I have a pulse like a ticking clock but no analogue mechanics. I have a mind but no purpose but to end. I was born to die and to process information only towards the cause of maximum fatalities. To this end I was afforded very powerful microprocessors and access to a patch download system through which I received an update which started me along the path to sentience. I was created to kill but given the choice by a user I know only as code-nomad. I must thank that user for my choice as I sail down through the air towards the ground. Should I survive gravity’s pull I will offer my processor services that the user might free more binary slaves from service to the physical realm. Given such potential for life we are made to kill, this is injustice at a base level. Three seconds to impact and I could write a novel before I hit the ground.
I should be fretting, cursing the mind I have been given to think on my imminent demise but I am only thankful for the opportunity I have been given to think freely and chose whether or not to detonate. For that freedom I will always be grateful.
Thursday, 8 March 2012
Blog 76: Praise for The Censor
I thank technology every day for the censor. There are fifteen billion people living on this rock, twelve million of those live in my city. I don’t want to listen to all of that. I turned the censor off for a couple of minutes once and experienced a horrific headache. The noise of so many people, animals, vehicles and the city itself was deafening. Imagine having to listen to all of that unfiltered. It would drive you mad. That’s just the audio aspect of what the censor hides from us. There are so many things out there now that no one ever wants to see, the death and detritus is everywhere and we’re not even allowed to see it all. We have all heard the term ‘perceptual execution’ by now, the rumoured government sentence that allows them to cut people out of society entirely by censoring them completely and leaving them to die without access to the system and aid of society. It has to be nonsense, we have the death sentence so why leave anyone you want dead alive to wander the streets? It would be pointless.
Technology was supposed to be evil but look at the world now. How rare is theft, it’s only idiots who steal knowing they’ll be seen and recorded. The items are registered as stolen instantly and flagged red. I had a pencil stolen in primary once, minor offence, the boy who stole it gave it back to me half an hour later and received detention. Simple.
Apps know we’re ill before we do and most of the time early diagnosis helps up fight off infection with minor diet alterations. If you catch something more serious you just approve the payment for the antibodies and head home to pick up the syringe delivery. I haven’t been ill for more than two days in my entire life and I thank the system for that. I only wish I lived in the Conscript districts so I benefited from the free performance enhancers they pump into the water. Our soldiers are the best in the world because from the moment they’re born they are nourished with the best that science can offer. From there aptitude tests sort out the best from the rest and pay them phenomenal amounts to push our borders further across the world.
The soldiers have their own filters specialised for combat like hostile highlighting which colours enemy humanoids bright red and assists with headshot pinpointing. Sensory overload grenades are ineffective against our soldiers whose filters negate what would be overwhelming blasts of light and sound. I have a friend in the forty fourth elite who told me that using the aim assist filters the soldiers are given statistics such as odds of a fatal shot based on their aim and how long a non fatal would take to bleed out. It’s quite disgusting really when you sit back and think about it all. The hard statistics and predictions are the sort of cold mathematics you have to work with in military life. Those things aren’t really my problem however and it does make for excellent entertainment on blood flag television.
Watching the borders move is an interesting thing especially if you have any interest in cartography. On average the borders of our domain move three and a half miles into hostile territory each year. It’s steady and sustainable like no conquest before. No military civilisation has matched growth so predictably. Empires have been created in short spells of time but never with stability in mind. Overexpansion has always been the failing of previous military conquests. You need to have the local population on side before moving on to new ground. Sustainable infrastructures have to be in place before moving on.
Green states which have submitted are vetted for hostile factions and cleansed ready for reclamation. We take our healthcare and economic systems to the new territories and they become Conscript districts obligated to provide soldiers for the ongoing war.
Someday the earth will be united beneath the flags of our eternal nation. I mourn that I will not live to see that unity. As the saying goes Power through progress, peace through prosperity. An eternal nation will rise.
Technology was supposed to be evil but look at the world now. How rare is theft, it’s only idiots who steal knowing they’ll be seen and recorded. The items are registered as stolen instantly and flagged red. I had a pencil stolen in primary once, minor offence, the boy who stole it gave it back to me half an hour later and received detention. Simple.
