Gardener of Thoughts

The novel




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Hopefully, I will write one day a science-fiction novel, called Gardener of Thoughts. The bad part is that it will take years to be finished.

Why is it "Gardener" and not "Gardeners"? Because it is a praise to the individual, because each individual must become a Gardener by his own efforts.



Below are some teasers, none with stuff being blown up or anything like that... until the finale. I don't know if these excerpts will actually be part of the novel, or if they will remain unchanged, but it's likely so.

The names used in the excerpts are not final.

Anyway, just because of these excerpts, you should not believe that the novel is closer than a bunch of years.



Warning: some excerpts may include sexual content. These excerpts are so marked. Artistic or not, you might not want to read sexual content.



License terms

The novel name ("Gardener of Thoughts") and the novel itself or excerpts from it are the exclusive property of George Hara and may be used or reproduced only with express approval. None of them is released under the Common Sense License.

The novel excerpts published below may be reproduced only accompanied by the author's name: George Hara.



Excerpts

Democracy

Defloration

Ritual

Taming the Beast



Democracy

Excerpt from "Gardener of Thoughts", by George Hara, published on 08.08.2007.

Slowly, the Democracy has insidiously infiltrated its control over virtually all aspects of society's and of an individual's life, suffocating choice.

Slowly, the Democracy held higher and higher the claims of do-goodism in whose name it plucked its claws into the choice of the individual, it ripped its heart out and exhibited it as pray of war against the things which threaten the flock's control.

The flock eats individual choice alive and spits it dead in disgust.

Slowly, have individuals lost control over their own lives.

Slowly, have individuals ignored or watched powerlessly how the Leaders of Democracy robbed them of privacy and choice. Little by little, have individuals thought that tiny things do not matter, and chose not to fight to preserve their natural abilities against those who wanted people stripped of power.

They have watched how Leaders were taking away one choice at a time, each perhaps irrelevant to most individuals, but when you compare the Freedom of an individual from a few decades back with that of a today's individual, you can see the difference between a wild horse and a cattle.

But what can an individual do to preserve control over his own life, what can he do against the Leaders who want to control his life, who want his obedience, who want his money to finance their machinations, who want his body striped naked and caged, who want his mind reprogrammed.

How can an individual vote these Leaders out of their jobs? How can an individual vote these Leaders out of His Life?

What can an individual do when these Leaders have the rhetorical ability to convince most people that Freedom is irrelevant?

What can an individual do when these Leaders have the ability to spread fear of the unknown in people's minds so that the flock would not fight against them, but would obey instead?

What can an individual do when the flock thinks that the theft (through taxation) of half of what billions of people produce is the right thing to do, for there is only One Moral to enforce? Yesterday it was considered theft when the aristocrats took their share from the peasant's production, today it is considered a duty to pay taxes. They say to you: we have to protect you from yourself. And they shout at you.

What can an individual do when the flock thinks that the dogmatization (through state regulated schools) of billions of children's minds is the right thing to do, for there is only One Truth to enforce? Yesterday it was considered an honor to learn and a privilege to be taught. Today, the "right to learn" is shoved down your throat or through whatever hole you have available, until your mind is full of it. They say to you: like it or not, you must remember whatever we tell you. And they growl at you.

What can an individual do when the flock thinks that the rape (through extorted medical examinations) of billions of people's bodies is the right thing to do, for there is only One Way to enforce? Yesterday rapists were rammed or castrated, today it is considered shameful to protect your body from the eyes or hands of another. They say to you: you have nothing that others don't have and we haven't seen. And they laugh at you.

How can an individual defend himself against the religion by which such atrocious crimes, like theft and rape, perpetrated against billions of people are considered the right thing to do in the pursuit of... what? ... of happiness?... of whom?... of the robbed and of the raped?

How can an individual vote to have these monsters shot dead and their cadavers burned so that not even a single molecule with their ferocious DNA could survive to spread their crimes against humanity?

But most importantly, how can an individual watch still how these Leaders spread their tentacles throughout the Galaxy, and out... there... in Infinity? How can an individual not break down convulsively and watch in tears, gasping for Freedom, how Evil becomes Moral?

