prosolar mechanics

Before it gets any worse, catch yourself. Stop your degrading and self-obsessed whining about how you've always been rejected by your parents, your teachers, your peers, your coworkers and whoever else is left in mainstream society. Realize that you are just like them, and the more time you sit home watching cable, playing video games and surfing the internet, the more forgettable you are becoming. This is happening by the minute. There is no piercing, tattooing, or hairstyle to cop, there is no gadget, automobile or computer that you can buy, there are no horror movies to withstand and there are no bands you can follow that will save you any more. Convince yourself to do better. Find a way.

i wonder if this message is ever going to reach the others — the first ones. this isolation is giving me grave doubts. i have been under for so long i am even beginning to doubt my own moment of clarity.

Somewhere, there is a universe where actors, athletes and rock stars are known for the greedy, slack and self-important lowlifes that they truly are. In this other world, scientists, mechanics, daycare workers, firefighters, teachers and EMTs live the high life. Their every word is hyped and their every action is noted and idealized by the adoring public. Young people aspire to be more like them and dream of being discovered by academy recruiters one day so they may join the ranks of this public-serving elite.

In every story heroes exist in order to keep some compromising force at bay. In this case that element is an amorphous, life-sucking parasite that seeks to sedate the masses through the creation of an intricate web of unreality. False stories are spread through various media that perpetuate lies about what is and what is not possible for an individual to achieve in a lifetime. This complicated system cannot be viewed from above nor from without and yet all beings are inextricably linked to it.

You cannot fight the system. Repeat. You cannot fight the system.

what internal smiles as the lines play like sound in my head, what a setup, what a coup!

The only known weapon against complete absorption of creative culture into the systemic consumptive void is regular complex stimulation of the prefrontal cortex. Stimulation en masse isn't so easy to achieve. Best case scenario: a continuous onslaught of sound, pictures and words that are so true, so provocative and so accepting that one engages fully. Now the heroes are any and all individuals who work to generate new frequencies of creation across disciplines, disseminating their output to every individual they can reach.

Prosolar Mechanics are supposedly the professionals in this new science of sound, experimenting with different combinations of pitches, frequencies and wave patterns in an attempt to strengthen the autonomy of all individuals coming into contact. They claim to have been chartered by the Real Prosolar Mechanics, a group of characters that never actually existed outside of a graphic novel, didn't exist for long and were little known outside of obscure comic collectors, and yet they are the only known entity with any authority over them.

the question was raised repeatedly over the years by those closest to me, have you taken the metaphor too far? this wasn't our idea and we're not even sure we like it. we're not trying to be like the comic book, they said. why are you doing this? we don't understand. what does this have to do with the music? one said, i just see this as a nice side outlet for you. but i don't think you should take it any further. it doesn't have anything to do with the rest of us. so enjoy yourself but try not to get too carried away with it. i tried to listen. for years i listened and for years i restrained the impulse to lose myself in the metaphor. but the metaphor started making more sense than the premise. then the premise was gone and the metaphor was all that was left.

Here at Prosolar Labs, we aim to provide the modern science consumer with the latest in high-quality life enhancement systems. Prosolar Mechanics work around the clock to ensure you that the most up-to-date and reliable resources are harvested and re-generated in order to sustain and expand your capacity for consuming the best in today's sound. Guaranteed or your money back! (In some states certain restrictions may apply. Please refer to your locality's zoning ordinances.)

Most likely, it will hit 100 degrees Fahrenheit in the remote command post today but the work continues. Climate control is no option at this station due to the unique and fragile structure of the holding tank. Mechanics work in tank tops and cut-offs while fur-covered aliens lie motionless in places low to the ground. Heat rises.

New Brunswick, NJ. Few realize how desperate we are to find a way off of this planet. We can't figure out how we are going to survive while we search for a fuel source for the ship. The so-called vegetation we have found seems to be only more ammunition and it is hazardous for mechanics to eat bullets. Stories about people acting like heroes, exploring space and chasing aliens are all the rage at overpriced theaters in strip-malls everywhere, but Prosolar Mechanics know a wholly different kind of rage. There is a map embedded deep in your subconscious that will lead you to us, stranded beneath the bullet tree. We are hungry so please bring burritos.

Sometimes I get the feeling like something or someone is out to get us. We are being tested and we no longer know whom to trust.

a question was raised repeatedly over the years by those closest to me, have you taken the metaphor too far? too far? it hurts to laugh at them now, knowing i hadn't taken it nearly far enough.

We wonder how many of you have found a way into the compound. This fall feels nothing like the summer and we are strapped for provisions for the coming season. Mechanics harvest the last of the grenades from the banks of oil-drenched rivers and take cover in alien dens. These hosts do not like our recipes for merriment and we might be out-staying our welcome in this place. If you are receiving this, please send a transmission to our board of directors.

the question was raised repeatedly over the years by those closest to me, have you taken the metaphor too far?

