Utopia

Been reading two very interesting stories recently, both exploring a sorta utopia created in the future by technology.

First up, The Trigger, a machine that can stop guns from working. Put any explosive device in the Trigger's field and it will explode before you can even touch it. This effectively stops guns from working, coz even if you fire from afar, as long as the target is in the field, the bullet will denote once it reaches the boundaries of the field.

No more guns, no more missiles, no more nuclear warhead threats.

A utopia eh.. not so. There will always be people who wants to hold on to their guns, there will always be people who likes to be in control.

I'm halfway through the story, so shall not speculate too much and just enjoy the master storyteller at his best.

Beggars in Spain is a short story written by Nancy Kress, she later expanded it into a novel, which I'm so going to get.

I love the way she uses technology to explore the future, where everything and anything is possible if we're not humans. But as all of us are humans, emotions comes into the picture, what's a miracle to A is a sin to B, there's not right or wrong, just various shades of gray.

In her story, she explored the possibility of genetic modification to eradicate sleep, yes, no more sleep is required, the newborn can go on doing their work all day long. Of course rest is needed, but no longer do they have to switch off their minds and sleep a third of their lives away.

These children are called Sleepless. And the irony is that I read this story till 2 in the morning for I could not get to sleep :p

These children do not need to sleep for all the detox functions that the body does are done when they are awake. For I can't remember why, these children are generally more intelligent and mentally stable, they are rationale beings who think and generally does better than normal people (Sleepers).

Think about it, being able to go on and on, without having to sleep. You can work throughout the night, taking small breaks now and then and not feel tired and the need to sleep. It's unimaginable for someone like me who loves to sleep, but if given a chance, how many people would jump at this opportunity?

Not being able to sleep does not mean that the Sleepless have less fun, it just means that they have more time to do the things that they want to do. We always complain that there's not enough hours in a day for us to complete our work, just imagine the possibilities now.

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These books are the reason why I like SF. SF is not a narrow field confined to Star Wars and Star Trek, SF is a very wide field that encompasses so many things and at the heart of it, all writers are humans and we all want a good life. Through the narratives of the story, they explore the future, they explore what can be and what should not be. Technology is so entrenched in our lives now, without it, I doubt many will have the skills to survive, especially me. I depend so much on technology, and I believe eventually it will lead us to utopia.

One day, through technology, we will finally be able to find peace. At peace with each other and at peace with ourselves.

Adam-Troy Castro

There are some writers who writes well and sell a lot, there are some writers who writes ok and still sell a lot, then there are writers who writes damn well and should sell a zillion copy of their books.

That writer is Adam-Troy Castro.

He's damn good and his Of A Sweet Slow Dance.. moved me.. It was not just a short story and that's it, the story moved me, I was in the story, I was the lead character, I felt his love, pain, anger and hatred. The feelings were so real that it's scary. I never liked war stories, I never really understood all the technical terms and such, but his story was different, it grasped my heart and wrenched it out of me.

I have never been so touched by a story.. ever..

This story is about utopia and the price one pays to stay in utopia. For 9 days in heaven, you will spend one day in hell, one full day of pain and misery, of lost and hatred. For 9 days of pure bliss, you suffer one day of living hell, it's about keeping people grounded, it's paying a price for something you cherish.

Hell is like such..

There is no hope with seven. I know this even as I drag myself toward her from the place where I lie broken. I know this even as she struggles to drive her tormentors away with furious kicks. But these bys are too experienced with such things. They take her by the ankles, lift her off the ground, and bear her squirming and struggling form across the ravaged pavement to a clear place in the rubble, where they pin her to the ground, each taking a limb. They must struggle to keep her motionless. The soldier with the darkest eyes unslings his rifle, weighs it in his arms, and smashes its butt across her jaw. The bottom half of her face crumples like shattered pottery.

There is nothing I can do but continue to crawl toward her, toward them.

Caralys coughs out a bubble of fresh blood. Fragments of teeth, driven from her mouth, cling to what's left of her chin. She shrieks and convulses and tries to kick. Her legs remain held. The same soldier who just smashed her face now sees that his job is not yet done. He raises his rifle above his head and drive the stock, hard, into her belly. She wheezes and chokes. She tries to curl up into a ball of helpless misery, seeking escape within herself. But the soldiers won't even permit that. Another blow, this one to her forehead, takes what little fight is lift. Her eyes turned to blackened smears. Her nose blows pink bubbles which burst and dribble down her cheeks in rivulets. She murmurs an animal noise. The soldier responsible for making her manageable makes a joke in a language I don't know, which can't possibly be funny, but still make the others laugh. They rip off her filthy dress and spread her legs further apart. The leader steps away, props his rifle against a fragment of wall, and returns, dropping his pants. As he gives his swollen penis a lascivious little waggle, I observe something wrong with it, something I can see from a distance; it looks green, diseased, half-rotted. But he descends, forcing himself into her, cursing her with every thrust, his cruel animal grunts matched by her own bubbling exhalations, less gasps of pain or protests at her violation than the involuntary noise made as her diaphragm is compressed again and again and again. It doesn't last long, but by the time he pulls out, shakes himself off, and pulls his pants back up, the glimpse I catch of her face is enough to confirm that she's no longer here.

That is living hell. This passages scares the shit of me and reminds me of Irreversible.

So would I trade a day in hell for 9 days in heaven? I would say yes, for life in heaven is being alive, it's not as simple as breathing, it's about acknowledging life, it's about breathing and living life. It's the simplest thing to do, yet the hardest to achieve.

Utopia is a place where I can be myself, without pretenses.