https://youtu.be/xNVQzCP4e2o?si=I9wM7QcNTUPjq2Ki
90
48 x 36 × 2
Acrylic, Ink, Spray Paint on Canvas
Dubes, 2025
I thought the trip had ended. I opened my eyes to a room so familiar I instantly felt safe. “They” had faded and I was home. Everything was clean—too clean. No cables. No clutter. Just floating screens and a kind of peace I hadn’t felt before. The caretakers were there, waiting. Cybernetic... yeah. But somehow, they wore the faces of my past. They were so life-like, real. There was a memory bot, too. Kind eyes. Patient voice. Always ready with an answer—like it knew the questions before I even asked them. I asked a lot of questions at that age. Still do. But back then—at 90—I think they appreciated it. Or at least, my memory bot did! I had so many questions. At 90, you earn the right to wonder out loud. Every afternoon, I got one hour of "suit-time." The Geely Kurzwell LS4. God, I love that thing. It didn’t feel like I was putting it on. It felt like it remembered me. The way it wrapped around my legs, the way the visor sealed gently across my face— It was like being hugged by the future. I didn’t walk anymore. I flew, okay, more like floated. Gently.
“What makes the suit fly?” I asked that afternoon as I slipped my legs into it. I’d asked before—I always asked—but that day, the answer hit different. Turns out it wasn’t flight in the traditional sense. There were no jets. No lift fans humming beneath the knees. Just the suit. And gravity itself. It was powered by some sort of fusion tech yet to be discovered as of current date. The power unit had a two inch vertical/4 inch horizontal window on the fusion core. That window allows you to see, that the "stream" is active and it looks like a bluish/purplish glowing laser trapped in slow-motion for lack of a better description. The glow out of the window was BEAUTIFUL. Like a glow-stick with a color your eyes have never seen. The suit itself was comfortable, onboard pressurization tech that made wearing the apparatus extremely comfortable. nano-drivers in the suit—there were thousands, maybe millions—had their own dedicated processors. Not centralized. Not chained together. Each one thinking, in real time, listening for quantum signatures in the gravitational field around me. The onboard quantum navigation system received an uninterrupted stream of data from the surrounding environment—readouts of subtle gravitational stress points, tidal distortions, even curvature fluctuations invisible to the naked eye. And then—the trick. The suit didn’t push against gravity. It sang back at it. Each nano-driver emitted a microscopic opposing gravitational wave—just enough to cancel out the pressure on that one node. Multiply that by every nano-driver acting in perfect quantum harmony, and I was buoyant in spacetime itself. No wind. No drag. No resistance. Just floating. Clean. Silent. Like the air had agreed to let me pass through it untouched. The suit generated a localized gravitational field so precise, it became its own atmosphere. It wasn’t armor. It was a bubble of stillness moving through a world that no longer pressed against me. As I drifted above the neighborhood—past the twenty-foot privacy fences, the glowing sky-cars shaped like giant flatted tic-tacs that could comfortably accommodate four adults. The hovering freight behemoths.
Rail-guided through the sky, above neighborhoods, past floating cargo ships and ant lines of air-cars traveling in 3-D space. My caretakers would pop-in beside me—holograms in my visor—just to say hello, answer questions. I could see what I can describe only as a “floating head” (shout out to Jambi - "Mecca lecca hi, mecca hiney ho") in the visor itself, but the visor could project an image of the caretaker walking along side of me as well. Felt like going for a walk with your best friend. And then… Just as the sun started to paint the sky in impossible colors, I fell. Not down—but back. Forty/Fifty years plus, in the blink of a moment. Young body. Racing heart. But the memory stayed. It always stays. I realize now, this isn’t tech. This is the answer to gravity’s question: “Do you still want to be here?” And for a hour everyday, the 90yr old version of myself, didn’t. Thanks for reading.