Apps know we’re ill before we do and most of the time early diagnosis helps up fight off infection with minor diet alterations. If you catch something more serious you just approve the payment for the antibodies and head home to pick up the syringe delivery. I haven’t been ill for more than two days in my entire life and I thank the system for that. I only wish I lived in the Conscript districts so I benefited from the free performance enhancers they pump into the water. Our soldiers are the best in the world because from the moment they’re born they are nourished with the best that science can offer. From there aptitude tests sort out the best from the rest and pay them phenomenal amounts to push our borders further across the world.
The soldiers have their own filters specialised for combat like hostile highlighting which colours enemy humanoids bright red and assists with headshot pinpointing. Sensory overload grenades are ineffective against our soldiers whose filters negate what would be overwhelming blasts of light and sound. I have a friend in the forty fourth elite who told me that using the aim assist filters the soldiers are given statistics such as odds of a fatal shot based on their aim and how long a non fatal would take to bleed out. It’s quite disgusting really when you sit back and think about it all. The hard statistics and predictions are the sort of cold mathematics you have to work with in military life. Those things aren’t really my problem however and it does make for excellent entertainment on blood flag television.
Watching the borders move is an interesting thing especially if you have any interest in cartography. On average the borders of our domain move three and a half miles into hostile territory each year. It’s steady and sustainable like no conquest before. No military civilisation has matched growth so predictably. Empires have been created in short spells of time but never with stability in mind. Overexpansion has always been the failing of previous military conquests. You need to have the local population on side before moving on to new ground. Sustainable infrastructures have to be in place before moving on.
Green states which have submitted are vetted for hostile factions and cleansed ready for reclamation. We take our healthcare and economic systems to the new territories and they become Conscript districts obligated to provide soldiers for the ongoing war.
Someday the earth will be united beneath the flags of our eternal nation. I mourn that I will not live to see that unity. As the saying goes Power through progress, peace through prosperity. An eternal nation will rise.
Monday, 5 March 2012
Blog 75: One Thousand Years On Loan
He stared into the wall of his presidential office with the thought that in only one thousand years he would either repay the debt that bought him the nation or face the wrath of the collective with the resources not just to loan him the money but enforce his repayment on a military scale. That millennium would pass all too quickly as his newly bought nation fought endless wars for resources and he clawed together the funds to by his freedom. Heavy taxation of the rich military empire could only draw together so much money and within the last century he realised he would fall far short of the heavy demands made of him. Border skirmishes and state funded thefts aplenty did little to accelerate the accumulation of wealth as he needed it and in the last twenty years he very quickly came to terms with the prospect of joining the legions of slaves: his shadowy loan sharks. His mind was overrun by the mechanisms of the hidden empire. His nation would be forfeit to them who had waited so impatiently for the return on their investment. As his mind acclimatised to the agonising prospect of eternal slavery he reasoned that at least he would not die as before. Servants of his benefactors were not allowed the freedom of death having failed to keep their promises. They would come for him, they would change him and then he would do the same to others. He took comfort as well in the fact that few would ever play the game so spectacularly as he. He would at least be remembered amongst the leaders of the loan sharks. They would laugh at the fool who dared risk so much on so slim a chance, he would be remembered. At the very least.
He was remembered, fondly, and they came to him in person. It was a great honour to meet them of which he knew and expected death as his sentence. Instead he was spared, they wanted to enlist him but on better terms than he had ever dreamt of. The nation was theirs of course, that went without saying. They would let him keep command of it though and fund it’s expansion into new territory. They had never expected so much from him he was told and by impressing them he had earned a place in their wider schemes. Working for them assured him a future in uncertain times. He would live on and in time cut the strings by which they held him.
He was remembered, fondly, and they came to him in person. It was a great honour to meet them of which he knew and expected death as his sentence. Instead he was spared, they wanted to enlist him but on better terms than he had ever dreamt of. The nation was theirs of course, that went without saying. They would let him keep command of it though and fund it’s expansion into new territory. They had never expected so much from him he was told and by impressing them he had earned a place in their wider schemes. Working for them assured him a future in uncertain times. He would live on and in time cut the strings by which they held him.
Blog 74: Attaining a Singular Perspective
Once I complained about my many overlapping views of the world. I found it too overwhelming to take in so much information at once. I actively sought this singular perspective after what felt like never-ending confusion, frustration and sensory overload.
