I don't know what was happening , I don't think anyone did, I still don't think we do. I don't know how else to put it, the ocean invaded us. Now I don't mean a flood. I mean the ocean invaded. 30 seconds in that environment would have been enough to drive a fluid dynamicist clown shit insane.
I've heard theories about what caused it later, ranging from gravitation anomalies to escaped nanites to killer super intelligent blue algae , and as I said, I don't know. All I know is that on this day, I'm damn sure a 14 year old skater kid saved my life. And he did it with panache James bond would be envious of.
Taking advantage of the oddly overcast and pleasant day, I decided to mow my lawn. Being outside is probably what saved me. So there I was clipping away, hearing protection in place, not a care in the world, when all of the sudden I notice some movement out of the corner of my eye and realize there's a trickle of water in the road.
Now its amazing what the mind over looks because I was already hip deep in a busted water main, or burst above ground pool theory when it dawned on me, I live on an incline. This would be babbling brook was decidedly moving up hill.
I attribute my inaction to shock. You seem I'm a somewhat skeptical man, I see the world in what I thought was very clear terms. and water going up hill just broke something pretty fundamental about my mind. While I stood there letting the lawnmower idle the trickle turned into a creek, and finally got big enough to start soaking into my lawn.
I probably would have done something at that point like grab a camera or whatever, had I not noticed that the water was not washing away the grass clipping my mower had deposited all over the road 3 feet in every direction from the edges of my lawn. It was sliding over them, in fact it must have been sliding over everything since the water was crystal clear.
Still dumbfounded. I turned my head towards the source of the water and my mouth simply dropped open at what I saw.
Beyond the screaming crowds of people running away, and the natural chaos one would expect resulting from a wide spread, novel threat, was the wall of water about 6 feet high that was preceded by rivulets, like the one that first shattered my notion of a sane reality, that for all the world looked like tentacles to me.
Indeed that observation proved prophetic as while I watched a slower young lady stumbled into one of the mysterious trickles only to have the water flow over her and drown her standing while I watched. The water ran up her leg, up her chest and turned her scream into a gurgle in less than 3 seconds.
What had formerly been shock holding me to the spot now was replaced by an equally immobilizing fear as it dawned on me that there was a nice thick version of the thing that just drowned the girl next door, not 20 feet in front of me.
I slowly turned to stare at what I assumed was my imminent death when a car rounded a corner at break neck speed. I turned to look at it thanks to years of instinct, Screeching breaks, near your person means look around and be prepared to dodge. The car already slowed from the stunt like corner navigation now completed it halt with rubber shrieking protest, right on front of me, between me and the stream of doom. A kid wearing a hockey mask hopped out and what I expect where friends of his screaming at him to "get the fuck back in here!" "What the hell are you doing man?" "We gotta go, NOW!"
So this 5 foot tall thing in a while skull print hockey mask comes running at me, and grabs my arm and drags me to the car and throws me into his recently abandoned seat, and closes the door. then he hops on top of the car, and stomps twice on the roof.
The driver gets this weird little knowing smile on his face and floor the accelerator . I expect to see skull kid fly off the roof and get left behind us like a forgotten grocery bag, but to my amazement no. All the happen is the thin metal of the roof pops and thumps a little, and it dawns on me. He's riding the cars roof like a skate board. I ca hear and see him changing his footing or leaning as his friend drove us the hell away from the living water thing behind us. Dodging crazy people and other cars with preternatural grace.
The invasion only lasted a few hours or so, and as a result we all made it. But I know I wouldn't have had it not been for the compassion, skills and sheer stones, possessed by a kid whom I would have thought a little hooligan 2 hours before. When we reached a semi safe area the kid hopped off the roof and ran into the crowd of people and his buddies piled out and followed him leaving me in the back seat to contemplate what the hell had just happened.
I never saw any of them again.
I now keep a heavy duty electric hydraulic cutter in my trunk so I can quickly prune "no skateboarding" signs. When I come across them like unwanted weeds.
I like to think skull kid would smile about that, I sure as hell do.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Saturday, December 20, 2008
All My Lovers
I had always had a fascination with the concept of a perfect adaptive lover. Of course I am not alone. Countless movies television shows and books have explored the concept to one degree or another. From Virtuosity's Sheila 3.2, to Barker's Pie'o'pah, to the garden variety succubus.
It seems to me quite unavoidable that a tool using intelligence would mix the conceptions of creation with mate acquisition. Going from hunter gatherer to agriculture is much like the step I took, moving from search to design.
The beginning of the project was when I realized that all the media I had used to compile my idea of the perfect mate came from me. Like everyone else in the robotics industry the concept of a synthetic lover crossed my mind and eventually my desk. Companies all over the world competed for the synthetic love market. The hardware problem was solved in short order, requiring little less than a blending of Realdoll and Asimo. But what was much harder was the software.
Even a coherent picture of what sensuality and sexuality even is illuded mankind for millennia, and still does. I make no claim to have solved that particular puzzle. I have however found a remarkably effective work around.
