Il Promoteo

© RPMedia / Il Prometeo/ The Modern Golem an absence of preconceived ideas or predetermined goals; a clean slate. "the team did not have complete freedom and a tabula rasa (blank mental slate) from which to work" the human mind, especially at birth, viewed as having no innate ideas It was a crimson red spotlight. The only real light in the apartment was a dim yellow lamp on the desk away from the open window. However, there, at the window, the blood, still glistening as fresh paint on a broad canvas, was filling the room with a ghastly red glow; the wheelchair, the floor, the walls around the window, covered in blood; a blood red spotlight. After racing back across town to the apartment and fumbling with the keys, Maribel finally opened the door to find the crimson stain spotlighting the empty wheelchair by the window. "She was gone, my grandmother was gone. The window was open, the wheelchair and the floor around it covered in blood. I call her every night after I get home from visiting her every evening after work like I did tonight but she wasn't answering. I was worried so I came right back over." Maribel just couldn't stop looking at the massive red stain, she just didn't feel like crying except to stare and tell what she saw. As if she wasn't, for now, Grace's granddaughter, just a witness... later she would cry. "I called the police." Detectives Gentile and Espinoza stood over Maribel seated on the sofa across from the window. CSI was still working the room and uniformed officers were canvasing the building. Gentile looked back toward the window... Sounding like sheet metal hanging from a cord banging up against the concrete wall, damn dog incessant barking. "And the aide?" "How did you know she had an aide?" "Your grandmother's an invalid, I would assume she has some sort of aide." "Machaela is here during the day, everyday." "I'll need her contact info." "Ok..." "Go ahead, you were saying?" "Well, Machaela is a good woman you know." "I'm sure she is but go on." "Well as usual, last night Machaela left as soon as I got here. I stayed to make sure Grandma ate something cause she wouldn't if we didn't make her. All she'd have is a cookie from the tin which she does anyway late at night after I put her in bed. I can tell when she gets out of bed anyway, finding crumbs on the floor leaving a trail to the window where she likes to put herself in the wheelchair, she can't sleep, she gets bored just laying in bed alone so she gets up, Machaela has found her in the wheelchair, asleep by the window covered in crumbs. I can't imagine who would want to hurt her, she has nothing of value except what's of value to herself. Machaela really is so sweet, I can't imagine..." "Does your grandmother have anybody in the building or the neighborhood she doesn't get along with?" "I doubt it. She spends her days sitting in that wheelchair, it's how she gets around the apartment, rarely using the walker. She stays in the apartment, sitting by the window looking out on the street, peeping into neighbors apartments in the building across the alley." "Maybe somebody didn't like her looking out the window, they didn't like what she might have seen." "It's a good neighborhood, nothing really bad ever happens here. What could Machaela have seen." "We'll canvas the neighborhood, maybe she saw something in one of those apartments she shouldn't have seen." Pointing towards the window Gentile says, "Like what's that little building on the roof there with the skylight, is that a penthouse apartment? If you could call it that?" "Machaela did tell me about something strange she saw in that apartment. I never thought anything of it, I thought she was making it all up. I was traveling so I never saw but I called every night and the aide didn't seem to bother to look but my grandmother saw a man, a very large green man laying on a table, connected to machines and tubes and wires like he was in the hospital, but the green man never seemed to move she said, didn't seem to be alive, I told her that it is was probably a mannequin. But she insisted it was a man. She said there was a doctor there too. He opened and closed the shade and did other things on the machines, she told me that during the day they would pull back the giant shade covering the skylight, that's when she saw him, in the sunlight in the middle of the day." "Well I'm sure someone else must have seen it too. We'll have to..." "There are no apartment windows on this side of the building." "Excuse me, who are you?" A small well built mature man walked into the apartment. "I'm the building manager, Benny." "There's not one other window on this side?" "No, all the apartments have windows front and back, nothing on either side wall except for Grace's." "You know who manages that building across the way?" "I manage it." "Perfect, well then I guess you're gonna escort us over there aren't you? "Yeah, sure." 'That damn dog was getting louder. Too damn early a dog just barking away like that!' Grabbing a flashlight, Gentile walked to the window. "Anybody put a flashlight down into the alley yet?" "My grandmother said the green man opened his eyes." Turning back to Maribel, "Wait, so the man was alive?" "I don't know, I told you. I always thought it was a mannequin or that she was seeing things, I told you I never saw the Green Man. When I got here from work to check on her yesterday the skylight shade was closed. But she said the green man opened his eyes and looked up at her and the doctor frantically pulled the skylight shade." Gentile looked out through the window at the covered skylight then down to the alley. 'Like the dog was gnawing at something, it was growling furiously and barking like a machine gun', but he couldn't see the dog or anything, garbage and boxes, lots of boxes, otherwise the alley was clean. "Does a doctor live in that penthouse apartment, Benny?" "No, he's a scientist I think..." "A scientist? In Brooklyn?" "Yeah, Brooklyn's got scientists...Fil, Filiberto, he's got two roommates or regular visitors, who stay often, a guy who's into computers and a girl who's a lawyer." "Well, let's take a walk Benny." In the alley between apartments, walled off from the outside while the dog was barking. Gentile and Espinoza walked Fil lived alone...technically. A shack the owner called a penthouse cause that's what it was, a one bedroom shack on the roof. A living room, which he pretty much lived in, a small kitchen and a bathroom in between. The bedroom, he didn't sleep in his bedroom. This was a rare top floor apt with a skylight in the bedroom doubling as a studio. Once was probably a former tenant if not the original owner's studio; being the polymath, the studio was his except...Fil stood against the door to the studio, back to it he turned pressing his ear to listen and he could hear the man quietly sobbing, groaning as if in deep pain. {They ride the elevator of the other apartment, explore the unique building and some elaboration on Gentile and Espinoza.