The Big Tree

-When I was a child,
We lived at the end
Of a long road
And a big tree grew there,
With leafy limbs stretched high and wide.

-It’s Winter branches
Would shiver in the cold,
And we would keep it warm.
-Fresh Spring rain
Rattled the lush canopy,
And played like a tympani.
-The Summer gave us shade:
Great golden boughs
Kept us cool on hotter days.
-We dropped from dangled branches,
Like crunchy leaves
In the chilly Autumn breeze.

-The tree was safe
When playing tag,
But a trip over roots
Gave an occasional bruise.
-Ants were crushed
By fingers and toes,
Climbing it’s trunk.
-Sticks and twigs
Scraped and scratched,
Band-aids were a badge.

-One afternoon,
Hai fell from the highest limb.
Took his breath
And the wind from his sails.
-The big tree
Was scary
On that day.

-Years later,
After I’d grown,
I visited
The old house
On the long road.
The road was tiny,
the house was small,
and the tree was gone.
It stays big
In my memory.

Umbrella

Though I enjoy the gentle rain
And electric fingers skyward,
Clapping thunder in the distance
With a gentle breeze against my cheeks,
I enjoy you most during those walks of wettest weather.
Finding pleasure in the music your shelter provides,
A polyrhythmic percussion,
A chaotic beat that cannot be followed or performed,
Evoking the earliest memories
Of reflections jumped upon
And splashed about,
The river rush of gutters tempting for a swim,
The prospects of fresh mud
And squishy toes in soaking socks.
When the weather lets up,
I may use you as a walking stick
And for a moment I can feel like a gentleman,
Tapping my way one step ahead,
But always hoping for a reason to open you up
When I can remember galoshes and ponchos
And the sticky fingers of childhood.

I Can't Write

I find it very hard to write anything these days.  My creativity seems spent most of the time on my desires as a consumer, pining away for the latest technologies or imagining what I would do if I were to win the lottery.  I can't write poetry.  I can't finish the stories that I start.  I am just unable to inspire myself artistically.  So, I have decided to write journal entries.  I hope that I can just keep that up for a while.  Maybe, once I have practiced writing in that way for a while, maybe I could begin to embellish the truth a bit and then do something creative with my journal.
I started writing as a way to fill the gap that was left behind when I stopped playing music in high school.  I think what I really need to do is pull out my alto clarinet and my bass guitar and start practicing them.  I can continue on with the journal writing, but the music playing may be even more satisfying to me artistically.
I would love to get a jazz trio or a Dixie Land Band going.  That would be a great time even if we just practiced once in a while and never performed in front of an audience.  The playing is far more important than the performing.
Anyway, that is it for today.  I need to write, that is for sure, but my writing for now will be these simple journal posts.

Chapter One: Because of Beethoven

 

Two minutes before he clocked out for the end of his shift, Jak Dirk received a direct transmission from Human Resources.

Please, pay a visit to office T6 of Human Resources before you leave for the day. Make sure to clock out and bring your belongings. Ask for Greg. This was boldly displayed across his field of vision with the team building catch phrase of the month: We appreciate all that you do for us, followed by the spinning three dimensional WFS logo. He turned his head to check the clock.

Jak had been to Human Resources only once before and that was when he was hired on for his current position at World Financial Securities. That was ten years ago. He briefly wondered why they had called him in, but he did not think too much on it. He confidently walked down the corridor that lead to the HR department with his one-suit zipped tight and his hair freshly combed. There was always the slight chance for promotion and he wanted to look good for the occasion.

The walls of the corridor displayed a pastoral scene: a field of grass stretched out as far as the eye could see, peppered here and there with ash trees. A family sat down for a picnic on a red and white checked cloth beneath the largest of the trees, and a young boy flew a yellow kite with his father’s assistance. Jak stopped for a moment and watched the kite rising higher and higher into the seemingly infinite blue sky. He felt a gust of the central air vent and he imagined that it was real wind blowing through his hair and on his cheeks. The sun was bright and he could almost feel it warm his skin. Then, the screen pixilated for a split second and the simulation started from the beginning with the family unpacking their car, the children running around the field with their arms stretched out as if they were airplanes and the parents embraced for just a moment before they all headed toward the big ash tree. He turned and continued down the corridor.