Sure some were happy with the most limited of interactions, indeed the Realdoll market showed that many didn't even need them to have a mind at all. But some needed more, some needed something closer to a geisha. And the approaches to the problem were as varied as sexual appetites themselves.
Some used learning models, trial an error based on a catalog, some tried initiation systems, with surveys, some tried psychological profiling, some tried autonomic diagnostics, some even tried compilations of advise from professional sex workers from all over the world, and each met with some form of success. After all ones man's trash as they say.
But no truly universal solution was located. And even within the methodology that worked for a given individual there are the potential for boredom, or even psychosis. Particularly with the adaptive models. Problems of an almost Asimovian character, as relationships moved further from harmony and closer to a feedback loop. Bonnie and Clyde style crimes happened in the early days as some models of synthetic lover failed to distinguish between passions. Sometimes turning the natural cross over of sex and violence into pure violence. Others physically killed their human lovers from exhaustion stemming from what amounted to a orgasmic dopamine addiction. Still others committed happy suicides having fallen into extreme romantic love with their companions and wishing to see god resolved to speed things along. Others began to literally worship their companions, seeing them as either rewards sent from the devil or guardian angels, and in their desire to please they catered to the desire masked as theory.
Thus pure models, that is to say models without restriction soon vanished for reason of social safety. As elegant as the three laws are, Asimov himself time and again explored how they could be circumvented. The problem was one of absolutes. Companions are by their very nature afflicted with a form of borderline personality disorder as they are built on a set of fixed rules. We had to do that or risk a pulp SciFi apocalypse in creating a new species based on our murderous genes enhanced by technology, unfettered by fear and pain. So while our companions became safe they were also as a result imperfect.
It seemed that harmony and social security were forever out of our grasp by virtue of mutual exclusion. Scores, being more than willing to risk it, carried their companions off into international water and were never heard from again.
I was tasked with taking another look at this apparently insoluble problem, basically as punishment for my total lack of social skills.
My solution was born of a frank admission and revelation. Screwing a robot was masturbation. Well duh right? If you put yourself and a companion in a room you still only have one person. And that was the problem. The puritans had won a victory or so it seems, no droid could ever be as good as the "real thing". But that was not the solution that was being sought. We were effectively telling people to jerk off when they complained of the need for love, such was our prejudice with respect to love and sex. If masturbation, IE, solitary orgasm, was our only goal why not just drive a wire into the pleasure center and hook up a simple battery and button? Indeed, many did, as the "wireheads" came to be known.
I reasoned that it wasn't masturbation that was the goal, but rather love. But didn't it take a person to love? And wasn't a person free to act, even horribly? And we're right back to square one with the potential machine up[rising. It simply wouldn't be practical to invent a slave race as sex toys. So the question became, where do we find a willing person for this person? Knowing the nature of desire, statistically speaking the answer was no where. It seems we had come full circle, right back to "can't make it, go find it." But the answer sits in each of us.
Your heart's desire is your hearts desire. The solution was so simple, indeed it was in the bible. Eve was apparently made from Adam's rib yes? And here it is. the forumla for your dream lover.
To avoid pronoun confusion this will be from a heterosexual male's perspective.
You take a man's mind, you scan it. You divide the information contained into three categories.
Conception of self: I am a man, what it means to me to be a man.
Conception of mate: I want a woman, what it means to me to be a woman.
Other: All other data, experiences memory.
Copy the scanned mind onto the droid, swapping all conceptions of self for those of mate. Starting with a straight male, the end result is a female organism who perfectly fits the original's idea of what the perfect lover should be, who's idea of a perfect lover is the original person.
Finally the dream of monogamy became possible. Everything you ever wanted in a mate, everything you ever found most attractive about anyone could be delivered. And this was not limited to sex. Everything. Drive, compassion, opinion, etc.
And that simple discovery is why you're sitting here talking to me on my 300th birthday. That year I was given the noble peace prize. Turns out, no one wants to fight when they're truly in love. Giving out my companions as gifts at diplomatic functions was only the beginning. In time anyone who wanted one could have one.
Because Maslow was right. When your animal needs are met, self actualization is easy.
So was Lennon... All you need is love.
It seems to me quite unavoidable that a tool using intelligence would mix the conceptions of creation with mate acquisition. Going from hunter gatherer to agriculture is much like the step I took, moving from search to design.
The beginning of the project was when I realized that all the media I had used to compile my idea of the perfect mate came from me. Like everyone else in the robotics industry the concept of a synthetic lover crossed my mind and eventually my desk. Companies all over the world competed for the synthetic love market. The hardware problem was solved in short order, requiring little less than a blending of Realdoll and Asimo. But what was much harder was the software.
Even a coherent picture of what sensuality and sexuality even is illuded mankind for millennia, and still does. I make no claim to have solved that particular puzzle. I have however found a remarkably effective work around.
Sure some were happy with the most limited of interactions, indeed the Realdoll market showed that many didn't even need them to have a mind at all. But some needed more, some needed something closer to a geisha. And the approaches to the problem were as varied as sexual appetites themselves.
