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Aqui, Ahora, a Total Color



by Rudolfo Carrillo


While standing in the queue for the payment kiosk at ghetto Smiths bright and shiny new fuel depot attachment, a fellow with tiny eyes and sharp vocal articulation comes up to me and says "where the hell is the clerk", and "don't tell me they are starting this bullshit again". So, I smile and look up at him because I have been gazing deeply into the sunny reflection coming from my shiny leather shoes. He repeats himself and so I tell him the clerk is  probably showing one of the customers how to pump gas or something like that. The guy tells me he hates New Mexico and that stuff like the missing cashier is why he moved away fifteen years ago, but then finishes off by saying he has come back for a year to teach a course over at the university. I go back to shoe-gazing and the clerk ultimately ambles back into the booth, smelling of gasoline and low wages.


After I pay my seven bucks for about two gallons of gas, I tell the man behind me to have a nice day. He is so busy arguing with the clerk that he probably doesn't hear me.


I didn't think much of it, except I thought the story might make a good introduction for another post about my experience of events while living in Burque. Of course I'd probably come up with some abstruse way of putting that out to you, like pretending, for instance that I am some sort of emissary from another world, downloading data to the robots or colonists or whatever fictive beings I could come up with, in order to spice up the story. 


Anyhow, this sort of device is just what I came up with with regards to the past.


Listen up and draw yourselves to the fire for these words, pilgrims because the way I spill them out into the air and onto the page will one day be described as part of a great confluence of data transmission protocols originating on the planet earth and produced by fragile, flesh-bound beings whose various constructions survived their incorporation as individual biological units. This is part of what will inevitably be left behind. Though there is no permanent record of its passage through your optic nerve and into the universe that you are bound to with water and carbon, its potential to be assimilated, decoded and analyzed by other entities, even billions of years from now, has quantum possibilities.


To further investigate this phenomena, I jumped back to a sub-location in the aforementioned spacial membrane. Called nineteen-seventy five by the beings passing through it, the place is rich with data sources.


At our primary research station, deep at the bottom of the Rio Grande, at the research and colonization center described in a previous iteration of this report, I happened upon the following recorded fragment of an electromagnetic broadcast. For research purposes, it has been uploaded to devices common in the current temporal location, as many of my associates still have not updated their terminals to include basic reverse time-travel apps (damn imperial bureaucracy).






After rigorous analysis of this artifact, I have decided to elucidate my findings using the linguistic structures common to our subjects.


I love New Mexico, this is one of the reasons I stay here. Es la neta.


End Transmission.

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