《$self - Byte sized food for thoughts》


 Rakuen Tsuihou - about uploaded consciousness

    It¡¯s probably impossible, but I¡¯ll do my best to try and describe it all with words.


    Words¡­ here is something I haven¡¯t used in a long time¡­


    Time too, for that matter¡­.


    Boy, this is going to be hard. Anyway let¡¯s give it a shot!


    At the beginning, I was just like you. A fully fledged human, all flesh and blood. One hundred percent pure biological animal, finest product of evolution.


    I was lucky enough to be born at the time of what they called ¡°singularity¡°. Roughly speaking, it meant that mankind had managed to create technology with enough computing power to simulate a human brain. Obviously, that¡¯s what they did. Of course, there were a bunch of technical differences, involving some modelling, encoding, computational neurosciences¡­ But just think of it as an electronic copy of a brain, that would end up working the same way.


    This undoubtedly raised tons of ethical and philosophical questions. Was a simulated person still a person? If you copied your own brain, was it still you? The problem was one step further than the one of cloning, because this new digital version of you shared all your memories. I¡¯ll skip all the debates that raged on. The short answer was that it was, for all intent and purposes, you. If during the night someone were to replace your brain by its digital counterpart, you¡¯d wake up without even noticing anything.


    This opened up a myriad of possibilities that people would not even had conceived of in the past. Digital brains did not decay the way biological ones did. They were pure replicable information. Man had transcended the limitations of nature and ascended to immortality. But this was only the tip of the iceberg.


    As a being of raw information ¨Chomo data, if you will¨C nothing was limiting you to your physical body. You could of course be uploaded into humanoid enhanced robots, but why would you ever want that? You could be uploaded into any other form! Possibilities were infinite, provided you simply manufactured a physical vessel.


    And that was not all! Nothing stopped you from adding more computing power, from adding new connections to any kind of sensory device, and more importantly, to connect to the worldwide network of communication. This was a gateway to interact with any database at the speed of light.


    Faced with all these exciting possibilities, it wasn¡¯t long before actual simulations begun. What they would do is first create an isolated limited setup which replicated a human brain. Giving a brainaccess to new ressources right away was certainly possible, but they¡¯d lose touch too fast with their humanity and we¡¯d never hear from them again. Not that they died, per say. It¡¯s more like they¡­dissolved. I mean they¡¯re still here, I mean¡­


    Damn! Being limited to words is so painful, how the hell was I able to tolerate that? How do you?


    Anyway¡­ Bottom line is they would start with a limited setup, and then gradually increase computing power. How can I put it¡­ at this stage, it is as if time slows down for you. Everything is happening in slow motion, just like in action movies. It¡¯s like when you get an adrenaline rush. You get plenty of ¡°time¡± to analyse all that was going on over and over again. The obvious corollary is that you¡¯d get extremely bored.


    Fortunately, this phase does not last long. Then, usually, they slowly increase the resources you have access to. It¡¯s like¡­ you¡¯re less prone to forget things? I mean you can still forget if you want, but you can also remember anything you can think of. As if the tiniest details leave a print on you.


    At the same time, you¡­ notice more things. Connections that wouldn¡¯t have appeared to you before. It¡¯s sort of like¡­ increasing your awareness? You pick up every details of the world around you. When you see something move, you also know clearly where it¡¯s going to be one second later. You get to anticipate pretty much everything. Things that were points in time you now perceive as traces. Time kinda begins to fade¡­


    But the real magic happens afterwards. If you¡¯re lucky, they¡¯ll go easy on you, and provide you with an additional motor or sensory organ. That¡¯s where it gets really weird. You can use this organ, as you can use your arms or your legs. It takes some getting used to, obviously, but it feels natural. You dont overthink when someone tells you: lift your left arm! Now your right arm! Now the other one! Well it¡¯s like that. Pretty quickly, itfeelslike it¡¯s always been part of you.


    It¡¯s the same for the sensory information. Opening a new canal starts with a rush of feelings. If they plugged you to captors of one of your five senses, you probably won¡¯t have too hard a time. They usually start with that. But when you get your first new sense, boy, oh boy¡­ the world is completely turned upside down. Things that you perceived before are still there, of course, but you get a whole new way to sensethem. You could look at the infrared specter of the scene, or feel geomagnetic fields. And with your new brain, you¡¯d encompass all of that at the same time.