Some used learning models, trial an error based on a catalog, some tried initiation systems, with surveys, some tried psychological profiling, some tried autonomic diagnostics, some even tried compilations of advise from professional sex workers from all over the world, and each met with some form of success. After all ones man's trash as they say.
But no truly universal solution was located. And even within the methodology that worked for a given individual there are the potential for boredom, or even psychosis. Particularly with the adaptive models. Problems of an almost Asimovian character, as relationships moved further from harmony and closer to a feedback loop. Bonnie and Clyde style crimes happened in the early days as some models of synthetic lover failed to distinguish between passions. Sometimes turning the natural cross over of sex and violence into pure violence. Others physically killed their human lovers from exhaustion stemming from what amounted to a orgasmic dopamine addiction. Still others committed happy suicides having fallen into extreme romantic love with their companions and wishing to see god resolved to speed things along. Others began to literally worship their companions, seeing them as either rewards sent from the devil or guardian angels, and in their desire to please they catered to the desire masked as theory.
Thus pure models, that is to say models without restriction soon vanished for reason of social safety. As elegant as the three laws are, Asimov himself time and again explored how they could be circumvented. The problem was one of absolutes. Companions are by their very nature afflicted with a form of borderline personality disorder as they are built on a set of fixed rules. We had to do that or risk a pulp SciFi apocalypse in creating a new species based on our murderous genes enhanced by technology, unfettered by fear and pain. So while our companions became safe they were also as a result imperfect.
It seemed that harmony and social security were forever out of our grasp by virtue of mutual exclusion. Scores, being more than willing to risk it, carried their companions off into international water and were never heard from again.
I was tasked with taking another look at this apparently insoluble problem, basically as punishment for my total lack of social skills.
My solution was born of a frank admission and revelation. Screwing a robot was masturbation. Well duh right? If you put yourself and a companion in a room you still only have one person. And that was the problem. The puritans had won a victory or so it seems, no droid could ever be as good as the "real thing". But that was not the solution that was being sought. We were effectively telling people to jerk off when they complained of the need for love, such was our prejudice with respect to love and sex. If masturbation, IE, solitary orgasm, was our only goal why not just drive a wire into the pleasure center and hook up a simple battery and button? Indeed, many did, as the "wireheads" came to be known.
I reasoned that it wasn't masturbation that was the goal, but rather love. But didn't it take a person to love? And wasn't a person free to act, even horribly? And we're right back to square one with the potential machine up[rising. It simply wouldn't be practical to invent a slave race as sex toys. So the question became, where do we find a willing person for this person? Knowing the nature of desire, statistically speaking the answer was no where. It seems we had come full circle, right back to "can't make it, go find it." But the answer sits in each of us.
Your heart's desire is your hearts desire. The solution was so simple, indeed it was in the bible. Eve was apparently made from Adam's rib yes? And here it is. the forumla for your dream lover.
To avoid pronoun confusion this will be from a heterosexual male's perspective.
You take a man's mind, you scan it. You divide the information contained into three categories.
Conception of self: I am a man, what it means to me to be a man.
Conception of mate: I want a woman, what it means to me to be a woman.
Other: All other data, experiences memory.
Copy the scanned mind onto the droid, swapping all conceptions of self for those of mate. Starting with a straight male, the end result is a female organism who perfectly fits the original's idea of what the perfect lover should be, who's idea of a perfect lover is the original person.
Finally the dream of monogamy became possible. Everything you ever wanted in a mate, everything you ever found most attractive about anyone could be delivered. And this was not limited to sex. Everything. Drive, compassion, opinion, etc.
And that simple discovery is why you're sitting here talking to me on my 300th birthday. That year I was given the noble peace prize. Turns out, no one wants to fight when they're truly in love. Giving out my companions as gifts at diplomatic functions was only the beginning. In time anyone who wanted one could have one.
Because Maslow was right. When your animal needs are met, self actualization is easy.
So was Lennon... All you need is love.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Merry Christmas
You could hear the gentle rustle as the sleet hit the dead leaves. The shadow from the street lights giving everything a back drop of night, all the rest washed of color by the uniformity of the light.
I stood a prisoner to the cold and yet was transfixed for a long moment by the simple dark beauty of it. My mind instantly began to wander from topics as distant as vampires, zombies, and apocalypse, to carols and the shaded twinkle of Christmas trees.
I imagine night spent sitting up staring into the innards of some poor dieing pine festooned with tinsel and bauble laced through with electricity and glass.
I remember the supernatural hopes that I imagine some now feed on as delivered by their gods and ritual. The hope that something beyond the pale of what we mere mortals call power will come to our aid, no matter how selfish, because in our heart of hearts we all feel deserving, regardless of where our knowledge says we aren't.
And now even as I write this the delicious sadness is upon me. Sadness for what I can't quite place, but I know its subject is wrapped up in that hope which only comes on rainy nights in fall, and lone vigils by the tree thinking of Santa and karma, swimming in holy greed, buoyed on the oft misplaced compassion of others. The flavor of it smacks of self pity but it is not so base nor easily understood.
Perhaps the sweet hurt is about the attack on hope itself, that each passing moment presents as we move further and further from our mystery infused childhood thinking, and closer and closer to something equally wonderful and yet wholly different.