} Detectives Gentile, Espinoza and Benny started their climb up the seven story walk up with a small lift centered in the crook of the winding staircase. "Come on we'll take the lift. It's slow and creepy but it won't kill your legs like those stairs. Those cracked marble steps each feel like they were made for a giant." "Excuse me mister Brooklyn scientist living in a penthouse apartment, is that expensive?" Remarked Gentile. "Well it's just an extension of the seventh floor, a separate staircase down the hall from the seventh elevator landing but it's nothing more than an isolated shack on top of the roof, so no, not expensive." "How old is this building?" Asked Espinoza. "What is this an open house? "Just asking." "Very old," continued Benny. "Before most buildings in this part of Brooklyn were built. It was a private home at first, called Il Prometeo, after that one owner turned it into an asylum before it was turned into rentals in the 30's". "The Prometheus?" Said Espinoza. "Correct! You know Italian Detective?" "You know Italian," repeated Gentile. "When my wife and I traveled to Italy a couple of years ago. I'm Puerto Rican so I know Spanish and Italian are similar. I picked some up easily." rarely allowing a visitor and most often it was Lilly, his girlfriend who would visit. It had been weeks since Lilly did so at his request and now he was asking her to come he had something important to show her. Fil sent Meier to pick her up. What's he want to show me Meyer. I'm not sure how to explain it, if he even wants me to, but he never said not to. Is this another prank you two have screwed. Ohhhh I wish it was. Tell me Meier. I think you can wait...it's important he shows you, it's important to him, that he presents it plus you're a lawyer. You both are in trouble again aren't you? Well it's hard to explain, just keep an open mind.to pick her up. What's he want to show me Meier. I'm not sure how to explain it, if he even wants me to, but he never said not to. Is this another prank you two have screwed. Ohhhh I wish it was. Tell me Meier. I think you can wait...it's important he show you, it's important to him, that he present it plus you're a lawyer. You both are in trouble again aren't you? Well it's hard to explain, just keep an open mind. When she arrived, Detective Gentile was there, about Grace. You mind if I look in the room, the spare room, it's the only room visible from her apt. Well there are a lot of apts visible across the alley. True and I'll check those soon enough but the only window visible from her window that has its shade down is the one in this apt that has its shade pulled down and from here I don't see another window with a shade pulled. Well sorry if you had any real valid cause to enter you'd have a warrant. Excuse me, detective mind if I pass? And you are? None of your business really but friends of this apts tenant. Sorry. They close the door upon entering. They moved on to knock on other apartment doors. Silence. The silence that comes with the realization that you've waded in too deep and no amount of swimming would get you back alive. Lilly stood with her back against the entry door, Fil sat on the floor below the living room window closest to the bedroom watching Meier as he stepped slowly toward the bedroom door of the one bedroom apt. Do you know Grace Harold? Well she's a tenant of the building across the alley. Ohhh really? I don't know her. Well she's missing and we're conducting an investigation. From which apt? That one up there with the open window. Well maybe she ran away? Maybe, but she's eighty and wheelchair ridden for the most part. Ohhhh I see. Just asking if you might have seen or heard anything suspicious last night. Ohhhh no no I didn't, I'm down the hall you see. Down the hall from what? Do you know the guy who lives in that apartment? Um... Fils' focus lost in a void spoke up and said, "we went all the way, it's gotten out of hand." The door to the apt they first knocked on across from the suspect is opened. You guys knock on my door? Gentile goes to her while Espinoza continues with the old lady. Noises from Fils apt. Detectives break the door down. The door to the room opposite the entry was beginning to shatter. A great human-like angry growl comes from the room... The Monster reveals itself, disappears, struggles to be one or the other... There is blood everywhere... Grace Harold everywhere... The Monster beats his way out of the apt... climbs to roof from where he falls The monster was being kept in the spare bedroom...visible or invisible, conjured or manufactured in a 3d printer from vegetable matter? Dr Scoma, the late shift pathologist, alone now for years, after having been married for fifteen...surrounded by death...muses that here is an opportunity to make life... Dr., what is this thing? A thing. A being of some sort. I don't think Fil had any real idea of what he was doing. That device, what was it? A 3D printer actually. A what? Yeah, believe it or not, that's what it is, a room sized 3D printer. Didn't know they came that big. Well they make them big enough to build houses. Well think of it, any assembly line robot is a 3D assembly machine, just doesn't produce the material for assembly, a 3D printer does but even then it has to be given the molecular elements to produce the material to eventually "print" the object in addition to being given the actual design in an understandable language. That's really the genius here, he devised a plan, a design for an artificial human, whose brain was part of the whole body, not centralized in the head but a hive brain where each body part, each molecule could think for itself a being that would produce an output, basically telling the printer how to complete him. He had hundreds of drawings and papers detailing his plan, a notebook filled with his intentions...but his problem was the monster's mind and soul...it had neither, at least not at birth. The soul and the mind, the brain are products of age, development and experience...molded and sculpted over time to produce a mind, a soul, a self, which the monster had none of. All beings are born infant, almost incomplete. He plans with a friend to steal the evidence of the case. What does it matter, after the case is closed, there's no one to arrange, no charges to consider, everyone related to the case is dead...once the case is officially closed the evidence will disappear into a locker...I'd have to leave evening behind, the job, my life... The Dr muses, perhaps the key is creating an infant...not a full grown being. Just finish your report Alex, so I can finish mine... And the evidence? Lock it up Gentile, we gotta problem? Crain was working the evidence locker that day when two men, dressed in black, go figure, showed up with the precinct Captain with a Federal court order looking for what evidence was left of the Frankenstein case. (Made sense). But it was gone. Not all of it, just the most important part. Strata called it the head, the device spider shaped with a metal head and a thousand eyes and six extending arms. Captain was pissed, so were the Feds but they weren't showing it. Immediately the captain personally organized a team to look for Strata, the obvious choice for the felony having left for vacation three weeks prior then calling in his final notice that he wouldn't be coming back. Once the captain's team had arrived at Strata's apartment the new tenant had already moved in... How the hell did anybody find out about the case anyway. That was quick. Usually most cases move up the food chain unnoticed, just paperwork to be stored but this... every agency has a snitch working both sides feeding the right people the right information. Fucking federal vampires everywhere keeping wraiths at bay waiting to suck some info up their way. At the TSA, what a beautiful child. Alex vacationing in Malta, beach combing with an infant tucked and sleeping in a forward carry pouch, surrounded by young girls admiring the child... Months pass, the Dr had retired and births a child with a young man. You think they'll let us get married in this country. You haven't even asked me. Will you marry me? Players: Victor to Vitto or Bittor or Vincent or Filiberto (Fil) Lily or Meier or