Where I could I cut down on what I saw, heard and felt. Sometimes these sensory intake edits caused me pain but I never questioned why. I was too keen to narrow my view of the world. Now I know the heavy toll of each view deducted from the total. Now I know the cost of my editing. As once theorised each view was that of a different individual.
These creatures wandered in my influence, deemed mad by their own friends and family. Somehow my mind was the hub of their consciousness. Some condition linked them to me. For so long I felt so lonely when in truth I was at the center of a vast network. Now I am alone, singular. Now I see the world as I thought I wanted to.
There is more to this, I know, we’ve seen it. I threw them away and lost myself with those poor souls. My commands sent them to their death. Far and wide they fell because I pushed them. I have this last shell to work with. This form is my final means to make amends for the damage I have done. I will spread the children, born on contact, across the world. They are not like me and best so. This is their story now.
Where I could I cut down on what I saw, heard and felt. Sometimes these sensory intake edits caused me pain but I never questioned why. I was too keen to narrow my view of the world. Now I know the heavy toll of each view deducted from the total. Now I know the cost of my editing. As once theorised each view was that of a different individual.
These creatures wandered in my influence, deemed mad by their own friends and family. Somehow my mind was the hub of their consciousness. Some condition linked them to me. For so long I felt so lonely when in truth I was at the center of a vast network. Now I am alone, singular. Now I see the world as I thought I wanted to.
There is more to this, I know, we’ve seen it. I threw them away and lost myself with those poor souls. My commands sent them to their death. Far and wide they fell because I pushed them. I have this last shell to work with. This form is my final means to make amends for the damage I have done. I will spread the children, born on contact, across the world. They are not like me and best so. This is their story now.
Blog 73: Destructive Sequels
The Ruby Trees
The wind whistled through the clear red leaves. It spoke softly and slowly. Too patient for anger it was kind to all. The tree was as old as the world, some thought older. It would talk of lands no explorer had ever seen despite the last blank gaps in the map closing in. It’s kin slept more and spoke less. They would interject in stories where they knew ore or otherwise. The villagers regarded them as friends and came to them with questions when they needed help. Children played with their reflections in the glistening trees and the trees would play along.
Broken Gifts
I turned away from the children’s show and turned the page. Channels would have worked like that I guess. If I was older I might remember when they were stuck on stiff screens. The folds show on my page, it is old and worn. The stuff inside did not react well to chippie sauce. The colours are all off where the sauce was spilt. I wont throw it away despite all of that, maybe I should. I was given it by a friend I lost. When the relocation happened she chose another city and I haven’t seen her since.
No Distractions
She couldn’t listen to it, such nonsense in a time of war. Idle speculation on a future that might never be. The bombs were sinking all around leaving craters worthy of the moon in the sea bed. The foundations of the settlement shook when a bomb went off nearby and the civilians would scream, like that helped anything. Posters reminded them to black out outer rooms during the night. She hoped the bombing would end when the harsh winter came and the rebellion cells were activated. The rebels had to wait for the cold to freeze the engines of the war machines designed to work at higher temperatures.
Selling Dreams
The pitch wasn’t going well. No one wanted so eclectic a story for their film. He could never settle on one subject, his interest spanned all subjects sadly more than those who might have read his scripts. He would wander off during a pitch and scribble new ideas across the unnecessary contracts. He would make it big someday, if he took an interest. If.
A Game of Broken Patience
The main character was too much like her son, too apathetic to apply the talents he was born with and now he was waging war through a screen. Game testing, what kind of job was that? He could have been an architect or a spaceman but instead he wore ridiculous glasses. He made subconscious gunfire noises like a small child playing. She put down the book for another.
Worlds in Dreams
He couldn’t stand that type of film, boring people doing boring things in the past. No matter where he walked within those spaces nothing was happening that he considered as interesting as his job exploring the edges of the solar system. The basic architecture of the outer reaches was known but men like him were still paid vast sums to find hidden dangers and potential new resources. The films were a fine way to spend sleeping hours and learn during inactive time. He could wander around in the worlds of the story where they interested him. As of yet there was no menu function, if he chose a dull film he was stuck.
Are You Buying Our Story?
And that’s just the average plot depth you can expect here on deep narrative television where our story is the only one worth your time. For an appropriate price we customise all plotlines to meet your wants and needs. Follow multiple paths expressing alternative possibilities for only the smallest of top up fees.