Recruiting agents scour the known universe in search of order. There are those of us who wonder whether armageddon is close at hand but certain mechanics don't pay any attention. Some of us have to stay detached enough to pilot the rig into port.

There aren't any more leaders except you, and you had better stop waiting for your life to be on the line. By then it will already be too late. Stop banging your head on the academy gates and stop daring everyone else to do a better job. It doesn't matter how badly you've been treated. There is no excuse left and not one that matters when your future is being determined by some collective fear. You will fail; just accept it. And do it anyway.

There was a point at which prosolar mechanics could have offered some protection from another night of dreading the next morning at work. But they weren't convinced. (Endorsements are slow to follow mechanics who show little interest in the asian economy.) There is nothing left to entice them with except the product that is slow to reach the bread bins. There's no need to stand in line any longer if you have a modem and an evening free from anticipated phone calls.

As I gaze upon another industrial sunset, across the street a 5 year old boy whacks the dead branch of a small tree with a plastic wrench. I ask, "What are you doing?" "Fixing it," he pronounces. "What's wrong with it?" "It's broke," he explains. "Are you some kind of tree mechanic?" "Yes." Whack, whack.

Training in transuniversal communications allows the individual access to any point in time through a readjustment of the temporal perception lens. More tests are being conducted in order to ensure the procedure's safety before the FDA will allow it on the market.

The mechanics are currently testing the relationship between light and sound. This procedure requires maximum security restrictions for the labs because intruders are just as difficult to detect when one's eyes are closed. There was a point to determine somewhere along the way but in the daily living it became obscured by this notion of getting by. (Sometimes, light is just another excuse for leaving one's bed.) There is a specific formula one can follow in order to measure the degree of disorientation associated with sound in the dark.

Step 1: Turn the stereo up.
Step 2: Turn the lights off.

This experiment can be tried at home with proper precautions provided for (see note 101898-T9a).

I have now spent over 15 months underground, in the mines, pretending I was one of them and looking for any and all opportunities for espionage. I thought I would go unnoticed. Monsters harvest broken hearts for fuel, feeding the fat while sleeping youth lay dreaming in their laps. I enlisted as an undercover mechanic. My purpose was to secretly distribute the new science to the sleeping. But as I poke around the sub-territories I realize that I am not actually awake after all, and in fact I am not sure where I am. I may have crossed the line between soldier and captive but there are no guards here to ask. I search my memories for a map to consciousness and the code to open my eyes. I sense the others are nearby but as the artificial lights begin to glow I cannot hear them. We hear better in the dark.

This place is damp and the bullet tree sags from the weight of such moisture. I want to approach the lake so I can swim and wash your hateful thoughts from my skin, but the mud lining these banks is too deep. I am afraid of sticking to the ground and needing your strength to pull me free.

Morning report indicated that footsteps were heard on the upper balcony at apx. 2:17 this morning. Guards have been sent to patrol the perimeter of the station, but no intruders have been found. Down below the masses might be praying for light to penetrate cracks in their cells in order to stimulate the primary generation of names. But in the present those lives remain nameless. The prison stays invisible and slowly the urge turns to a light itch. Then nothing. The so-called leaders bring coffee and the morning paper to those starving for bread, but they read and take in the new nutrients; style and caffeine. Somewhere beyond here the real Prosolar Mechanics fear for our survival and do nothing. My frustration turns to yen and I am asleep again.

I am not ever going to make it any easier for you than this. The next time you see me, here's what you'll do...

You live in a world where you have precious few choices and little time to make them, and you know that. You say prayers in your sleep that you cannot remember upon waking. You do not believe in God, but you don't disbelieve either. Things were once easier for you, but now that you've given up on the notion of having any real identity for yourself you can't seem to understand why you bother to wake up at all, and each day. Bother. Figure out why.

Unrehearsed even though thousands of hours in places like these adults are desperate and mean overdressed even though thousands of dollars and magazines tripping wires long ago dead so speech flows and reaches sorrows adults are desperate like mechanics marooned for life on distant planets babies born of time and panic what i would do if i'd remember to humans are born and then they're gone infinite worlds maintained in one we contact none adults are stranded left on planets marooned for life by mathematics equations solve time with panic what i would do if i'd remember to.

We have been conducting more tests over in the lab because the complex seems to have mutated again. It used to seem as though the lethargy seeped in through orifices. Now we suspect it spontaneously erupts from within. No one is safe and we need all the recruits we can muster to keep fighting before we've all rolled over for the last few minutes before the alarm goes off. By then it might be too late. I've opened my eyes for the fourth time this morning without ever closing them in between and the landscapes become more bizarre with each awakening. Where the hell are the others with the ship? If you see them, please let them know I need a hand correcting the spelling on my application to the Academy.