"Sure, we'll look after your kids", said the BBC, licking its lips and rubbing its palms together gleefully.
"Daddy's a bad man. Kill daddy" it whispers repeatedly, and almost inaudibly, behind a cheerful tune that'd put a smile on anyones face.
400 years later the BBC joined forces with ACME and started manufacturing 'play suits' for babies to wear, which was - at the time - aptly dubbed "my first identity augmentation kit". They towered above cities, slowly rotating the babies, giving a full 360 degree panorama to their heads which peeked above the top of the towering suit, with panels of brightly coloured buttons it could press to make the machine stomp or fire colourful play missiles in random directions from the device. The BBC, by then, was actually a massive underground complex, safe from the chaos of the maddeningly, incomprehensibly high levels of joy it wrought amongst the unsuspecting citizens of planet earth.
In 1200 years, someone sabotages the biological supercomputer used to simulate and calculate the trajectory of the earth so that it can safely avoid ice ages, natural disasters and pandemics, by injecting random data into key points in the calculation. The motivation behind this is an attractor which pulled the mind of the attacker toward a certain predefined structure - the form of the attractor simply the phrase "death to the infidels", repeated indiscriminately by a threshold number of zombies. They then used this biological supercomputer to create a weaponized natural disaster and later claimed that "we didn't do it, it was that guy, you know, the one with a mind and no heart".
Eclipsed.
Tuesday 27 August 2013
Reminder.
In the dark, the freezing cold, she found her way to me. Became an animal in spirit, waited for an eternity, living on the very edge. She tunneled through it all. Her beautiful heart. The heart of time.
I got trapped. My upper half in a new world, my lower beneath the shell that divided them. I turned into a beast in fear that I'd lose my cock, lodging my arm through the tiny space between my chest and the ring that formed around it, trying to pull it through. But she couldn't love me there. Then some cells multiplied in my head. This isn't the most eloquently relayed summary of events. Sorry.
I got trapped. My upper half in a new world, my lower beneath the shell that divided them. I turned into a beast in fear that I'd lose my cock, lodging my arm through the tiny space between my chest and the ring that formed around it, trying to pull it through. But she couldn't love me there. Then some cells multiplied in my head. This isn't the most eloquently relayed summary of events. Sorry.
Saturday 3 August 2013
(So, I put this piece of the jigsaw puzzle here, and now it's a game of Jenga?)
I felt it, like an insurmountable barrier growing ever more tangible, between us. I also felt the solution. A simple seed, with time to grow. I knew it so well I didn't have to know it - it was what all these strings I pulled moved inside of me. You could call it the product of mutual understanding. All this supposes that there is a point, B, which you desire to reach from point A. This, against a current, requires the supposition of 'time'. At the moment you realize this, an odd looking man, who we'll call point C, walks up to you and explains that you cannot go any further, and that you will have to wait, for an indeterminate period, before continuing. For some reason you get the sense that time 'may not exist' after an indeterminate period. So, you decide that instead of waiting, you're going to compress time - I mean, talk to the odd looking guy and try and reason with him. You develop novel time compression techniques which cater to the odd looking guy's responses, although it'll still take an indeterminate period of developing novel time compression techniques before he'll let you pass. This requires that you 'move' in the direction of C, which may be further from point A than point B, and because time 'may not exist' after a certain point, it makes sense that this is a threatening option.
So instead of forking for what seems like an eternity to try and find compressible data you just go all Indiana Jones on his ass and reach point B. Simple. The alternative is having your development dictated by the nature of the directions of your concurrent development as individuals. That could be very painful depending on what species you are at that moment in time, like if one is a spike and the other is jelly. I forgot why I was trying to reach point B. Luckily I know it so well I don't have to know it, which saves an indeterminate amount of time to determine the mythical 'other things', like distance, and the ability to communicate.
Periods of overlap. Symmetry along certain axes. Membranes, and so on.
...
Here, it is as if reality as defined by the dreamer is acting upon reality. That's an essentially blameless trait, given the difficulty of constructing a completely flawless understanding, though not always harmless. Examples of it everywhere - a social group who are told a story with a skewed moral subtext and then 'attack' their imagined villains. If they succeed, they have, in relative terms, ordered reality in respect to their understanding and have validated the order which compelled the action. Framed in this manner, the contrast between 'what is' and what 'is' appears to be is greater. The group has chosen to essentially change 'what is' into what 'is' appears to be, at the expense of the 'is' of the villains. The deciding factor is not the relative accuracy of their respective holistic representations of reality but delegated to some potentially loosely connected trait, such as muscle size, weapon count, or ability to debate clearly and convincingly while a person looking over your shoulder whispers 5, 2, 194, 28593, 298585322, 25, 7, 1, 9, or when your tail gets in front of you and you chase it around for ages, the resultant pressure waves in the air knocking a tiny bug into a pond.
I felt it, like an insurmountable barrier growing ever more tangible, between us. I also felt the solution. A simple seed, with time to grow. I knew it so well I didn't have to know it - it was what all these strings I pulled moved inside of me. You could call it the product of mutual understanding. All this supposes that there is a point, B, which you desire to reach from point A. This, against a current, requires the supposition of 'time'. At the moment you realize this, an odd looking man, who we'll call point C, walks up to you and explains that you cannot go any further, and that you will have to wait, for an indeterminate period, before continuing. For some reason you get the sense that time 'may not exist' after an indeterminate period. So, you decide that instead of waiting, you're going to compress time - I mean, talk to the odd looking guy and try and reason with him. You develop novel time compression techniques which cater to the odd looking guy's responses, although it'll still take an indeterminate period of developing novel time compression techniques before he'll let you pass. This requires that you 'move' in the direction of C, which may be further from point A than point B, and because time 'may not exist' after a certain point, it makes sense that this is a threatening option.
So instead of forking for what seems like an eternity to try and find compressible data you just go all Indiana Jones on his ass and reach point B. Simple. The alternative is having your development dictated by the nature of the directions of your concurrent development as individuals. That could be very painful depending on what species you are at that moment in time, like if one is a spike and the other is jelly. I forgot why I was trying to reach point B. Luckily I know it so well I don't have to know it, which saves an indeterminate amount of time to determine the mythical 'other things', like distance, and the ability to communicate.
Periods of overlap. Symmetry along certain axes. Membranes, and so on.
...
Here, it is as if reality as defined by the dreamer is acting upon reality. That's an essentially blameless trait, given the difficulty of constructing a completely flawless understanding, though not always harmless. Examples of it everywhere - a social group who are told a story with a skewed moral subtext and then 'attack' their imagined villains. If they succeed, they have, in relative terms, ordered reality in respect to their understanding and have validated the order which compelled the action. Framed in this manner, the contrast between 'what is' and what 'is' appears to be is greater. The group has chosen to essentially change 'what is' into what 'is' appears to be, at the expense of the 'is' of the villains. The deciding factor is not the relative accuracy of their respective holistic representations of reality but delegated to some potentially loosely connected trait, such as muscle size, weapon count, or ability to debate clearly and convincingly while a person looking over your shoulder whispers 5, 2, 194, 28593, 298585322, 25, 7, 1, 9, or when your tail gets in front of you and you chase it around for ages, the resultant pressure waves in the air knocking a tiny bug into a pond.
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