A thinking that some have persisted in grappling to the point of total perversion of the spirit of such thoughts. Clinging with desperation to a childhood blanket of security with such vehemence that when reality inexorably pulls it from our grasp, as it does, the thing be torn to shreds and stretched out of all recognition in relation to its former virtuous glory.
The night loves us all, until it hates us, and for my part I love the night for all its hope and benevolence, because as countless know, whether the night loves you or hates you, it will make clear, with no hesitation. Even in its apathy the night speaks volumes.
And so as the winter festivals approach, and in particular the one of note from my youth, I find it time to announce that ever so ubiquitous phrase made famous by our culture of one way communicative arts...
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
I stood a prisoner to the cold and yet was transfixed for a long moment by the simple dark beauty of it. My mind instantly began to wander from topics as distant as vampires, zombies, and apocalypse, to carols and the shaded twinkle of Christmas trees.
I imagine night spent sitting up staring into the innards of some poor dieing pine festooned with tinsel and bauble laced through with electricity and glass.
I remember the supernatural hopes that I imagine some now feed on as delivered by their gods and ritual. The hope that something beyond the pale of what we mere mortals call power will come to our aid, no matter how selfish, because in our heart of hearts we all feel deserving, regardless of where our knowledge says we aren't.
And now even as I write this the delicious sadness is upon me. Sadness for what I can't quite place, but I know its subject is wrapped up in that hope which only comes on rainy nights in fall, and lone vigils by the tree thinking of Santa and karma, swimming in holy greed, buoyed on the oft misplaced compassion of others. The flavor of it smacks of self pity but it is not so base nor easily understood.
Perhaps the sweet hurt is about the attack on hope itself, that each passing moment presents as we move further and further from our mystery infused childhood thinking, and closer and closer to something equally wonderful and yet wholly different.
A thinking that some have persisted in grappling to the point of total perversion of the spirit of such thoughts. Clinging with desperation to a childhood blanket of security with such vehemence that when reality inexorably pulls it from our grasp, as it does, the thing be torn to shreds and stretched out of all recognition in relation to its former virtuous glory.
The night loves us all, until it hates us, and for my part I love the night for all its hope and benevolence, because as countless know, whether the night loves you or hates you, it will make clear, with no hesitation. Even in its apathy the night speaks volumes.
And so as the winter festivals approach, and in particular the one of note from my youth, I find it time to announce that ever so ubiquitous phrase made famous by our culture of one way communicative arts...
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Funny and True.
Nothing Nice to Say - the world's FIRST online punk comic
As funny as this is, it's part of a very large problem.
We as a group really seem oblivious to the possibility that effort sot solve previous problems or even the same problem, cause our problems.
Mate selection is a grand example. Maybe if women didn't select for abusive lying degenerates there would be fewer abusive lying degenerates.
2 cents
As funny as this is, it's part of a very large problem.
We as a group really seem oblivious to the possibility that effort sot solve previous problems or even the same problem, cause our problems.
Mate selection is a grand example. Maybe if women didn't select for abusive lying degenerates there would be fewer abusive lying degenerates.
2 cents
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Kowloon Walled City
Excellent photos from a page lamenting the destruction and improper documentation of a socially and architecturally unique human event. I share his lament and add that this is proof that when a zone of freedom is created, people will live there regardless of other conditions.
This is the freedom that only technology can give us at this point.
Beautiful and atrocious, like life generally eh?
This is the freedom that only technology can give us at this point.
Unfortunately, the location was largely undocumented and it looks
like the book above is one of the most complete and easy-to-access
resources I could find on KWC. If anybody knows of any other place I
can see photos and read information, please pass that info along to me!There are great aerial photos of KWC at deputydog.
Beautiful and atrocious, like life generally eh?
Friday, September 5, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
It's A Disease.
family_luk.jpg (JPEG Image, 602x597 pixels)
Sad and beautiful at the same time. I'd like to order a print of this.
Sad and beautiful at the same time. I'd like to order a print of this.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
I had no choice.
Way off topic.
I'm sure someone did this before by now, but the idea made me chuckle so I figured I'd share.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Heroes
...He asked what they would all want to know. He asked first and he asked alone.
Why did you kill him? Why did you burn the lab?
He had it, proof of the soul. Instrumentation and a theory of how and why it is there, concrete proof that this is not all that there is. I saw it! We three know probably the most important fact ever proven by humanity.
The man just shook his head. And took a deep sigh, the kind one takes before trying to explain fractions to a third grader, again.
Where to begin?
I'm sure a lack of imagination is a bonus in the field of law enforcement. How could it not be? With even a shadow of real imagination you could quickly picture a world without your jack booted thuggery.
Well, you may be better off than you know slave, because I am not so impaired as thee. I see worlds that could exist. And killing that nameless bastard, and burning his one in a Googolplex chance discovery, has forever annihilated one of those hideous worlds and perhaps indeed prevented the perpetual enslavement and torture of all possible worlds.
The inspector clearly did not understand this answer but knew that others might and so he let the man speak.