Inescapable Product Placement
Adverts, I hate them. I just can’t take the endless, incessant drone of one after the other beamed right into my brain. What right have they? I don’t have the time or money to buy half of the stuff they’re trying to sell me. Who does? If only tinfoil hats actually worked. It’s no wonder the transmitters are vandalised so often.
The Prognosis
And this is all he does you see. He Writes these stories which have no singular plotline or central character and jump sporadically to a new perspective. I recommend extensive psychiatric help effective immediately to avoid a complete disconnection from reality.
Crazy People
What’s so good about reality I ask? I show a little imagination and they put me in here saying I’m crazy. I was just bored. Now I’m stuck in this stupid house and I think I like it more. Some of the locals are scary but at least they’re interesting. At least they do their own thing. They don’t spend their days sifting through dirt for technology thrown away by our forebears. What do my parents think they’ll find? They may have been arrogant but our parental race were not stupid. The bridge over the sky valley was their last gift to us and the only useful one I’d say.
Drifting Off
She let her mind rest after all the writing. The software minimised as she lay on her bed and considered where it might go next. She stood and paced laps of her room before deciding to go for a walk. The other rooms had their doors closed and most were dark. She checked twice that her door was locked and encrypted before strolling down her street. There were four rooms in her section of that street and one hundred rooms on that street in total. The kitchens were all over the city but only open during certain hours depending on designation. She wanted to look out of a window it was a long way to either line of them on her level. She passed an inspector checking for leaks and told him about the hissing on her street. He took a note and headed there straight away. From the window she saw the vast darkness of space. She saw a gas nebula made visible by the light of a star behind as it mutated like the clouds in her stories. That was the life of her people, just drifting along looking for a world.
He’s Different Now
He used to love stories like that, all space and vast machines. It’s all about work now for him. Plant life for military research! Is he going to make Venus man traps? Maybe he’ll create nettles that’ll paralyse people instead of hurting them…
Sound-blanket Bomb
I hate people having a conversation when I’m trying to get home. If her son’s doing military research shouldn’t she shut up about it? Stupid woman. If I had an E.M.P cap (I don’t care that they’re illegal) I’d happily set it off to shut her up. My own earpiece would be as useless as hers but at least I might have silence.
From Banal To…
Is that really what I dream about now? Are bitchy loners that important to me? There were other dreams before that, hopefully more epic. I had an amazing dream about an army of magical creatures once. They were all hybrids of one form or another. I wasn’t one of them myself, just floating above as they marched. I could take in details from any angle and stare without them looking at me. Another dream made me a master of my own world as I moved but not by my own efforts but by manipulating the world to move for me. Buildings leapt out of my way as roads like treadmills carried me as and where I wished.
Infinite Dreams
Dreams have that power don’t they? To take us anywhere be it conscious or subconscious. That is the subject of this piece however well realised. We can be taken, whole, into any reality in no time at all.
Limitation Correction
I wouldn’t say that. Definitely not. There is the potential for an infinite variation of realities but within the confines of the individual’s imagination.
The wind whistled through the clear red leaves. It spoke softly and slowly. Too patient for anger it was kind to all. The tree was as old as the world, some thought older. It would talk of lands no explorer had ever seen despite the last blank gaps in the map closing in. It’s kin slept more and spoke less. They would interject in stories where they knew ore or otherwise. The villagers regarded them as friends and came to them with questions when they needed help. Children played with their reflections in the glistening trees and the trees would play along.
Broken Gifts
I turned away from the children’s show and turned the page. Channels would have worked like that I guess. If I was older I might remember when they were stuck on stiff screens. The folds show on my page, it is old and worn. The stuff inside did not react well to chippie sauce. The colours are all off where the sauce was spilt. I wont throw it away despite all of that, maybe I should. I was given it by a friend I lost. When the relocation happened she chose another city and I haven’t seen her since.
No Distractions
She couldn’t listen to it, such nonsense in a time of war. Idle speculation on a future that might never be. The bombs were sinking all around leaving craters worthy of the moon in the sea bed. The foundations of the settlement shook when a bomb went off nearby and the civilians would scream, like that helped anything. Posters reminded them to black out outer rooms during the night. She hoped the bombing would end when the harsh winter came and the rebellion cells were activated. The rebels had to wait for the cold to freeze the engines of the war machines designed to work at higher temperatures.