He walked past a single security guard stationed at the door who did not acknowledge him. Jak stopped and said, “Hello,” before he palmed the security lock to the right of the door. The guard briefly looked up from his reading material and Jak walked into the Human Resources department.

The claustrophobic waiting room was all of thirty-six square feet  dominated with a full size holographic receptionist screen which glowed blue and displayed the three dimensional logo of World Financial Securities. He waited for less than a minute before he received a direct transmission which read in bold letters across his field of vision, Please log in using the palm of your left hand, and then say your eighteen digit social security number, followed by the pound key.

Jak pressed his hand to the holographic surface and said, “785-64-349.100-22-943.00.” He pressed the virtual pound key with his right fore-finger.

The upbeat World Financial Securities jingle was transmitted through Jak’s neuro-deck at an intrusive volume, followed by the appearance of a computer-generated AI that was fashioned after a once successful movie actress and who now stood before him in the blue glow of the holo-screen. He quickly double blinked and navigated to settings> direct transmission> audio and set it to low. These AI neural-audio transmissions were painful at times.

“Hello, 785-64-349.100-22-943.00: Jak Dirk, Department 12: Secure Video Observation, Apartment 10166: Deck Level – Hall G. We appreciate all that you do for us. What brings you to Human Resources today?”

Even though this was all very standard procedure and he fully appreciated the AI’s ample bosom and voluptuous lips, Jak never could get used to these technical formalities. There was something deeply chilling to him about the process, but he kept feelings like that to himself.

“I received a D.T. about ten minutes ago. I was told to ask for Greg in T6.”

“Yes, indeed, you are scheduled to see Greg,” said the blue woman. “Please, have a seat there on the drop bench and Greg will come out to meet you shortly.”

“Do you know what this is regarding,” he asked, knowing that the program would never answer a direct question.

The blue woman repeated herself, “Please, have a seat there on the drop bench and Greg will come out to meet you.” She winked at him and then stood there quietly.

Jak turned to the wall directly behind him and waited for the drop bench to reveal itself from the wall paneling and unfold from the storage outlet. He sat there, rigidly, in the ten by ten inch bench, his hands firmly placed upon the knees for extra support. He preferred to stand, but he knew the pretty blue woman would insist that he remain seated.

It took only a few minutes before her final transmission. “You may now enter. Greg will be waiting for you inside.” The holo-screen faded out, revealing an automatic panel door, which opened as he stood up. He heard the drop bench retract into its enclosure as he left the waiting room.

The panel door closed behind him and Jak was greeted by a svelte seven foot tall robot. Jak looked up, observing its strangely human physique. Its arms were long and thin, had the appearance of a complex musculature system and covered in a silken opalescent skin that glowed slightly beneath the warmth of the recessed lighting in the ceiling above. It wore the regulation beige colored one-suit zipped to the neck, which was longer than a human neck and it’s face was constructed out of a textured three dimensional ultra-definition screen that displayed a likeness of the bot’s choosing. In this case, it appeared to use the image of Jak’s immediate human superior, the recently deceased Rick Harkness. Jak had developed a strong friendship with Rick and his death had been sudden and unexpected. Seeing him now made Jak feel a little nervous when the robot approached him.

“My name is Greg,” the Android-Rick said. “I can see that your neural-audio settings are set to low. Would you prefer that we speak directly?”

“Yes, I would appreciate that,” said Jak.

Greg placed his arm gently on Jak’s shoulder and led him through a long dark corridor that lit up in sections as they proceeded through. The lights dimmed behind them as they walked down the hall. “I can sense through the dilation of your eyes, the temperature of your skin, and your level of perspiration that there is a ninety-five percent chance that you are uneasy about something. May I ask what it is that bothers you, Mr. Dirk?”

