- BAMF!

The government put a lock on teleportation. They couldn’t have people popping in and out all over the place as they pleased. There would be no control left, the nation would fall apart with people popping over to Ayers Rock or Great Kepple Island in their tea breaks, in their smokos.

The government didn’t learn from the iPhone. The power of the internet conglomerate is that it can achieve anything. And it does.

It’s everywhere. I find instructions while I’m slacking off at work, and they’re ridiculously uncomplicated, apart from the government lock. To pick that, and break free of linear locomotion, I need only think the brainkey jfy4-105h-297l-jfyv-p127-ludh-wers-3fkq-xczx-37dj-whut-lawl. I write that down inside my wrist, and flick to another screen. I can type a dossier and learn teleportation at the same time. I’m special like that.

Most documentaries exploring the phenomenon state that the trick is to want to be somewhere, badly.

But for beginners, it’s easier if you concentrate on not wanting to be where you are. For example; the office.

BAMF!

Just like that, I’m home. I fall on my arse on the kitchen lino, and lay there laughing while the dogs, in a mad panic, jump all over me. Hey, government department! I’m an improper association now, an outlaw, a teleportation ninja, and I just quit! Here’s your negative two weeks notice! BOOYAH.

WHERE to go, where TO go, where to GO. Too many dreams to choose from and chase. BAMF! I’m in my apartment, checking the batteries in my camera. I may be about to kill myself. What the hell. In with a bamf, out with a BAMF!

I go to the moon, for just long enough to press the shutter button.

BAMF! I land hard on my carpet with brief impressions of eternity and a monochrome landscape and a cold that stings my eyes still. My ears scream. I’m not dead.

Fucking’ A I’m not.

I pull up my hood, duck my head, and BAMF! into an outdoor adventure store, grab some arctic gear, and BAMF! out immediately. Thus begins my life of crime. I leave the tags on – I swear I’ll return these. Later. I struggle into the gear, boiling in the temperate Melbourne autumn, and BAMF!

I go to Antarctica, and land among an Emperor penguin colony. It isn’t as cold as the moon. The penguins stretch their necks up at me, offended and alarmed at my sudden intrusion. I squawk back at them. There’s a mountain range on the horizon, and I BAMF! to it, gaining a deeper view of the continent.

A higher mountain would give me a better view. Wait, who needs a mountain?

BAMF!

Two miles up, I plummet towards ice and penguins, the wind tossing me like a broken toy. From here, the horizon is much further away, the penguins a mere smear, the mountains just ripples. I scream bloody murder. I laugh. I yell incoherent joy. Ten feet from the ground, I BAMF! back up, and begin the tumble all over again. Fantastic! I’m falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! I'm so easy to amuse BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling BAMF! falling falling falling the government puts a new lock in place.