soul | part one

piano
abstract sounds so minimal they border on being music at all
but it’s melodic
mournful
empty
the creator having an amazing ability to describe emptiness by placing substance in the silence

this perfectly describes Seoul

the room she is in contains an amplifier, speakers and record player
an arm-chair on which she sits
her records and nothing else
two rooms join this one
a kitchen that contains a sink, refrigerator, stove, bench, cupboard, table and chair
a main room containing the rig
through the main room on the other side is the bedroom
containing one wardrobe and a bed
the items in each room only accentuate the emptiness
like the intermittent sounds of the piano

Seoul sits cross-legged
her knees pushing into the large cushioned arms
she sits upright without leaning back against the chair
the sparse sounds drop softly into her mind
like tiny spheres of water joining an unimaginable lake
her eyes are closed
and all she can see is the sound
as if her visual sensory input is being rerouted to her ears
or to her perception and imagination

what she imagines are endless expressions of loneliness

but as heavy as it makes her chest feel
it’s better than the alternative
random flashes of memories from the past
people
events
lives she’s several times left behind
her parents
her adolescence

her friends

it begins to edge into her mind
but she pushes it back
not today
not now
she wants to have these moments to herself
departed even from her own memory
from the people who still live in her memory

the final notes die away
and the record player continues to emit the sounds of dust
the sound of the needle dragging across hyperplastic
system noise
even in times so far past they had operating noise
the sound is almost as musical to Seoul as the minimalist piano

she lingers in it
each pop of dust reverberating in the caverns of her soul
softly
gently
with a quiet random rhythm

–

the needle reaches its automatic retraction point at the centre of the record
lifts with a pop, and swings slowly back to its resting position
the dust of the record is replaced by the whisper of the amplifier
system noise
but it only lasts a moment
Seoul’s psycho-acoustics no longer focus on the music
and momentarily elevate all aural input to the same level
from the main room she hears the quiet hum of the rig
CPU, SubPU, memory and system fans spinning endlessly
the movement of air against hardware is like a musical instrument without tone
constant and droning like and endless exhale

Seoul’s ears naturally attach to this sound
the sound she has learnt to sleep to
when she closes her bedroom door it disappears for a moment
but her senses have been alert for so long
she eventually hears the rig’s whispering permeating through the air-cracks at the borders of the door-frame
it has become the centre of the apartment
the centre of her life
the single portal through which she experiences the outside world
through which she must defend her anonymity and keep the outside world from coming in

she opens her eyes
the record player has no LEDs on it to indicate power or usage
but the archaic amplifier was created in a time where LEDs had just become fashionable
a single red light glows beneath the power-button
the only light source for the room
visually this is like a kind of system noise of itself
a necessary requirement in order for technology to function
the amplifier light is like a beacon though
one that guides her to the sounds of her life
indicates that her world is receptive and ready for music

she sits in the dim red gloom
listening to the noise of the appliances around her
like rain on a tile roof
or waves washing across the shore
inhale
exhale
she stands

–

there had been a trend that began countless years ago
for computer systems to be flooded with neon light
but she has made her rig devoid of it, blacking-out all connection, status and power indicators
every power-button, keyboard key and logo has been erased
eight black-framed screens are her only visual input, arranged in two horizontal rows of four, one atop the other
behind the screens there are four black system cases
in-front of the screens there is a single keyboard, and a short-range Wireless Neural Interface
Seoul could have gotten a wide-range WNI so that the rig was accessible from anywhere in the house
she prefers to only have a small local connection area close to the rig
separation is always necessary
the rig is mounted in an organised manner on a framework of black titanium, with gel-brace vibrationless joints, brackets and feet
you could rest your hand on any surface bar the system units themselves and not feel a thing

she stops just before the large executive chair that stands in-front of the rig
sometimes when she does this, she rests a hand on the back
she doesn’t want to touch it
the rig is in the centre of the room
most likely a living-room in times past
the change in the term’s meaning is ironic
Seoul certainly does live here
screen-savers had become unnecessary as long-ago as input devices
yet like the short-range WNI, Seoul uses them as an indication of separation
so too the manual keyboard, though this does add an extra level of usability for those with the skill to use it
all eight screens display a single image that spans across them
it is an environment-scape where 3d flora, fauna, geology, human architecture and weather evolves and changes seemingly at random
the environment is the output from a translator that generates graphical representations of the Ice she runs
continually adding and re-writing itself in layers, sub-layers and nodes

the size and ever-expanding nature of the net makes it impossible for one person to have seen it all
Seoul doesn’t know that hers is the most impenetrable ice in existence

her translator is morphing a copse of trees into a city
rain falls from the sky and forms a canal over which a bridge forms
some of the trees don’t turn into buildings, but rather slowly shrink and sprout pink leaves
like Sakura
Sakura in Europe

she steps forward to the chair and sits down
stares at the image before her
eventually the ice will overwrite this section of itself, but it will most likely endure for a few million cycles
she revels in this too, and finds her vision now conjures up sounds in her imagination
the sounds of conversation, human interaction
the sounds of friendship
after a moment she sends a wake-nudge to the rig and the screens slowly fade to black
the GUI fades into view
elite system users were known to have blank backgrounds devoid of icons and interfaces
or minimal post-modern slick 2d wallpapers

Seoul has photos

images of men and women she had known in the past
people who had become her family
who had given her a home in a place that had no room for her
they freely accepted and respected her abilities
but more than that, they loved her as a person
Vitoria with her cheerful smile
Moscow with a grin to match Vitoria’s
Durban’s ever-present sly wink
Cairo’s serious but gentle expression
and Auckland looking as caring and perceptive as ever
another screen showed the last photo of her parents before they died
but the two screens in the centre of the lower row were black

Kyoto and Venice

and then she cries
cries for the separation she feels from her family
cries for the two friends she can never see again
no matter what her skills in technology may be, she can never reach beyond the grave
her body shakes and falls to the floor
her weeping reverberating through the system noise in the bare room
as she mourns the loss of everything good she had ever had in life