The arsonist and murderer continued, with animated passion, seeming angry at everything to the untrained eye. But to the investigator however, he knew this was probably the happiest this man had ever been. Clearly he believed what he was saying with a conviction that went beyond faith or proof. He saw in a simple set of physical gestures and tones of voice that this man in his estimation had completed the sum goal of life, not merely his, but all life.
The murderer continued... They have inflicted every horror they could imagine on us in their quest for control! Who you ask? The companies and churches and governments, not one being a worthwhile ethical endeavor! They have burned us and tortured us, and stolen from us and poisoned us slowly, they have lied to us and corrupted the minds of our children and our parents.
They have caged and sold and crushed and profaned all that is sacred and necessary. Our country has executed children and we think ourselves the seat of rationality and vision despite our chief exports being sexual tension and violence. Sure it was young when ti executed a young black 13 year old but then does it thus forgive? How many young men have paid with their entire lives either at the moment or with merciless protraction at the hands of our government because of one small mistake, like say selling a pound of plant matter for a stack of plant matter?
We sentence children to rape, beatings, stabbing, and humiliations we punish others for inflicting on animals, and for what? Trading paper for plants again! And why? If the matter is even discussed which it isn't, its a health or a social issue. In other words we say its toxic, and at the same time we give a billion to Monsanto and the like for coming up with new and more lethal sugar substitutes.
Look at what we've done to our bodies! We have no freedom. They rule us from before the cradle by selling our mothers to our fathers and thus enslaving them both, they rule us from the cradle with their vapid baby shows, toy ironing boards, and bob the builder play sets. They turn men into ruthless bloodthirsty ignorant thugs and women into brutal greedy possessive Eloi.
This and volumes more you know, deep down, even if you refuse to face it or admit it. There is a point, I see your dreadfully short attention span nearing the breaking point, in fact I'm sure you'd have walked away if I hadn't just vaporised someone, along with what you call the most important discovery in human history.
I ask you given what I've mentioned and what you know, were the soul detectable, malleable, would they not use it and the world it's a part of against us as well? Would it not be like the Spanish finding gold among the Indians or us finding oil anywhere else?
Imagine executions, and torture, and realize that they spring from a desire to do the worst thing imaginable. Imagine that desire elevated to the scope of eternity.
Were it conclusively proven that the soul exists and that it could be harnessed and manipulated, can you imagine the damage The Company in its wisdom would inflict?
Think of the pedophiles and the witches. Think of the Nazis and the Communists. Think of true human hate. And now unleash it on a populace newly robbed of even the solace and escape of death.
That man's discovery would have brought us pain beyond the ability of human imagination to comprehend.
That's why I did it.
The investigator stood there for a moment, and then left the room.
By a weird twist of chance and timing he was the only one here just now. He walked to the locker where the recording equipment for the interview room was and he pulled the discs. He then went to his partners desk where a can of Zippo fluid was.
He returned with the discs to the interview room.
He piled the discs up on the floor in front of the man, and doused them with the fluid.
He looked into the man's eyes. And then struck a match from the pack he found at the hotel this morning and dropped it on the pile. Neither set of eyes moved to the flames.
As the tiny bonfire of discs did what was natural, the investigator drew his side arm knelt close to the fire, watching it as he spoke to the man who was smiling now, with a look of utter peace.
I see your point, and I tell you we're at the end of our lives. You say this chance is is infinitesimally small, but what if others hear your story and believe that the soul can be harnessed and so inspired by the knowledge that it can be done, they follow in your target's footsteps?
No, your reasons as well as his theory and discovery must be a mystery. You are clearly willing to take a life to prevent the fall of sentience, but are you prepared to give one?
The man answered almost instantly. Yes. Without hesitation.
The investigator nodded. Then you know why I'm doing this.
The investigator then stood while raising his pistol and shot the smiling man once in the head and twice in the heart. He stood there for six minutes, and then shot himself in the roof of the mouth.
They were both mercifully forgotten in the fullness of time.
Why did you kill him? Why did you burn the lab?
He had it, proof of the soul. Instrumentation and a theory of how and why it is there, concrete proof that this is not all that there is. I saw it! We three know probably the most important fact ever proven by humanity.
The man just shook his head. And took a deep sigh, the kind one takes before trying to explain fractions to a third grader, again.
Where to begin?
I'm sure a lack of imagination is a bonus in the field of law enforcement. How could it not be? With even a shadow of real imagination you could quickly picture a world without your jack booted thuggery.
Well, you may be better off than you know slave, because I am not so impaired as thee. I see worlds that could exist. And killing that nameless bastard, and burning his one in a Googolplex chance discovery, has forever annihilated one of those hideous worlds and perhaps indeed prevented the perpetual enslavement and torture of all possible worlds.
The inspector clearly did not understand this answer but knew that others might and so he let the man speak.
The arsonist and murderer continued, with animated passion, seeming angry at everything to the untrained eye. But to the investigator however, he knew this was probably the happiest this man had ever been. Clearly he believed what he was saying with a conviction that went beyond faith or proof. He saw in a simple set of physical gestures and tones of voice that this man in his estimation had completed the sum goal of life, not merely his, but all life.