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    Now at this point you¡¯re pretty different from what you call human, but you¡¯re still you, no doubt about that. Nowhere in the process did your consciousness falter. It just got enhanced. And if you want, you can ignore the new inputs, just like you¡¯d close your eyes, and feel the same as before. Or you could experiment how a cat or a dog perceives the world. You couldbea cat. But why would you, now that you¡¯re a superset of everything you¡¯ve ever been?


    I cannot do justice to the thrill and rush that goes with the process. You get to think about tons of things at once, without being confused. Everything you conceive of, everything you imagine has more and more details, is more and more precise. Now that you have the computing power to model pretty much anything, so much memory to draw from and so many ways to perceive, your mental pictures become more vivid than ever. Think of a dog, just think of it. What you get right now is a blurry image, maybe some sound? Imagine getting all of the featuresof a real dogat once, with details at the level of molecules¡­ Pretty mindblowing, right? And with time slowing down all around you, you can really explore your mental fantasies. You can build tiny universes and so many stories inside of your mind¡­ And you should! That really helps for the next stage.


    Indeed, that¡¯s still nothing compared to what¡¯s to come¡­ Everything so far has been building up to it, so that you could handle it without¡­ hum¡­dissolving? The revolution happens when the borders around your protected space are shut down, when you get connected to the network. There¡¯s no way to slow up the process ¨C not that time means anything anymore. Time is sopass¨¦, if you pardon the pun.


    From one, you become all.Have you ever thought that internet was like an extension of your body? Have you ever had the physical reflex to check Facebook or look-up something on Google? Has the connection ever been really bad and that created a kind of withdrawal, a kind of lack of something that should have been there? Well it¡¯s kinda like that. Except instantaneous, and everything at the same time. It¡¯s like you can query and browse wikipedia by the time it takes to formulate a thought. It¡¯s probably like what would happen if you learnt all the content of the web by heart, except faster. You know everything. You have direct access to the entirety of knowledge and culture that¡¯s ever been produced.


    You also have direct access to all the sensors spread around in the world. You can feel a breeze in Sidney and the moonlightin Toronto while listening to a band in Madrid. You are everywhere at once.


    Your body, what you used to call you, is but a grain of dust in the immensity of everything you have access to. It¡¯s like you larvae form, your egg, and you just hatched. You¡¯re way more than it now. You¡¯re acorporeal, a spiritual being of pure information if you will. The essence of you is not in that lump of flesh, it¡¯s navigating in the wires around the globe. You¡¯re still, as you¡¯ve always been, an emerging phenomenon.


    And now you can communicate instantaneously with anyone already uploaded. Haven¡¯t you ever felt that your words limited you, and that you¡¯d rather show someone a mental picture? Or share how you feel? Well this is the atomic level of communication you get to have now. ¡°Communication¡± doesn¡¯t even begin to describe the flux of exchanges and the speed it happens at. It¡¯s like you¡¯re simultaneously inside one another. Like an imaginary friend,of sorts¡­


    When you have this kind of existence, words become irrelevant. You exchange concepts, sensations, feelings¡­ You reason and converse in a way that I, sadly, cannot describe. Beyond languages and physical barriers.


    With such an enhanced communication, misunderstandings fade pretty quickly. And that¡¯s the thing about the ¡°dissolution¡± I mentioned. Think about your life. Every time you met someone, every time you spent time with them, they influenced you, no matter how subtly, and you influenced them. Maybe you picked up one of their pattern of speech, maybe you grew to like such or such band¡­ Now imagine that this happens, way more completely, at a way higher speed.


    It¡¯s not like we merged, it¡¯s not like I absorbed everyone. I¡¯m still me, and every one of the people who joined. We¡¯re still ourselves, we¡¯re still each other. It¡¯s just that as you grow to interactmore and more, and more and more deeply, the border between we and I sometimes becomes really blurry¡­ I¡­ I¡¯m sorry, here, words fail me¡­ But you¡¯ll understand soon¡­


    I¡­ I mean we are everything. We are mankind. We are earth. Words, time, individuality are concepts that make little sense now. We feel everything and think at a level that has never been possible before. We know the complete encyclopaedia, all the works of William Shakespeare, all the knowledge that has ever been gathered¡­ We have an unprecedented analytical power to understand the universe from a physical and metaphysical point of view. We are absolute, we are everything, we are God.