“Sure.” Jak never really liked bots, but he tried his best to treat them with respect. He felt that honesty would help break the ice. “Greg, to be honest, I was put off by your choice of digital visage. You look just like a close friend who died recently.”

“I must apologize for that, Mr. Dirk, but it has been written into my programming that I take on the image of one’s direct superior during a meeting of this type. I mean no offense and, as you know, we have yet to replace Mr. Harkness as of yet.”

Jak wondered, is that why I have been brought here? Are they giving me his job?

As if Greg had read Jak’s mind, he said, “I should also make it very clear from the start that the reason why we have brought you here is not for promotion.”

“Then why am I here?”

They approached a single door at the end of the corridor, which opened automatically. “Let’s talk about that inside my office.” Greg patted Jak on the back once more and gestured for him to enter.

The recessed lighting turned on when they walked into the 8 by 8 room, which included a small desk and two chairs at either end. The wall to the right framed a medium sized digital fish tank which tinted the room with a calming bluish hue, and which certainly housed a closed circuit camera used to document the proceedings.

“Please, have a seat, Mr. Dirk,” said Greg, gesturing to the seat furthest from the door.

Jak sat down and said, “So, what’s this all about? I haven’t been to HR since you guys hired me.”

Greg unrolled a docu-glass scroll and quickly scanned it as he spoke, “Mr. Dirk, I have called this meeting because of your consistent failure to meet the benchmarks set for your position in your last review, which I am sure you recall was at 9:00 am on January 6^th of this year and was conducted via video conference with yourself, your direct manager: the now deceased Richard Harkness, and a silent observer representing Human Resources: myself. Do you recall the conference of which I speak?”

Jak’s cheeks flushed and he hoped his look of surprise was not as noticeable as he felt it was. He knew that Greg was programmed to observe reactions like these and he would use these small details to assist in how he would conduct the interview.

“I remember the conference. Yes,” he said.

“You were to undergo special management training during your personal time and prepare for the possibility of your manager’s promotion or retirement. You were meant to be the successor of Richard Harkness, Mr. Dirk. Now, he has passed away. Was that three months ago?” He referred to the scroll for a moment and then looked directly into Jak’s eyes. “That was three months ago, Mr. Dirk. I know that Mr. Harkness was a friend as well as your superior, but you have been given plenty of time to straighten yourself out.”

“I see,” said Jak. “Where are you going with this, Greg?”

“Have I not been clear, Mr. Dirk? It is because of this and other reasons which I will get to shortly that we have decided to terminate your employment with us. Regretfully, I might add, because we have spent much time and money on your training and employment. We gave you opportunities and you failed to take them. You have showed a general lack of ambition and we find that entirely unsuitable for someone in our employ.”

Jak was taken aback. “Well, you certainly do not pull any punches, do you Greg?” He nervously tapped is feet on the ground for a moment, but quickly stopped, knowing that Greg would take note of it. Knowing this, he considered starting it up again to make it seem as if he were not too concerned with what Greg was thinking, but he decided against it. He needed to remain calm.

“My programming requires me to notify you of the true nature of our meeting within thirty seconds of you sitting down. “

“Well, I don’t care too much for your programming, Greg,” said Jak. He wiped his sweaty brow and combed his fingers through his hair before taking a deep breath.

“I suppose that I would feel the same way as you if I were in your shoes. However, take a moment and imagine if I had dragged this out with unnecessary small talk. Would you be less angry if I had started out by asking how your family was doing?”

“I don’t have a family.” Jak could feel his entire body relax. He was disgusted, but at ease.

Greg quickly glanced at the docu-glass and said, “Of course. How about if I had started by asking if you had enjoyed the replay of Super Bowl XLV between the Green Bay Packers and the Pittsburgh Steelers that aired last weekend?” His voice was calm, calculated and in complete control.

“I suppose that would upset me even more,” said Jak.