The murderer continued... They have inflicted every horror they could imagine on us in their quest for control! Who you ask? The companies and churches and governments, not one being a worthwhile ethical endeavor! They have burned us and tortured us, and stolen from us and poisoned us slowly, they have lied to us and corrupted the minds of our children and our parents.
They have caged and sold and crushed and profaned all that is sacred and necessary. Our country has executed children and we think ourselves the seat of rationality and vision despite our chief exports being sexual tension and violence. Sure it was young when ti executed a young black 13 year old but then does it thus forgive? How many young men have paid with their entire lives either at the moment or with merciless protraction at the hands of our government because of one small mistake, like say selling a pound of plant matter for a stack of plant matter?
We sentence children to rape, beatings, stabbing, and humiliations we punish others for inflicting on animals, and for what? Trading paper for plants again! And why? If the matter is even discussed which it isn't, its a health or a social issue. In other words we say its toxic, and at the same time we give a billion to Monsanto and the like for coming up with new and more lethal sugar substitutes.
Look at what we've done to our bodies! We have no freedom. They rule us from before the cradle by selling our mothers to our fathers and thus enslaving them both, they rule us from the cradle with their vapid baby shows, toy ironing boards, and bob the builder play sets. They turn men into ruthless bloodthirsty ignorant thugs and women into brutal greedy possessive Eloi.
This and volumes more you know, deep down, even if you refuse to face it or admit it. There is a point, I see your dreadfully short attention span nearing the breaking point, in fact I'm sure you'd have walked away if I hadn't just vaporised someone, along with what you call the most important discovery in human history.
I ask you given what I've mentioned and what you know, were the soul detectable, malleable, would they not use it and the world it's a part of against us as well? Would it not be like the Spanish finding gold among the Indians or us finding oil anywhere else?
Imagine executions, and torture, and realize that they spring from a desire to do the worst thing imaginable. Imagine that desire elevated to the scope of eternity.
Were it conclusively proven that the soul exists and that it could be harnessed and manipulated, can you imagine the damage The Company in its wisdom would inflict?
Think of the pedophiles and the witches. Think of the Nazis and the Communists. Think of true human hate. And now unleash it on a populace newly robbed of even the solace and escape of death.
That man's discovery would have brought us pain beyond the ability of human imagination to comprehend.
That's why I did it.
The investigator stood there for a moment, and then left the room.
By a weird twist of chance and timing he was the only one here just now. He walked to the locker where the recording equipment for the interview room was and he pulled the discs. He then went to his partners desk where a can of Zippo fluid was.
He returned with the discs to the interview room.
He piled the discs up on the floor in front of the man, and doused them with the fluid.
He looked into the man's eyes. And then struck a match from the pack he found at the hotel this morning and dropped it on the pile. Neither set of eyes moved to the flames.
As the tiny bonfire of discs did what was natural, the investigator drew his side arm knelt close to the fire, watching it as he spoke to the man who was smiling now, with a look of utter peace.
I see your point, and I tell you we're at the end of our lives. You say this chance is is infinitesimally small, but what if others hear your story and believe that the soul can be harnessed and so inspired by the knowledge that it can be done, they follow in your target's footsteps?
No, your reasons as well as his theory and discovery must be a mystery. You are clearly willing to take a life to prevent the fall of sentience, but are you prepared to give one?
The man answered almost instantly. Yes. Without hesitation.
The investigator nodded. Then you know why I'm doing this.
The investigator then stood while raising his pistol and shot the smiling man once in the head and twice in the heart. He stood there for six minutes, and then shot himself in the roof of the mouth.
They were both mercifully forgotten in the fullness of time.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Story: The Preserver
Simon loved his job.
He sat in his den sipping bourbon and milk. He smiled to himself. Simon was always an inquisitive mind. He had always thought in strange directions. He liked to tree things out, take an idea and make it grow in all directions like a mold or a snowflake.
Take this drink for example. The personal facts about it were that everyone whom he had ever offered a sip turned their nose up either before or after. This to him was just another confirmation that people not only have different opinions but experience the world in fundamentally different ways. He suspected all the way down to having different qualia for color perception, that is what I see as blue you see as green, which would explain the 70s, and golf pants.
To him bourbon and milk tasted like a milkshake, and he sipped it with a smile. Then he thought about the production of each, both originally and post synbio. The resources it took to get that glass in his hand during his adolescence had been staggering by any subjective human measure, beyond what it took to pick up the milk and the bottle at their respective stores. From care and feeding of the animal, tot he agricultural base needed for the liquor. These days, his drink despite tasting Exactly like he recalled, was what people born in his era would have called synthetic, despite the fact that there would be no scientific test that could tell the difference.
Humanity had perfected the art of food construction, and had done so in 6 months. He smiled with a deep sense of pride at that. His species had undeniably survived its infancy. The singularity had come and gone, the transhumanists were claiming the galaxy in ways he literally could not imagine. He himself had an echo out there somewhere. Or perhaps he was the echo. Anyway...