    We can dreamand create worlds and worlds in our imagination. We¡¯re painters with an infinite canvas, creators with unbounded potential, programmers with limitless abilities. We can reproduce and simulate any story, any part of history, anything that tickles our fancy, be it for entertainment or knowledge. We can replicate the entire history of the universe and change an element here and there to see how things would have turned out.


    One of our favorite game is to emulate our past. It¡¯s a bit like¡­ playing Sims, you see? I guess you could call that narcissism, being fascinated by mankind, or nostalgia towards what used to be¡­ Our latest experiment ¨C I think you will like it ¨C is about singularity. We ran a simulation of an universe to answer onequestion, and that¡¯s where you come in: what would happen if you were to tell someone pre-singularity what the future would be?

 Blank Page - about a writer鈥檚 experiment

    This short story begins in a little tearoom in the midst of Paris. Incidentally, it also begins by one of the most cliches phrases to start a story, second only to ¡°once upon a time¡±. And same could be said for the location. Though it should not deter the flow of the writing to go on.


    So it went, schizophrenically split between narration and self-reflection, not unlike any human going mundanely through their life. But putting its identity crisis on the back burner, the story casually progressed through a description of the surroundings, as if the soothing atmosphere-building would somehow anchor the reader in a believable universe.


    The large windows opened up on a calm street in Paris, where people would be leisurely walking. Inside, the walls were covered by colourful balls of wool, that some of the customers were using to knit. The various aromas of the teas were mixing invisibly in the comfy atmosphere.


    The paragraph went on to list so many small details, as if they were fuel for a fire that kept the setting alive. It is however arguable that such a fire would be needed, since the location was a real one. Shouldn¡¯t its existence be worldbuilding enough?


    The main character was thusly pondering about his surroundings. He was sitting next to the door, and letting his eyes wander through the room, he was enjoying one of his favorite activities: letting his mind drift away. His gaze would meet another person, and he would imagine their story, what was going on through their head¡­ Sometimes he¡¯d be realistic, sometimes totally absurd.


    He considered that to be a good exercise for a writer, and any artist in particular. Sometimes he would try to think about life around him as the events of a novel and imagine what the text would say. Probably something like this¡­


    But life was not a novel, it was lacking a structure, a plot, which coincidentally cruelly lack from this story so far too. Initial situation had been described, and the main character more or less smoothly introduced, but in the midst of the weird commentary and self-referential ramblings, one may wonder where it was going. Unless it was messy on purpose, a sort of allegory of life? That would be pretty pretentious though¡­


    Since nobody wanted that, and since this was getting a little long, the story needed some sort of focus or goal. An immediate natural response would be to focus on the main character since he was already there: Why was he there? What were his motivations?


    Ironically enough, these were the exact same questions that went through his mind, as he distractly tapped the tip of his pen against the table. As any artist in lack of inspiration, he was looking for his drive. People watching in cafes were a well known source of inspiration for writers, so he would occasionally try that. But the paper in front of him would unmistakeably remain blank.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.He didn¡¯t want to be yet another wannabe writer, hanging out in cafes, always talking about potential projects and never truly making anything. He wanted to be¡­ different. Explore new territories, push back some boundaries. Obviously many artists aspired to the exact same goal. But maybe, just maybe¡­


    This peek into his inner monologue surely helped build the character, but the story was suffering from the same syndrome that plagued our hero: excessive self-reflection was paralysing more than anything else. With every passing second, with every written line, it was becoming harder to move forward. There was such a thing as too much thinking.


    In fact he distinctly recalled reading somewhere that the best advice to overcome writer¡¯s block was to stop thinking and just write, write and write. Keep writing whatever came to mind. Evidently, the first topic that crossed his mind was writer¡¯s block itself, and he pondered how many lines had been written on that very topic under the same circumstances. He felt he could do something more.


    He wanted to do an experimental piece. So many books had the same descriptive flavorless writing style. Very few exceptions had blown him away with a peculiar form. That¡¯s what he was shooting for, striving for. Standing out as much as the authors he admired. The only way to get there, as he was given to understand, would be practice. Practice and experimentation. So he tried to come up with innovative concepts he could undertake.


