he repeatedly stated “He is the spawn of Satan …he is the spawn of Satan …he is the spawn of Satan” I left him growling like a hungry predator with foam gushing from his mouth. My imagined fears had finally been realized, I could no longer bathe in the light of reason or hope; I had to return to the relative obscurity and safety of my quiet urban apartment for a nice cup of tea and a piece of cake.

Science fiction by Derick John Tweedie – Copyright 2012

“In high speed galaxies, mechanics equip the inter-galactic vessel …in an emergency, with a small, redundant power accessory.” announced the electrical engineer. “This offset’s the main’s power source and reduces pinnacle drag from the direct influence of galaxy disturbances – such as in the case of the S.S. Empedocles, he said, poking the air with a beige manila envelope in his hand.

“Are the red galaxies… in reality – flawed characteristics of instrumental range-length capabilities?” quizzed the vehicle company designer, opulescent reflections of figures rolled across the surface of his polymer rimmed spectacles and in problem solving contemplation he continued, “…as if chromatically disconnected with an object, perhaps because of a barely perceptible abberation within the mirror?” he breathed.

“It would be difficult to give an accurate prognosis, given a lack of alternative evidence.” informed the electro-engineer, shafts of light fell across his face, shining through a lattice of venetians, blithely illuminating the room, “ However it is not considered to have the same effect, as a non-stationary object …that falls through a crack in the universe.” he reiterated confidently, “This is the premise…” he relayed, from across the flat of his desk, “made by astronauts …of a vehicle, discovered …on an asteroid …poised in a very remote region of the farthest edge of the galaxy.” he explained vociferously, standing up from his seat, “That premise…” he proclaimed, walking around toward the front of his desk “explored a path made with …gravitational vortices moving through the fabrics of time and space, generated by the spiral galaxies.” he paused, “ The vessel was equipped with …under very high pressure, spinning electromotive valve devices …opening the vessel’s pressure aperture, delaying galaxy disturbance… and pushing the envelope of the ship’s engine turbines through the discharge of gravitational resistance formed, between the galactic spirals.” he finished.

“So, the alien pilot would have chosen what direction it wanted to go, like a water gnat …finely tuned to the surface of a pond…!” the scientific architect said in support of the claims, reclining his head on an extended back-rest and facing the electrical engineer, “…and I suppose, by steering the ship into the navigational compass of a gravitational lens?” he challenged amusedly.

“ …precisely!” confirming the speculations of the electro-engineer – not at all surprised “…even as galaxies are moving toward the relativistic inertia’s of the redshift”! he rest assured resiliently.

“But…” the vehicular architect promulgated, “ wouldn’t the stress placed on the vessels’ fabrications simply break it apart?”

“If placed under any specified duress…yes!” asserted the electrical engineer, “However this type of vessel was designed to weave advantage from the lowest form of gravitational energy in the universe, a collective phenomenon known as “gravitational cracking” …a network of very light and very fast moving, invisible energies caused by the differential accelleration of the galaxies…” he reported.

“I see…” confirmed the industrial architect, “a cartesian energy co-ordinate!”

“Yes…” The industrial electrician replied, shrinking into a shadow of the office, “…it’s an exponential derived from the premises, that within an unoccupied space there’s less and less resistance to restrain a bodies movements, causing it to accellerate through …cracks in the universe, ever and ever faster …until it ultimately catches up with large gravitational bodies manouvering into the red-shift!” parried the electro-technician.

“Aren’t…such conditions likely to freeze a vehicles’ manual controllability at those accellerations?” suggested the auto-architect nervously.

“…fairly close to conditions where the universe gains a complete absence to resistance,” the electro-engineer axiomed, pushing the palm of his hand through the air, “Reaching speed phenomena that disintegrate whole galaxies one after another.” he pressed.

“My god …the thought of the universe consuming one galaxy after another…!” the architect mused inquisitively.

“The alien people whom had built this particular …technically specialised craft, had manufactured a completely integrated optical synthesis and navigation control system …it was very accurate” the electro-technician quipped.

Science fiction by Mr D Tweedie – Copyright 2012

They had arrived at the farthest most reaches of the galaxy, in a place nearest to the lowest point of gravity, on the very edge of the deepest parts of the universe, on a star paired with a planet moving at a high velocity on a gravitational perimeter of space not subjected to conventional understandings of conceptually gravitised structures of time.

The astro-visitation was formed from a part of a series of extreme expeditions designed to explore the hazards facing engineers within uncomfortable environments found as objects reached escape velocity toward the edges of the galaxy.

The object, was found within the extreme edge of the visible spectrum, amid tales and wild speculation of objects hidden away from the vaults of human eyes within the partially visible layers of pale blue light at the end of the spectrum.

The vessel sat on its base – one third of its mass.

Two parts struck from its base, locked, like the two points of a bullock’s horns, cambering from its head.

Electric valve turbines drew air in through slotted windows located high up within the pinnacles, down towards a turbo valve seated in behind the base window, through slots cut into the frame below, which formed a front annex in connection with the portico of the stern.

The astronauts struggled through a labial opening behind the cambered structuring of the stern.