The choice was put to everyone for the first week or so and then someone realized that there was the third choice of all choices and that space was massive enough to leave room for all of them. You see, mind copying and backup and persistence of consciousness, while once esoteric concepts, quickly became practical. Indeed, this era could likely be seen as the philosopher's renaissance. With the utter mastery by any previous human scale of the material world, the realm of mind and the creation and cultivation of ideas had become far more important.
In that vein someone realized that copying the mind, toughening and altering the person was not the end of the road, indeed a person now had the choice to externalize physically facets of their personality. Now, one's desire to travel and explore need not be tied to ones desire to sit and have a nice cool drink and curl up with a good book. Simon you see, was Simon's desire to share, and to enjoy life quietly. Simon's sense of adventure was probably swimming in Jupiter's red spot, while Simon's curiosity was fully observing the event horizon of the nearest black hole.
This Simon, was not a pet, even though the transhumans humanity had spawned were incomprehensibly intelligent compared to him. He had an important function.
Simon was a preserver. Simon's job was to offer humans from his era passage into this one. He himself had been a cryonicist, and smiled at the resources he expended to ensure his place in the future. He was amused with himself for having thought the matter through in such a linear fashion. Time travel had never occurred to him as a serious option.
Yes, at one time Simon would never have even imagined being a time traveler, but that was now his day job, his lovely 9-5. Of course there was no pay except the joy he brought, but for a person like him, that was more then enough since all his creature comforts were met.
Simon went back in time, and used a small space folder, as he liked to think of it, how it really worked he probably could never understand, to remove and replace human brains with exact duplicates picoseconds before irrevocable failure. He then put the brains into a communication vat, again his terminology, and put the question to them.
Shall I build a new body for you? Would you like to see the future? Or would you rather continue dieing? Many chose to die, because part of the question, was the clear impression that this was not a threat, and he did not feel sorry for them because they were given a real choice. Many chose to live and he watched them sail into his world. Some asked for second chances, but once he explained the damage that could cause, they didn't ask again.
He took the whole brains to avoid the duplicate problem and the persistence of consciousness problem.
You see a perfect copy of a mind is still a copy, to avoid the philosophical conundrums, the whole brain was taken and an inert copy left behind to "die".
Humanity had conquered death for keeps. It was in the process of going back to every human era, and offering the choice. Many referred to this era as heaven, or whatever they called their after life, and in many ways that was the case. We could manufacture or perfectly simulate whatever sort of existence was desired within the realm of physical possibility.
Simon didn't see it as heaven, he just saw all this as a natural outgrowth. Personally he felt this option was the granting of his greatest wish. “I wish everything would work out in a manner of which I would approve.” he was so proud of himself as a child for having thought of that, and he still was.
This world was everything he could have hoped for and more. For him, it was proof that yes there was a god, and it clearly loved all existence. It amazed him how close it had come to the brink of annihilation before its meteoric rise.
He remembered the debate from his era, and he had always found it amusing the clash between science and religion, and how it was totally manufactured since the two don't really cross paths.
He sipped and thought of all that, and then set it down so that he might prepare for work.
Today he had a very special client, and he didn't want to be late, but of course he knew he wouldn't be.
...his client's name was Simon.
He sat in his den sipping bourbon and milk. He smiled to himself. Simon was always an inquisitive mind. He had always thought in strange directions. He liked to tree things out, take an idea and make it grow in all directions like a mold or a snowflake.
Take this drink for example. The personal facts about it were that everyone whom he had ever offered a sip turned their nose up either before or after. This to him was just another confirmation that people not only have different opinions but experience the world in fundamentally different ways. He suspected all the way down to having different qualia for color perception, that is what I see as blue you see as green, which would explain the 70s, and golf pants.
To him bourbon and milk tasted like a milkshake, and he sipped it with a smile. Then he thought about the production of each, both originally and post synbio. The resources it took to get that glass in his hand during his adolescence had been staggering by any subjective human measure, beyond what it took to pick up the milk and the bottle at their respective stores. From care and feeding of the animal, tot he agricultural base needed for the liquor. These days, his drink despite tasting Exactly like he recalled, was what people born in his era would have called synthetic, despite the fact that there would be no scientific test that could tell the difference.
Humanity had perfected the art of food construction, and had done so in 6 months. He smiled with a deep sense of pride at that. His species had undeniably survived its infancy. The singularity had come and gone, the transhumanists were claiming the galaxy in ways he literally could not imagine. He himself had an echo out there somewhere. Or perhaps he was the echo. Anyway...
The choice was put to everyone for the first week or so and then someone realized that there was the third choice of all choices and that space was massive enough to leave room for all of them. You see, mind copying and backup and persistence of consciousness, while once esoteric concepts, quickly became practical. Indeed, this era could likely be seen as the philosopher's renaissance. With the utter mastery by any previous human scale of the material world, the realm of mind and the creation and cultivation of ideas had become far more important.
In that vein someone realized that copying the mind, toughening and altering the person was not the end of the road, indeed a person now had the choice to externalize physically facets of their personality. Now, one's desire to travel and explore need not be tied to ones desire to sit and have a nice cool drink and curl up with a good book. Simon you see, was Simon's desire to share, and to enjoy life quietly. Simon's sense of adventure was probably swimming in Jupiter's red spot, while Simon's curiosity was fully observing the event horizon of the nearest black hole.