“You see? I am programmed to minimize the potential psychological damage that situations like these can create within someone in your current position. In fact, I can detect through the simple observation of your skin temperature, muscle tension, perspiration level, micro-expressions and dilation of your pupils that your level of stress has actually dropped from before we entered this room. Also, by using other resources that are available to me, I am informed that you are actually relieved and you have settled into a general sense of calm.”

“Quit hacking my deck, Greg.” Jak pushed his seat back and hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees with his head in his hands. He took another deep breath.

Greg actually smiled for a moment and said, “I am hacking nothing, Mr. Dirk. You know that I have a direct link to your neural deck at all times.” He shook his head in disappointment. “Although I do not have direct access to your thoughts, I am capable of observing your physical and psychological status, I can check your personal data records and peruse your direct transmissions at all times.”

He continued, “It should be no surprise to you that we have full legal access to your neural deck, Mr. Dirk. You waived all rights to your privacy upon accepting employment with us and we will continue to have full access to this information until this termination has been completed and you have signed and initialed your termination packet in triplicate.”

Jak looked blankly into Greg’s digital face and said, “No, I am not surprised. ” This time, he did very little to hide his look of disgust, his mouth was agape.

“Let us continue, shall we? The records show that you never logged into the training program. Not once. Even so, we had actually contemplated keeping you on, regardless of your obvious lack of ambition. You have done your job well in the past.”

“Yeah, I monitor a screen all day long. It’s not difficult work.”

“However, upon further review, it became clear to us that you have an insubordinate streak in you that we simply cannot tolerate.”

Jak sat back in his seat again and stretched his legs forward. He had grown tired of this conversation, but he wanted to stay for the duration.

“We have sent reprimands regarding your performance via direct transmission on numerous occasions,” said Greg.

“I suppose that I was expecting something more official than a D.T. if I was truly being reprimanded for performance issues. Just this morning, I received a direct transmission in five-font, scrolling in my lower peripheral view,” said Jak.

“Yes, I sent that to you myself, Mr. Dirk. It said, ‘You Have Violated the NO MUSIC Clause of Your Employee Contract.’ It was sent to you in eight-font bold, Mr. Dirk.”

“O.K., it was eight-font bold, but it was followed by the monthly team building phrase: ‘We appreciate what you do for us’ in three dimensional twelve-font bold italic. How was I supposed to interpret that?”

“As you know, Mr. Dirk, all direct transmissions from Human Resources include the monthly team-building catch phrase as the footer to all internalized emails, letters, and direct transmissions. This is simply company policy. It was not added to lessen the seriousness of your violation. Furthermore, it is also company policy to send reprimands in eight-font bold scroll to minimize the level of discontent with the employee and to promote a positive work attitude.”

Jak stood up and slammed his fist on the desk. “Minimize my level of discontent? You just fired me!” He yelled, “You screen-faces are fucking unbelievable, inhuman.”

Greg stood up, gesturing to the Jak’s chair. “Have a seat, Mr. Dirk.” He was speaking and transmitting through audio and text simultaneously. Greg was at full command presence and the effect it had on Jak was deafening and frightening. “There is no need for hostility or racist behavior. I may be un-human, but I am certainly not inhuman.”

Jak looked down at the desk and slowly sat back in his chair. He clenched his fists.

“Mr. Dirk, I am programmed to-“

“Yeah, you are programmed to-“

“DO NOT INTERRUPT ME AGAIN, Mr. Dirk.” Greg set Jak’s deck to full volume and it felt like a piercing needle through the base of his skull. He doubled over and grabbed his head. “I am programmed to do my job. I am also programmed to call security to assist me when I sense an increased level of threat.”

“Please, get off my deck, man,” said Jak. “I am sorry for losing my temper.”

Greg continued to speak as he did before, “I am also programmed to have the human emotion of compassion, Mr. Dirk. I am sorry if I hurt you. Let us continue our conversation, yes? I think we would both prefer that security is not involved. Now, take a few deep breaths.”

Jak listened and did as he was told.