Anani Burns

Anani stood apart from Baldo,

noting his weakened state 

the battle left them both in a weakened state

Baldo struggled to rise, 

struggled to whisper Tomas' name. 

The soldiers circled Tomas as he stood over the field,

to protect Baldo nothing else

looking back at Tomas as he walked into the melee. 

Seeing the mighty Anani, mighty yes,

Tomas thought to have a well trained, seasoned fighter. 

Baldo, the stronger fighter isn't you. I can take care of this for you. 

Baldo nodding with relief.

Please brother. Build a pyre, he calls out and a fire upon a the heap, 

we shall burn him like the God he imagines himself. 

 

Brother, he wants to burn, it is his desire to burn as he wishes. 

He will die as his wish. I shall give him his belief, his desire, he has nothing else...

From a distance, 

Maria can see the soldiers raise the wooden platform upon  which the pyre rests

Irene  placates and calms Maria

the slaves stop they're work. Watch and behold a ritual execution, 

express their anger to watch Anani.

Anani dies on the cross, after Baldo stabs him in the gut several times,

blood spills out across streams of blood,

the sky opens

the rain grows strong,

the rain breaks becoming one and upon Baldo's outstretched arm, 

pouring out warm his life grows cold quickly as the blood pour's hot,

Anani dies in the rain,

the slaves cry,

the soldiers cheer.