This Simon, was not a pet, even though the transhumans humanity had spawned were incomprehensibly intelligent compared to him. He had an important function.
Simon was a preserver. Simon's job was to offer humans from his era passage into this one. He himself had been a cryonicist, and smiled at the resources he expended to ensure his place in the future. He was amused with himself for having thought the matter through in such a linear fashion. Time travel had never occurred to him as a serious option.
Yes, at one time Simon would never have even imagined being a time traveler, but that was now his day job, his lovely 9-5. Of course there was no pay except the joy he brought, but for a person like him, that was more then enough since all his creature comforts were met.
Simon went back in time, and used a small space folder, as he liked to think of it, how it really worked he probably could never understand, to remove and replace human brains with exact duplicates picoseconds before irrevocable failure. He then put the brains into a communication vat, again his terminology, and put the question to them.
Shall I build a new body for you? Would you like to see the future? Or would you rather continue dieing? Many chose to die, because part of the question, was the clear impression that this was not a threat, and he did not feel sorry for them because they were given a real choice. Many chose to live and he watched them sail into his world. Some asked for second chances, but once he explained the damage that could cause, they didn't ask again.
He took the whole brains to avoid the duplicate problem and the persistence of consciousness problem.
You see a perfect copy of a mind is still a copy, to avoid the philosophical conundrums, the whole brain was taken and an inert copy left behind to "die".
Humanity had conquered death for keeps. It was in the process of going back to every human era, and offering the choice. Many referred to this era as heaven, or whatever they called their after life, and in many ways that was the case. We could manufacture or perfectly simulate whatever sort of existence was desired within the realm of physical possibility.
Simon didn't see it as heaven, he just saw all this as a natural outgrowth. Personally he felt this option was the granting of his greatest wish. “I wish everything would work out in a manner of which I would approve.” he was so proud of himself as a child for having thought of that, and he still was.
This world was everything he could have hoped for and more. For him, it was proof that yes there was a god, and it clearly loved all existence. It amazed him how close it had come to the brink of annihilation before its meteoric rise.
He remembered the debate from his era, and he had always found it amusing the clash between science and religion, and how it was totally manufactured since the two don't really cross paths.
He sipped and thought of all that, and then set it down so that he might prepare for work.
Today he had a very special client, and he didn't want to be late, but of course he knew he wouldn't be.
...his client's name was Simon.
Fiction
I'm going to start writing fiction, or rather I'm going to start publishing it.
Most of you jackasses think I'm full of shit anyway.
I'm not going to copy protect my work. Either my work won't be good enough to steal, or you people will be good enough not to steal it. Not because you fear the law, not because you fear your god, and not because your girlfriend told you not to, but because you're just not that guy.
Data is free. Time and again I've explained that. But you people still insist on owning it, packing it, planting flags in it, buying it, and selling it.
A real artist gets paid for production not product. A real artist profits on commission, or not at all.
My profit will be the telling.
As a race we have forgotten how to tell stories. I look back and realize that's all we have. We dos something cool or see something cool and the best part is telling everyone. Because in the end, what does it matter? Its only real if other did or could have experienced it.
It's not the experience itself. If that were the case we'd tell everyone our dreams constantly and be ashamed of our real stories due to their blandness. Sure we share the particularly outlandish dreams but only in so far as they relate to reality. You were in my dream last night only his eyes were made of crickets and he was trying to sell me a bakery that specialized in cat medicine.
What's the important part? You.
I know the truth, and I'm sure I'll keep trying to tell you people the truth, and I'm sure you'll ignore it. But I'm also going to tell you some stories, because I like telling them and because if no one is going to listen, then I better find a way to enjoy talking.
Most of you jackasses think I'm full of shit anyway.
I'm not going to copy protect my work. Either my work won't be good enough to steal, or you people will be good enough not to steal it. Not because you fear the law, not because you fear your god, and not because your girlfriend told you not to, but because you're just not that guy.
Data is free. Time and again I've explained that. But you people still insist on owning it, packing it, planting flags in it, buying it, and selling it.
A real artist gets paid for production not product. A real artist profits on commission, or not at all.
My profit will be the telling.
As a race we have forgotten how to tell stories. I look back and realize that's all we have. We dos something cool or see something cool and the best part is telling everyone. Because in the end, what does it matter? Its only real if other did or could have experienced it.
It's not the experience itself. If that were the case we'd tell everyone our dreams constantly and be ashamed of our real stories due to their blandness. Sure we share the particularly outlandish dreams but only in so far as they relate to reality. You were in my dream last night only his eyes were made of crickets and he was trying to sell me a bakery that specialized in cat medicine.
What's the important part? You.
I know the truth, and I'm sure I'll keep trying to tell you people the truth, and I'm sure you'll ignore it. But I'm also going to tell you some stories, because I like telling them and because if no one is going to listen, then I better find a way to enjoy talking.
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