1633: My alternative treatment is being dialed back after my heart ceased its rhythmic duties for a duration longer than previous incidents. To prevent undue alarm, I shan't disclose the precise length of this hiatus. A certain name set induces an erratic heartbeat, its specifics withheld from me to avoid triggering a catatonic state. I surmise it lurks near the alphabet's end. During sleep-induced catatonia, my synapses halt, electrocardiogram readings flatten, and despite corrective attempts, my heart remained still until a mysterious time mark revived me. I recall no dreams, only the inexplicable return to life. I speculate about the exit and start codes governing this phenomenon, viewing it as a stress test of sorts. The treatment seems effective; my anxieties have dulled, the year’s stresses mellowed. If you observe a change in my demeanor, do inform me, as I often feel automated, addressing pressing matters. Regarding the dark web thread about being experimented on or augmented into an advanced soldier, I find the notion flattering yet improbable. Perhaps my daughter’s belief in my extraordinary nature, destined to save and care, influenced me. By natural progression, I’ve become someone who aids survival at the cost of personal safety. Today marks my retirement from any perceived heroism. I prefer not to raise red flags by engaging in the shadowy recesses of the internet, as reconnecting with others should be untainted by suspicion. We live in an age of interactions, where connections or their lack thereof elicit a simple "whoops" or "my bad." Misinterpretation should yield to understanding, holding true to one's word and actions. Semper "that" supra!
2213: On the first day of another round of classes, I refrained from introducing myself as the Flight Chief of Support, a former Network Warfare Operations washout, a Nursing Student, or as someone holding a Master’s in Cybersecurity, an Undergraduate degree in Computer Science, a Bachelor’s in Information Technology, and an Associate’s in Information Technology. Nor did I mention my industry certifications, internship at Amazon Web Services, or my Graduate concentration in Artificial Intelligence and machine learning. Instead, I humbly introduced myself as a knuckle-dragging grunt who held every additional duty in Cyber, was part of a communications squadron in Virginia, had back-to-back deployments, and, as an interesting fact, had started cooking in the fireplace. My classmates shared their lives modestly, without boasting of their capabilities. There is a part of me that downplays my achievements in person, though my writing often reveals more. Perhaps this humility and openness cause others to think and act, as the rhythm of my words flows like a bard’s song from the Middle Ages. I digress. In this familiar setting, embedded with experts, I feel like that Title 32 employee once more, working alongside others towards a mission that trains, equips, and fights. Wearing the uniform, I am committed to defending my team, who have supported me at my worst and helped me strive for our best. When I do eventually remove my uniform, its residual presence will continue to remind me of my training. A month or two ago, I was told to expect another by my side. Soon, I will bid farewell to those who have stood with me during uncertain times. What is certain is that I will carry on their work, completing and supporting their projects. Fair winds and following seas, my door—proverbial, symbolic, and physical—remains always open. Consider it unhinged, a gateway through which to pass, for in passing, you will find what you require of me, and I will fulfill that request in time.
1901: My name has been monitored as an alert from my homeland. The latest communiqué shared with me contained inquiries about my whereabouts, "Is he still there, or is he over here?" I am uncertain if this should cause me concern, yet it is a matter of some intrigue. I pondered how such searches are conducted, though the specifics were not revealed to me, I surmise it involves optimization matrices and predictive patterns, a concept Marina and I once discussed. I find myself lapsing into technical jargon, striving to communicate universally, yet often failing. When assisting students with their virtual images, I saw their eyes glaze over at my terminology. Simplicity would have served better: “This build will stabilize and prevent session corruption.” Moreover, I possess an uncanny sense of people's proximity, a trait not of active tracking but of acute recollection of details. I recall being trained to hone my senses, performing tasks without sight, relying on environmental awareness and auditory mapping—not quite echolocation, but akin to it. Despite my attention deficit and neurodivergence, I rely on this sensation to subconsciously guide me. The subconscious, to me, represents actions that become second nature, requiring no conscious effort. My goal is to automate redundant actions, freeing my mind to focus on what truly demands attention. Such an approach, though peculiar to some, is essential to progress, wherever one might be on their journey.