Selling Dreams
The pitch wasn’t going well. No one wanted so eclectic a story for their film. He could never settle on one subject, his interest spanned all subjects sadly more than those who might have read his scripts. He would wander off during a pitch and scribble new ideas across the unnecessary contracts. He would make it big someday, if he took an interest. If.
A Game of Broken Patience
The main character was too much like her son, too apathetic to apply the talents he was born with and now he was waging war through a screen. Game testing, what kind of job was that? He could have been an architect or a spaceman but instead he wore ridiculous glasses. He made subconscious gunfire noises like a small child playing. She put down the book for another.
Worlds in Dreams
He couldn’t stand that type of film, boring people doing boring things in the past. No matter where he walked within those spaces nothing was happening that he considered as interesting as his job exploring the edges of the solar system. The basic architecture of the outer reaches was known but men like him were still paid vast sums to find hidden dangers and potential new resources. The films were a fine way to spend sleeping hours and learn during inactive time. He could wander around in the worlds of the story where they interested him. As of yet there was no menu function, if he chose a dull film he was stuck.
Are You Buying Our Story?
And that’s just the average plot depth you can expect here on deep narrative television where our story is the only one worth your time. For an appropriate price we customise all plotlines to meet your wants and needs. Follow multiple paths expressing alternative possibilities for only the smallest of top up fees.
Inescapable Product Placement
Adverts, I hate them. I just can’t take the endless, incessant drone of one after the other beamed right into my brain. What right have they? I don’t have the time or money to buy half of the stuff they’re trying to sell me. Who does? If only tinfoil hats actually worked. It’s no wonder the transmitters are vandalised so often.
The Prognosis
And this is all he does you see. He Writes these stories which have no singular plotline or central character and jump sporadically to a new perspective. I recommend extensive psychiatric help effective immediately to avoid a complete disconnection from reality.
Crazy People
What’s so good about reality I ask? I show a little imagination and they put me in here saying I’m crazy. I was just bored. Now I’m stuck in this stupid house and I think I like it more. Some of the locals are scary but at least they’re interesting. At least they do their own thing. They don’t spend their days sifting through dirt for technology thrown away by our forebears. What do my parents think they’ll find? They may have been arrogant but our parental race were not stupid. The bridge over the sky valley was their last gift to us and the only useful one I’d say.
Drifting Off
She let her mind rest after all the writing. The software minimised as she lay on her bed and considered where it might go next. She stood and paced laps of her room before deciding to go for a walk. The other rooms had their doors closed and most were dark. She checked twice that her door was locked and encrypted before strolling down her street. There were four rooms in her section of that street and one hundred rooms on that street in total. The kitchens were all over the city but only open during certain hours depending on designation. She wanted to look out of a window it was a long way to either line of them on her level. She passed an inspector checking for leaks and told him about the hissing on her street. He took a note and headed there straight away. From the window she saw the vast darkness of space. She saw a gas nebula made visible by the light of a star behind as it mutated like the clouds in her stories. That was the life of her people, just drifting along looking for a world.
He’s Different Now
He used to love stories like that, all space and vast machines. It’s all about work now for him. Plant life for military research! Is he going to make Venus man traps? Maybe he’ll create nettles that’ll paralyse people instead of hurting them…
Sound-blanket Bomb
I hate people having a conversation when I’m trying to get home. If her son’s doing military research shouldn’t she shut up about it? Stupid woman. If I had an E.M.P cap (I don’t care that they’re illegal) I’d happily set it off to shut her up. My own earpiece would be as useless as hers but at least I might have silence.
From Banal To…
Is that really what I dream about now? Are bitchy loners that important to me? There were other dreams before that, hopefully more epic. I had an amazing dream about an army of magical creatures once. They were all hybrids of one form or another. I wasn’t one of them myself, just floating above as they marched. I could take in details from any angle and stare without them looking at me. Another dream made me a master of my own world as I moved but not by my own efforts but by manipulating the world to move for me. Buildings leapt out of my way as roads like treadmills carried me as and where I wished.
Infinite Dreams
Dreams have that power don’t they? To take us anywhere be it conscious or subconscious. That is the subject of this piece however well realised. We can be taken, whole, into any reality in no time at all.
Limitation Correction
I wouldn’t say that. Definitely not. There is the potential for an infinite variation of realities but within the confines of the individual’s imagination.
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