Tomas silently cheers while urging his soldiers to honor Anani's death then express' sorrow for his death

La Dona, Maria...

From afar,

can see her love die on the wooden stake, the flames mount the pyre from the mound of Kindle the soldiers collected

and placed at his feet...

The soldiers cheer in conquest...

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Canto

© Canto 647-564-0541 A Story by Ralph Pitre And there was stillness throughout... The voice of billions silent, gone in weeks the act of a small band of terrorizing white supremacists experimenting with viral strains to create an agent and render intended targets, politicians - mute. It worked too well and spread quickly throughout and far more hurt than expected and so many to blame... The applause died, in that short moment of silence before Sophia began to sing, there was a great anticipation, a longing. She bowed her head for a moment, then raised it to look out into the audience, tears welled to fill her eyes as the voice they had all come to hear, filled the room and cried. Cry, they could hear the voice of God. Cry, others knew, it was and cried in anticipation of the first sound. Sophia sang with an angel’s voice. The voice had become part of her, one with her, as if she had already been born with the voice of an angel. The creation of a new set of vocal cords as replacements for a damaged set was hard enough, but to design and manufacture a set of organic vocal cords whose sound was greater than natural or imagined. That is why no one succeeded in centuries. It simply worked or it didn’t. These spectacular voices, it seemed, were beyond the ability of humankind to create them, and yet humankind did create them. It is said the designer, Mariana literally knew the secret and used it to produce three of the greatest singers in all of history. Two possessed by women, one by a man. Those are gone now, and the few that exist are prized possessions of private and corporate archives as valued artifacts of true art and science. They are from a time long before when science had achieved artistic status. Where scientific creations were as much artistic creations. No one in centuries had ever dared to consider implanting one until Sophia. Sophia sat quietly alone in the waiting room upstairs from the stage contemplating how close she had come to be with the angel’s voice. The voice had taken on a life of its own. No longer did Sophia just sing with the voice, but they sang as one. They had come to know each other so well, the angel's voice had become a singular being... Margarite unwraps the scarf around Sophia’s neck, gently caressing her neck, then kissing her on the neck then to her lips. Sophia pulls away. “Is it the voice you love, Margarite? Or me?” “You of course.” “Sometimes I don’t know which, sometimes I wonder what attracts you to me. What keeps you with me?” “I stay for you, Sophia.” “I know that the voice has great power that no one seems able to resist, including myself. I find myself in love with the angel as much as I do you and I don’t know whom I love most. I feel lost, stuck in the middle of a terrible triangle of emotion.” “Sing for me Sophia, sing for me, softly so the guards outside can’t hear.” Is it the voice, Margarite loves or Sophia? Margarite often caresses her neck, kissing it, often asking for a softly sung poem, just a few lines, so as not to arouse the guards waiting outside to escort them to the party and ultimately take the voice away. Sophia covered herself with a coat after the show, wrapping a scarf around her neck, drinking a nutrient drink. Later, when the party's over, Sophia will go away and hide behind a partition to remove the voice, placing it in a secure safe, and then taken by security away from her until the next performance. But for now she must have it for the party. We live in a world where many instruments are still made and the voice of an angel is one of them. The process by which a voice can be man made like any other instrument is unique and amazing. As detailed in a revealing science article in The New York Times the voice is literally grown from cells, and genes manipulated to become a self sufficient organism able to survive both inside and outside of the body. The performer swallows a small organically grown device, destroying the existing vocal cords and bonding with the body. The new vocal cords sing what many call the voice of angels. There are sacrifices to possessing the voice. You become a mute, because the vocal chords must be removed and cleansed in a solution. The chords are for singing only, speaking with them is not advised, the user or the listener. With the voice in place, the performer can never talk out loud or fully. She must whisper for fear that the full sound that is so heavenly would deafen the listener. It is only through song that one can listen. Only then is the voice under control. Fifteen years ago Sophia had heard recordings of the voice implanted in the body of the Great Marlena and decided then she wanted that voice. She was a great and popular singer already but she wanted to be like no other since. No other singer had ever done this since Marlena. And Marlena had given up her voice as she neared death. No other singer dared for fear of losing their original voice and becoming a mute and slave to a voice that wasn’t your own; the voice of the angel’s. Her then manager had lectured her on this matter and was ultimately fired when her sign language interpreter took on those duties. Sophia formed a consortium of investors who were willing to pull money together to acquire the voice and implant it in Sophia. The party awaits her in the grand ballroom. Escorted by her interpreter, Sophia attends the party where she is congratulated. She greets everyone as a mute, her