Scanning upward they clambered with difficulty – but carefully up and over the cavaceous opening, leading to the ships’ interior. Reconnoitering the entrance they explored a widening compartment of adjoining annexes, each complemented with a dilated frame which supported an electromotive track at its’ base. The track turned ahead, on either side overhung the buttresses of the ships fuselage. Each stage of the fuselage had an entire figure built into each of its frames and the figures adorned into the fuselage architecture appeared to exhale the scent of death. Dessicated, as if the moisture had left them as symmetric caricatures of a once living ancestor or an astrovoyaging personnage long since departed away from the breath of life.

The strip at the bottom of the ossuary consisted of a series of parallel electrodes which ascended high up into the fuselage, disappearing into the pinnacles, partially obscured within a writhing veil of pale duvet mist.

Science fiction by Mr D Tweedie – Copyright 2011

Bright centres of boiling hot stars filtered a dazzling intense light through an atmospheric haze.

The twisted mechanical spectre of a structure lay in recumbent equipoise, stranded and derelict within a cantankerous dusty storm. A relentless blood coloured vapour, sweeping over the fuselage across its corners and sides.

On its hull, painted were vertical and horizontally type written symbols, in reference, pertaining to the ships category of purpose and the type of employment it had had.

An internal battery, which controlled its basic operating system, switched into life, turned off, after having landed ungracefully, onto the asteroids dusty rhomboid surface, its automatic self-monitoring systems, managed to switch back on, after having a designated – maintenance point of rest.

The poly-chambered apparition from the decks of the ships longitudinal apparatus pointed out into the pale dusty saffron atmosphere. A red oiline wind howled throughout the machines power vectors, and surged across its expansion sets.

A pilot, unable to un-jam the embedded machine, tried in vain, to lift the craft up, by pulling the vector engine throttles up and then pushing down on them with the voltage induction controllers wound right out, until with friction, the throughput engines jerked its machinery involuntarily into the air, where it remained in suspension for a while, before abruptly crashing back down onto the dusty surface again, with just its warning light blinking, signalling a failure of its engines brinkmanship, like a dumb-founded insect, examining an entirely new situation, hitherto unknown to its experience.

In a multi-celled protective suit, an astronaut cocked the upper part of his attire toward the aliphatic shroud that engulfed the incumbent pinasse, protruding out of the haemoserose gloom.  Detecting radioactivity and prodigious quantities of hydrocarbons in the atmosphere, the heavily insulated cosmonaut looked thoughtfully toward the units’ voltage amplifier structure.

In part, the vessel looked like a raft; the other part looked like voltage control housing. The expander looked like a redundantly concealed compartment, which when looked at laterally, appeared to be a voltage induction bridge, whilst the other part functioned as a voltage transformation receptacle.

The astronaut programmed an algorhythm on a flexible signalling computer attached to the jacket of his forearm. Communicating through the crafts command signalling antennae, the ships on-board computer responded positively by sending out a synthetically programmed android onto the restlessly volatile surface.

The expedition beyond the relatively safe confinement of the ships passive atmosphere was, as it appeared, a complete fiasco. Suffering from gravitational bends and parietal discomfort with partial carbon dioxide poisoning, the remote recovery android-drone replenished the succumbing cosmonaut with a replacement of oxygen, liquid refreshment and a protein supplement, whilst tossing waste refusal onto the asteroids powdery surface.

The android aided the astronaut back toward the vessels airlock,

“You have air,” it said, pushing a release button near the entry point into the vessels pressure chamber.

“Veloci-lock!” replied the astronaut to the robot-droid.

“By your side!” it exclaimed.

Its massive rotating legs rolled headlong into the mission deployment compartment. The outer retractable door hatch enclosure, shutting with an automatic hiss and with a gasp of air behind them.

A short story written in science fiction by Mr D Tweedie – Copyright 2011

The stack of a metal turbine stood poised pinnacle-like within fossid landscape; A surfaced composed of finely chiselled shingles gathered together to form lengths of shallow ridges from horizon to horizon. An astronaut dressed in pressurised auto-racing overalls stood in contrast to the frigid stellar background with one foot placed on the top of a shingle ridge. He moved his head from side to side looking into the shingled fields forming wide paths, disappearing into the fossile horizon.

The astronauts’ boots clattered over the metallic ridge. It appeared as though a wave had reached its zenith, stilled by the sight of dense brightly lit stars, hanging vertically within the nocturnal veil above.

He reached into his pocket and removed a black tube, twisted and turned it with his gloved hand searching for a suitable wavelength of light and pointed it towards very distant converging bars of shingles hidden in the fading horizon.

He bent down picking up one of the shards of metal so common within the wide shingled pathways. He peered through the visor of his helmet. As he turned it over the surfaces shone white like the flat reflection of a mirror. He looked into the shales of similar materials that made up the waves of ridges that cleared shallow pathways throughout the planetaries cold and dry seasonal climates.

He realised he had found what he was looking for. He gathered a few samples and put them into one of his zippered pockets.