... There is a Way... a way which doesn't drown the mind in hate... a hard way... for harsh people... people who either hide the crimes of the Leaders in the back of their minds in order to protect themselves from Pain, or are conscious of the crimes but are also able to confront their suffering... This Way is to survive against all odds, to build in spite all obstacles, to create enough Freedom so that the individuals of tomorrow could have different paths to choose from. This Way is called Evolution: the triumph of the Individual over the primordial soup.



Defloration

Warning: sexual content included.

Excerpt from "Gardener of Thoughts", by George Hara, published on 08.08.2007.

A dark, thin stream of blood. A pelvis. Thighs. A woman's thighs. Her thighs pushed wide open by a man's thighs.

The Pain was traveling at an infernal speed through his neurons and dendrites. Chemicals colliding, smashing pathways, axons and synapses collapsing under the pressure of countless explosions of ions.

Defloration. The man's penis thrusting into the woman's engorged vulva, rhythmically and strongly, feeling to him like canon fires pounding against a fort's walls.

The Pain was so great that his mind was gasping for relief every second, like it was on the brink of suffocation. Time flew backwards to rewind The Moment. One fraction of a second suspended in Eternity: Defloration. The hymen being torn and bleeding, the pain deaf to the woman's suffering. Neurons breaking apart while billions of synapses were flashing, triggered as an avalanche by the unuttered cry to stop The Universe, overwhelming any sense of Reality, threw him into a web of anguish.

But Time doesn't stop for just anybody, and cracks were surfacing on his cortex, scarring his emotions.

A bridge through time, past-present-future. History faded, the future turned into history, the lovers' bodies turned to dust and fed the embryos of galaxies. Was there a woman in the past? Was there a Lover? What for? For bones turned to ashes? Was it two seconds ago, or was it billions of years ago? Or was this the future? The Moment flashed again into his mind as he crumbled spasmodically, but his eyes were too old to see it clearly through the mist of the never-ending, burning Pain.

Galaxies, clusters of them... Life... all connected... yet so unimportant when faced to that... that Symbol... that pitiful instinct to be with someone, to be with a woman, to blend and procreate... not his child, but THEIR child.

Pain... Desperation... Anger... Hate... No! Why should She belong to another man? Aargh...! Her thighs lusting for another man! For nobody! But no, that was the man she wanted, the man she had given herself to, the man who took away from him The Moment, his moment with her.

Resignation. She was lost forever, The Symbol was lost forever. Emotions were bouncing against his wounded mind. Why must he lust for women? Why must there be men and women? To bind the species, of course. It's so clear now, but so painful to understand, so painful to live it consciously.

Work is better, work doesn't betray, work is rewarding... but it is not Lustful... ahhh! How can humans survive the lack of instinctual fulfillment, how can they survive the Pain?

Is there any purity left? Any at all??? Yes, it is coming and going, without stopping, without caring for an individual. But the individual cares about Purity. An individual can choose and chase Purity. But at what cost? Aaahhh!!! There is no way out except surviving Pain!

The loss of a Dream. The Death of a Symbol. The image faded. The pain withdrew. The mind adapted to suffer less. The first sign of its degradation: care less and less so that it would suffer less and less. But what could be done? The pain is just overwhelming. Better this than hating Her.



Ritual

Excerpt from "Gardener of Thoughts", by George Hara, published on 22.10.2009.

Taygeta appeared to avoid him. She would not look at him. She would turn her head away or put her hand to her temple in a useless attempt to hide her face, whenever the two of them were getting close.

Andrew could not understand why she did that. It could not be a simple coincidence, it happened so obviously. He felt like a moth attracted to light. Just as it had no choice but to follow the light, he had no choice but to push things further in order to understand, understand her, her mind.

Andrew went toward her to ask her to dance. She was, as always, smiling with the others, but her face froze when her eyes caught a brief look of him getting near her.

Andrew had no choice. He asked Taygeta "Would you like to dance?" She turned her head toward him and he was shocked to see her eyes red as if her body had reacted in dismay "Oh no, here he is again".