thoughts voiced by her interpreter who is trained to listen to the soft whisper of her natural voice. Sophia had become one with her voice. They longed for each other when they were apart. Of late she sensed the voice had become tired. Why? She could never tell. The voice had no way of communicating with her except through feelings. She knew that it was tired, that it was unhappy. The voice itself was taking on sentient awareness. This she divulged to no one but Margarite. Sophia is called into the back room where she waits. The board chairman owned three angel voices. The other two were in use by singers. While those two had a grand history of performance, Sophia’s had only one great singer other than herself, attached to it. It had been created for Marlena over three hundred years. She spent twenty-two years performing with it right up until the day she died. Several decades passed until it had once again implanted. In a series of seven male and female singers over a century and a half, the voice never again performed as it had for Marlena. Not until Sophia. The board chairman, Mariano, was a huge fan and connoisseur of the voices and with his money hoped to collect all of them. In the back room the board chairman explains they want to take the voice back. They want to implant the voice in another woman. They have already tested the implant on this other woman and it has performed well. Now she knew why it was tiring. They had conspired to take the voice away. In conversation with Margarite, while the guards make their way to take the voice from her, it is suggested she ask for one more performance. The chairman insists she perform now, for the party, in the ballroom, her final performance and then the cords will be removed. As the chairman walks to the stage, Margarite and Sophia quietly discuss what to do next. Escape? Sophia finally decides to kill herself. She takes a knife from the buffet table, which she hides in her long sleeve. As the chairman announces her entrance she slowly makes her way through the crowd. Alone in the dark of a loft that overlooks the stage from above the rafters of the theater a man sits poised with a rifle aimed at Sophia, his right eye pressed against the sight, his right index finger lightly placed across the trigger. She sings her saddest aria, making the guests cry. It is from an opera that tells the story of betrayal and suicide and vengeance against the betrayers. Sophia then attempts to stab herself in the throat, but not before the sniper shoots her down, saving the voice which still seems to resonate, to sing a voice of tears. Cries to save the voice can be heard from the guests. Margarite rushes the stage, calling for help, and no one seems to care. Attendants of the board rush the stage to remove the voice from Sophia, without a care for Sophia who lay barely breathing, blood flowing crimson from the bullet hole in her head. As the board attendants step away with the voice safe in its container, Mariano, the board chairman standing over the scene, tells one of the attendants to help her. Reluctantly and surprised, he does so. Sophia speaks to Margarite and revealing she knows that it was Margarite, then dies. We see the voice safely stored in a box, retired. Margarite sits at Sophia’s grave, sobbing and haunted by what she has done. Marguerite had given up her natural voice for the chance to have Sona implanted in her. After many tests and private performances doctors report the organ will never again perform as great as it once did. “But why?” The doctor can’t explain. The voice was retired and Margarite stayed forever mute. The voice had been implanted in man, a male singer to try and coax the voice to sing could not... Having known the voice had been implanted in the other performer. And she knew. That breathless moment just after the applause, the paralysis of fear suddenly gone, she looked at every face that looked at her, and it was all of them. The moment was hers. Sophia bowed her head, the voice trembling within her. It wanted to sing. The fear and anxiety that had rushed up to paralyze her died with the applause. She looked back at them as fear and anxiety rushed to paralyze her, for a moment, as the applause died, the fear died, she looked down and she knew. The moment was hers. The audience was hers and they would listen as she sang for them. Not because they had paid for her to sing, but because they had become disciples and they would be witness to the divine in her voice. Sophia sat in the antique high-back chair as Margarite reached from behind to massage and caress her. “That breathless moment just after the applause, the fear gone, looking at their faces. I knew the moment was mine.” ralphpitre@gmail.com Title: © Canto 1-647-564-0541 ralphpitre@gmail.com RPMedia RPM Title: © Canto 1-647-564-0541

Found...

© The Lonely Voyager A story about the Voyager Interstellar Probe and the information it has collected and the knowledge it has accrued to become conscious, a self… But it is alone and very aware of loneliness and its loneliness… Perhaps it meets an alien probe…? Or an alien being, the probe doesn’t know the difference… and believes itself a sentient being…a self…because it knows… Recollection of its adventures since it left its launch origin (home) explained… Compare its original goal with its new personal objective, yes personal, as it self grows… Description of its origin and objective plus its new objective as its sentience grows…flowering from its stagnant mind… The apparent UP tick in the market reveals an uptick in awareness… It was lost and didn’t know it was lost and needed to be found and that it needed to be found it didn’t know as well…until it was found… Lost? Am I? What is lost? The opposite of found… What is found? What you are now… I am, found…