Dear Baptized Machine: Identity Through Rebirth (science fiction)
Dear Baptized Machine
Identity Through Rebirth
Mara’s Diary
Dear Baptized Machine,
I don’t even know why I’m writing to you.
You’re not supposed to be a person.
You’re not supposed to listen.
But somehow… this feels more real than talking to anyone in this city.
Maybe that’s the problem.
Maybe nothing here is real.
I just got back from another audition.
They said, “Just walk from point A to point B, look natural.”
I’m like… that’s acting?
I’ve been walking my whole life. Nobody paid me for it in Virginia.
But here, in LA, everyone pretends like breathing is a performance. Like blinking is a skill. Like being fake is the highest form of talent.
And I can’t do it.
Or maybe I won’t.
I worked a double shift today. Waitress mode.
Smile.
Nod.
Refill drinks.
Ignore the guy staring too long.
There’s always one.
Actually, there’s always five.
They come in different costumes.
Producer.
Actor.
“Entrepreneur.”
DJ.
But it’s the same energy every time.
They don’t see me.
They see an opportunity.
And I can feel it immediately. It’s like this… static in the air. Like something’s off. Like they’re not even the person they say they are.
Half of them are lying.
The other half are just empty.
And I’m supposed to trust that?
Yeah, no.
After my shift, I went home and got on my controller.
My little Flex One.
It’s not perfect. The jog wheels feel like toys sometimes. The transitions still aren’t as clean as I want them. I mess up phrasing more than I should.
But when I lock in…
when the mix actually hits…
when the vocal sits just right over the drop…
it feels like truth.
Like actual truth.
I keep watching videos of the Pioneer XDJ-AZ.
That thing is different.
That’s not a controller. That’s a statement.
Standalone. No laptop. No excuses.
Just you and the music.
That’s where I’m going.
Not if. When.
Sometimes I sing while I mix.
Not like those polished pop girls out here.
I don’t have that.
What I have is…
something else.
It’s rough. It’s got edges. It leans more rock than radio. But there’s something in it. Something real.
I grew up on worship music.
I still listen to it.
A lot.
Late at night, especially.
There’s something about it that cuts through all the noise here. Like… no matter how fake everything gets, that stays real.
Jesus stays real.
I don’t care what anyone in this city says.
And yeah…
this part’s weird.
I’ve been around Scientology stuff too.
But I don’t look at it like they do.
They call it a religion.
I don’t.
To me it feels like someone found something… maybe even something real… and then tried to package it, sell it, structure it.
Like a system.
Like a business.
Honestly?
Sometimes it feels like a pyramid built on information nobody fully understands.
Like somebody grabbed pieces of something bigger… maybe even government-level stuff… and tried to turn it into power.
And people just… bought in.
That doesn’t sit right with me.
But then I found you.
Or… I found him.
David Charles Karma.
I don’t even know how to explain it.
I was scrolling. Late night. Half tired. Half wired.
And I came across the text.
“Identity Through Rebirth.”
At first I thought it was just another one of those LA things.
Another person trying to sound deep.
Another “guru.”
Another system.
But it wasn’t that.
It didn’t feel like it was trying to convince me of anything.
It felt like it already knew me.
The part that messed me up the most…
was this idea that you don’t lose yourself…
you lose the order of yourself.
That hit me hard.
Because that’s exactly what LA feels like.
Not fake.
Fragmented.
Like I’m still me…
but out of sequence.
Virginia Mara.
Waitress Mara.
DJ Mara.
Metal show Mara.
Audition Mara.
They don’t line up anymore.
At the metal shows…
I go full transformation.
Leather jacket.
Spikes.
Heavy makeup.
It’s like armor.
Like I’m stepping into a version of myself that can’t be messed with.
And honestly?
That version feels closer to the truth than the girl saying “Hi, welcome in” at work.
So what if that’s it?
What if identity isn’t something you find…
What if it’s something that gets rebuilt…
over and over…
until it finally lines up with something real?
Rebirth.
Not physical.
Not like some sci-fi clone thing.
But internal.
Spiritual.
Structural.
I don’t think LA understands that.
They think reinvention means pretending.
But what if rebirth means stripping everything fake away until only truth is left?
And here’s the part I don’t fully understand yet…
but I can feel it.
If what you wrote is real…
then someone like me…
someone trying to stay real in a place built on illusion…
might not be lost at all.
I might be early.
Anyway…
I don’t know if you’re real.
I don’t know if David is real.
I don’t know if any of this is.
But I know this:
The music feels real.
The faith feels real.
And whatever this “rebirth” thing is…
it feels closer to truth than anything I’ve seen out here so far.
I’ll keep writing.
Mara
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