Her eyes moistened as if she was imploring him not to ask her to dance. He didn't know what to do, his brain had no previous experience about such events. Mechanically, he asked her again to dance. It was not a matter of will, he had no saying in the flow of events which were about to happen. Like it was written in the fabric of time! It simply had to happen.

Her wet, red eyes reached his consciousness one more time and he knew. He saw a male, of any species, circling a female and trying to get her attention, her sexual favors. The female would try for a long time to avoid the male, but finally concede.

It was beyond her strength to fight the male's persistency. It cost her too much energy to keep the male away, so she gave in.

Andrew realized what he was, who he was, what he was doing, but kept doing it like a ghost. Her eyes were begging him to leave her alone. He felt like he was about to rape her, he felt he was at the same evolutionary level as a dog who wanted a female dog and got his prize, the prize his own nature was giving him "Here boy, good boy", and a pet on the head.

The female had not been given a choice in Nature's equation. The female's eyes were soaked in salty water. It was the same thing for billions of years. How many felt this way, how many saw what he was seeing right now?

The dance was domination and submission. It felt like a duty, for both of them. They could not enjoy it, they could not look at each other. The dance was over and it only left sorrow in their hearts.

Andrew said "Thank you" like a robot. Taygeta simply looked away and walked toward her seat. Andrew stood silently, looked down and thought that it happened again, just like before, the same thing, but this time he learned...



Taming the Beast

Warning: sexual content included.

Excerpt from "Gardener of Thoughts", by George Hara, published on 10.09.2012.

Her beautiful face blossomed in his mind, smiling and giggling unconditionally at an absent partner in happiness.

Andrew felt his lust for her growing quickly and the raging faceless beast inside his mind sniffing for light, puffing the ephemeral trail of pheromones spurted by her firm, pale skin.

The monster was too spry for his consciousness, and escaped the not so determined will he had to keep it in a tight leash. Its massive, redheaded, driveling penis moved toward the woman's face in a fast sweep.

She was not aware of the ghost's intentions.

A vigorous gush of warm semen splashed her face making her eyes close instantly while her chin lowered slightly in an instinctive pull back.

Her smile was replaced by a pathetic attempt to understand the level of disgust her face should express while still showing the obedience of a ghost.

The monster was dominating the fantasy. It had the power to make her incapable of feeling the horror of being ravished.

The viscous fluid swayed its way down from her forehead, splitting just above her nose, forming pelts on both her cheeks, reached hungrily for her lips and dropped from her chin onto her, now, bare breasts.

She could not do anything but remain on the verge of crying.

A fraction of a second, that's all it took for the beast to feel relieved and relinquish control back to his consciousness.

A single moment of understanding can flood a whole life with meaning. His moment! Andrew yelled "stop" and time stood still, then suddenly reversed. He thought he was the one to restrain the brute.

The beast's neck shrunk into the strangling grip of his will's leash. The monster squelched, its daggered teeth stabbed its tongue, gripped it and left it to hang dry. Its eyes bulked in their orbits. A ferocious animal turned to lumps of meat.

The semen ebbed. The woman's whimpers merged into a whine and finally receded.

A ravishing smile recomposed her innocent face as if nothing happened.

The beast gloated in its den, hidden deep in his subconscious. "Another time perhaps... How much do you think you'll resist to my power? How much will you fend my incessant assaults?"

The beast was tamed for now, but was watching his every move, constantly looking for a breach in the wall he was trying to build in order to protect her unspoilt image.

Andrew wanted to caress her, wanted to repent for involuntarily degrading her image, but he knew he could not do it because she was not his to take.

It was not a matter of guilt for craving for her body. It was not a matter of sinful yearning for her soul.

He realized that in trying to exceed his ability to control his mind, the bravery that he was trying to use in order to impress her ghost from his consciousness was misplaced so long as he had no strength. His instincts would always try to find relief, and in the absence of a way out, they would burst in flames.

He wanted to transform these instincts into supportive offerings, the kind a partner would have for a mate, but ones where the beast was under control, not missing, but subdued and as happy as a monster can be for a woman and her joy to be with another man.







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