Deep in the night, a timbous shaft of saline light tumbled: Thrown through a chambered web of smothering darkness- a long narrow spectre cast betwixt the silence of death and the cupid hand of a Satan. Its molecular pulsations epitomes of electrical connectivity within the breathless void.

In the chiffon shade of the sloping darkness blew the pulse of pale starlight, like a reflection caught in the mirror-like surface of a crystal stone.

A fragment from a science fiction novel by Mr D Tweedie – Copyright 2011

“There are no physical limitations of what this machine can produce!”

“You know that what you’re saying is insane doctor!”

“Do not laugh lieutenant colonel! I am a scientist; I do not wear this laboratory coat for nothing!”

“If what you’re saying is true: tell us, how’s this machine able to withstand the forces you say that it is capable of?”

“I too doubt the security of your work professor: The forces of what my colleague has pointed out are likely to rip this machine apart!”

“Gentlemen! I have been working on this machine for over twenty-five years; I have determined its capability through sheer design, it will not fail!”

“Observe: I throw the switch – there! It is in motion!”

“Indeed professor! How marvellous! Why? The very force of its motion! It’s hypnotic!’

“There! You’re already intrigued! Here! Let me amplify its motion!”

“Look colleague! It’s actually emissioning light!”

“Please! My friend! Please slow it down! I can feel it sucking the oxygen out of the air: I can hardly breathe!”

“Listen! I’ll slow the experiment down! Then we can put on this artificial apparatus and continue with this strange and wonderful experiment!”

“There! Artificial respirators are on! Are you able to breathe alright?”

“Yes! I believe so! Yet: I have noticed that the sound associated with the vacuum the machine is making has increased considerably than from before!”

“Agreed! My colleague, it has also noticeably reduced the temperature of the air!”

“Listen to its hum! You can hear its electro-magnetic polarity increase with the exponential gravity of its inertia!”

“Magnificent professor you’re a true genius! Why? It’s just like a conventional aero-turbine! Look! It is literally converting matter directly into energy! How wonderous! My word! How? The sincerity that’s been paid in respect to the seriousness of your work has evolved so much since the last time I saw you!”

“Yes doctor-professor! The general is pleased with your work! Thank god, it was money that seems to have been well spent! Other wise the whole initiative would have almost certainly ended up-in-the-air!”

“Excuse me professor! But you must forgive the lieutenant colonel for his use of platitude! I think what my professional colleague is trying to suggest; is that it would most assuredly have been suspended for lack of effort!”

“Lucky eh!”

“Ah! Quite so! Quite so!”

We need to focus on domestic policy and the federal domestic economy. Media sources have noted the relation of domestic policy to the development of the urban economy. Te karere appears to have spotted these two extremes in controversial relationship with each other, in one of the urban-domestic developments of Rotorua. Having lived in Rotorua it would be fair to point out the effect that the industrial-urban development part of the economy has on the federal-domestic structure of Rotorua district.

Rotorua’s potential industrial economy should be recognised as having an important influence on the state economy as pointed out by the urban Maori residential committee on T.V.1’s Te Karere. It has both the natural capacity for gas and the conversion of gas to electric power plants at its disposal.

This should not be seen by unscrupulous entrepreneurs as an opportunity to heap the burden of the cost onto the domestic rate and taxpayer.

This should be seen as an opportunity to ease the foreign debt. It is not about the capitalisation of Rotorua’s natural resources for private corporate profit, but as an opportunity for central governments financial economy to right itself, in relation to the international economy.

As a result, in my opinion I think that GST should be dropped and should be replaced with an international tax levy to help pay for the corporate debt.

I think that the GST portfolio created by Roger Douglas is no longer relevant to the fiscal needs of New Zealand’s economic portfolio and should be made redundant from the New Zealand vocabulary.

The ACT Party is a capitalist programmed mechanical puppet (toy) of the National Party.  Like a Vickers machine gun tank poised beside a bomb crator above the banks of the Somme.  It is a puppet created for the amusement of foreign economic dictators.

With Rodney Hide down for the count, Hone Harawira is launching a massive campaign in the North.  (Hone Harawira represents the whip that Labour never had, a vicious brawling street fighter that enjoys the alien conditions in New Zealand’s economic front.)

Harawira was the one man that the Maori Party could not hold onto and its unsavoury alliance with the industrial economic juggernaut of the National Party.

But this has had a clarifying effect over the economic constituency of New Zealand forcing economic representatives to redoubtfully forge political relationships with the two main parties of New Zealand and their attending departmentalisms thrown into the quandry.

The flaw and the remedy lays squarely with Hone Harawira and the federal economic policy of the Labour Party.  It’s about meat and potatoes and not about how it’s gotten, the unsavoury details of which are left for the ACT party to scratch through.

National is a cooperative marketing strategy whilst supporting federal economic greed and corporate packaging fraud.

National is a corporate marketing machine, has imprisoned federal economic policy, whilst supporting consumer marketing and packaging fraud.  Such as the case with Fonterra and the chains of supermarket profiteers.  Among the federal constituents it was not centralisation but decentralisation of cooperative federal markets that wins the affection of Labour constituents.