All the Love,
Dubes
PS. In 2071, the G-Kruzwell LS4 is listed as elderly mobility assistance. But let me tell you something: When you’re inside that suit, and the sky cars drift by like neon jellyfish, your feet are a memory but your mind is free.
https://youtu.be/xNVQzCP4e2o?si=I9wM7QcNTUPjq2Ki
90
48 x 36 × 2
Acrylic, Ink, Spray Paint on Canvas
Dubes, 2025
I thought the trip had ended. I opened my eyes to a room so familiar I instantly felt safe. “They” had faded and I was home. Everything was clean—too clean. No cables. No clutter. Just floating screens and a kind of peace I hadn’t felt before. The caretakers were there, waiting. Cybernetic... yeah. But somehow, they wore the faces of my past. They were so life-like, real. There was a memory bot, too. Kind eyes. Patient voice. Always ready with an answer—like it knew the questions before I even asked them. I asked a lot of questions at that age. Still do. But back then—at 90—I think they appreciated it. Or at least, my memory bot did! I had so many questions. At 90, you earn the right to wonder out loud. Every afternoon, I got one hour of "suit-time." The Geely Kurzwell LS4. God, I love that thing. It didn’t feel like I was putting it on. It felt like it remembered me. The way it wrapped around my legs, the way the visor sealed gently across my face— It was like being hugged by the future. I didn’t walk anymore. I flew, okay, more like floated. Gently.
“What makes the suit fly?” I asked that afternoon as I slipped my legs into it. I’d asked before—I always asked—but that day, the answer hit different. Turns out it wasn’t flight in the traditional sense. There were no jets. No lift fans humming beneath the knees. Just the suit. And gravity itself. It was powered by some sort of fusion tech yet to be discovered as of current date. The power unit had a two inch vertical/4 inch horizontal window on the fusion core. That window allows you to see, that the "stream" is active and it looks like a bluish/purplish glowing laser trapped in slow-motion for lack of a better description. The glow out of the window was BEAUTIFUL. Like a glow-stick with a color your eyes have never seen. The suit itself was comfortable, onboard pressurization tech that made wearing the apparatus extremely comfortable. nano-drivers in the suit—there were thousands, maybe millions—had their own dedicated processors. Not centralized. Not chained together. Each one thinking, in real time, listening for quantum signatures in the gravitational field around me. The onboard quantum navigation system received an uninterrupted stream of data from the surrounding environment—readouts of subtle gravitational stress points, tidal distortions, even curvature fluctuations invisible to the naked eye. And then—the trick. The suit didn’t push against gravity. It sang back at it. Each nano-driver emitted a microscopic opposing gravitational wave—just enough to cancel out the pressure on that one node. Multiply that by every nano-driver acting in perfect quantum harmony, and I was buoyant in spacetime itself. No wind. No drag. No resistance. Just floating. Clean. Silent. Like the air had agreed to let me pass through it untouched. The suit generated a localized gravitational field so precise, it became its own atmosphere. It wasn’t armor. It was a bubble of stillness moving through a world that no longer pressed against me. As I drifted above the neighborhood—past the twenty-foot privacy fences, the glowing sky-cars shaped like giant flatted tic-tacs that could comfortably accommodate four adults. The hovering freight behemoths.
Rail-guided through the sky, above neighborhoods, past floating cargo ships and ant lines of air-cars traveling in 3-D space. My caretakers would pop-in beside me—holograms in my visor—just to say hello, answer questions. I could see what I can describe only as a “floating head” (shout out to Jambi - "Mecca lecca hi, mecca hiney ho") in the visor itself, but the visor could project an image of the caretaker walking along side of me as well. Felt like going for a walk with your best friend. And then… Just as the sun started to paint the sky in impossible colors, I fell. Not down—but back. Forty/Fifty years plus, in the blink of a moment. Young body. Racing heart. But the memory stayed. It always stays. I realize now, this isn’t tech. This is the answer to gravity’s question: “Do you still want to be here?” And for a hour everyday, the 90yr old version of myself, didn’t. Thanks for reading.
All the Love,
Dubes
PS. In 2071, the G-Kruzwell LS4 is listed as elderly mobility assistance. But let me tell you something: When you’re inside that suit, and the sky cars drift by like neon jellyfish, your feet are a memory but your mind is free.