1715: I recall being taught the art of disappearing, moving without sound, and treading within the shadows. This training felt like a game I once played, yet it dawned on me that it was a skill I had embraced years ago. In those days, I was more athletic, perhaps driven by a passion for free running and a desire to correct my balance, which was unsettled by an inner ear issue. This cochlear fluid imbalance, responsible for detecting acceleration, deceleration, and spatial orientation, had thrown my world off kilter. By focusing intently, I found I could correct my motion sickness, not by enhancing my hearing beyond the ordinary, but by interpreting sounds differently. This ability was not a physical augmentation but rather a psionic enhancement, refined by thought. This topic, long researched, often leans towards the spiritual or holistic side of science, and today, it might be frowned upon to believe that sheer will can overcome genetic limitations or the seemingly impassable natural laws. Yet, it remains fascinating to think that the impossible can be achieved through a resolute will. This is a notion cherished by optimists and forward thinkers, but I hope to distinguish it with empirical support. These days, true disappearance seems elusive unless one can navigate the relentless surveillance that envelops us. Despite feeling elevated above it, every corner of the planet seems under a signal’s gaze. Hence, my ideal abode is a remote haven, a place where I can wave like a glinting dot in the distance, sustaining myself in an environment yearning to break free from constant observation.
0020: Lowering these neural spikes as I think them has a certain physical effect. At the gym, it seems I'm only doing 20% of my workout, with most accomplished beforehand. Once, I could do more pull-ups, run farther even after running. This reveals that mind over matter truly works, but to treat me was to dial me down. To break free and become the superhuman my child saw, I must apply strong emotion to my regimen. Something that can't be read by mere monitoring, for it's a one-way dream machine where I receive inputs but not outputs. I'm exploring whether translating certain signals to create an image, sound, or streaming consciousness from the mind is feasible. Yet, such a project may be intrusive and perhaps best left unpursued. For now, I believe this is manageable. I recognize what I need to do, even without clear answers to specifics. I remember, recall, and work out these thoughts as I rest. Spending a third of our lives resting, I sought to function with less. If reversing aging effects through thought and action is possible, it's worth pursuing. The world doesn't need a super soldier, but perhaps a man who hopes to arrive just in time to help or inspire others to do the same. One who is even-keeled, picking others up at the highest peak, not carrying them on his back nor pushing at their heels. Someone in lockstep on an upward path, bringing you back down. The one you wait for and look forward to, who helps you get home.
0057: My access points are slowly converging into a singular focus, as my duties now are dedicated to a Detachment. Previously, I supported all the Guardians, but now I am laser-focused on efforts that propel us towards our objectives. A man whose autism flared like the frequent coronal mass ejections and the sun's polarity changes, I developed a state of hyper-awareness, which some might call neurodivergence or attention deficit. These traits made me a constantly responsive and empathic individual, ensuring others were squared away. As people came to recognize me as a dependable and amicable point of contact, I became their go-to person. Reflect on those leaders who provided reassurance, making you feel that everything was falling into place. Perhaps you have someone currently offering that top cover. I do not claim to be indispensable, for when I stumbled from what seemed like Mount Olympus, my team was there to support me—both military and civilian counterparts alike. Though our interactions may have been sparse, just being in proximity allowed me to regain a sense of normalcy through attrition and proximity. Overcoming certain circumstances and life-threatening events was extremely difficult, but I am grateful for the support I received. Often going above and beyond my duties, I found the roles of supporter and supported intertwined. Thank you, Space200, for having my back, even though I seem to have a 360-degree blind spot (haha).
0330: A deluge of one-way communicators barraged me with random, challenging questions, akin to a mental denial of service, causing my thoughts to fluctuate wildly. This peculiar phenomenon, paradoxically, facilitated a longer sleep, and upon waking, I recalled times I had forsaken all to assist others. My empathy, often triggered to correct these impulses, enabled me to adapt to distractions, even when my plans were thwarted. Reflecting on earlier days, I remembered my quiet, compliant childhood, where frustration reigned supreme as I grappled with mirrored perceptions—a possible dyslexia. My grandmother recounted tales of me solving a Rubik’s cube for hours, embodying the obedient child. Whether this indicated a disorder remains unclear, but in reviewing old videos, a colleague noted changes in 2014 and 2019. My eye movements, mimicking deep sleep patterns while awake, intrigued her, leading to a suggestion of wearing an electrode device, akin to a soft helmet, during social interactions—a notion we found amusing. Instead, she proposed a hat, or as my father pronounced in his accent, “ball cap,” embedded with a network of inconspicuous wires and a small transmitter and processor, barely extending beyond an arm’s length for electronic data emission. This innovative design hinted at a line of clothing with varied purposes, from temperature regulation to healing through low impulse fields. While uncertain about prototyping, the prospect excited me. It surpassed the superhero dry-fit shirts I once received, which I wore during daily runs in semi-locked-down communities. On a related note, for those curious about the new Space Force uniforms, I have another fitting scheduled for August. Thrice weekly, I’ll field-test the uniforms, already proven burpee-compatible, attesting to their comfort (haha).