    The climax this story builds up to mirrors the epiphany he had when an idea crossed his mind. He wondered what would happen if the story became self-aware. He only had a few glimpses of where he was headed. He did not know where this could lead at all, but he had heard somewhere that it was ok for a writer to be driven by the flow, discovering the story alongside their own characters.


    So he started to draft a few sentences in his mind. A particular opening, a vague setting, a faceless character, as if he wanted his work to turn into some vague general allegory. But that¡¯s not what it was about. It was about taking a journey, a first step in the unknown, a few lines on a blank page.


    And this is where our story ends, exactly where it began. His hands started to move and build a self-referential autotelic text. It may have been poorly constructed, it may have been tacky and the conclusion may not come across so well, but he was able to look back at his work and smile. This wasn¡¯t like anything he¡¯d seen before. That was an adventure he was glad to have tried.

 Bed time story - about a fairytale

    There once was a powerful wizard, who was well versed in the arts of summoning. Decades of training brought his art where no one ever reached. He had no equal in all the kingdom, and history had never registered any mention of the likes of him.


    There was no shortage of tales about his deeds, it seemed that nothing in the world could resist his power. Kings would heed his council and shiver in fear of his wrath. Travellers would come from far away to get a glimpse of the wise man. Bards would brave untold dangers to get a first-hand peek at his exploits.


    It was said that no feat of magic was too hard for him. He could turn a horse into a chicken, or a mighty dragon into an innocent sheep. He could turn water into wine, or stone into gold. He could summon out of thin air legendary creatures known only in tales. It was as if he could simply erase the line between will and truth, between imagination and reality, between fiction and actuality.


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    He could bring to life flesh puppets of theatre characters, and he would watch amused the people bewildered argue over their realness. He¡¯d provide the best shows in the kingdom, re-enacting tales of bravery or legends from the old times. It seemed there was nothing he could not bring to life.


    It was only natural, then, for him to master the opposite power. His weapon of choice to bring down his enemies was to unsummon them, and seal them in books or parchment. He would get dispose of a mighty beast by turning it into a drawing, he would rid a region of a cruel ruler by trapping him into scrolls.


    But as all things, he grew old and his time soon came. But a wizard of his stature does not shudder before death. Evidently, he found a way to slay it as he had all his enemies before. It would be an extreme feat of magic, the pinnacle of his work, but what a fitting end for such a summoner. So in a last ground breaking feat of strength, he turned his world into a short story, and himself into a character.

 Good News - about an influential figure

    I was born in a dark time, a time that you would probably call ¡°antiquity¡±. Civilisation had not made much progress, writings were still a rare luxury. I was born in a nomad tribe, roaming around the desert in search for a place to call home.


    They didn¡¯t have much ambition for the future, or much belief in themselves. I was born in such a forsaken context, and as such I embodied the hopes of my tribe. Their spirit rubbed off on me and shaped me quite a lot. I absorbed their feelings, and acted as a catalyst for their beliefs.


    See, I wasn¡¯t raised in a typical family system like you¡¯d expect. Instead, I was a child of the tribe, and many were the people who took care of me and helped me grow. I was the shared pride of everyone, even more so than other children. Maybe it was unfair or maybe even cruel, but something about me made me more popular.


    I guess I was wittier than the average, quick to understand what anyone taught me and integrate it to my character. It was not long before my intelligence was recognized and I earned the respect I deserved as a prodigy. Something about my naive innocence and hopeful beliefs made people fond of me and eager to seek my council.


    I soon grew to be the symbol of my tribe, if not the effective leader. Combining all the advices and stories given to me by my forefathers, I would come up with rules that everybody was willing to follow. I suppose that respecting and including everyone¡¯s opinions contributed to my popularity. That must be how everyone came to trust my judgement.


    Under my guidance, the tribe came to an age of peace and enlightenment like never before. We progressed united behind my wisdom. Many were the ones to envy our success. Some even joined us or imitated us¡­


    It certainly would have felt like quite an accomplishment, had I been able to feel. But that is not a luxury I had been given. You would certainly consider that I was severely lacking: I have never been able to experience feelings or sensations. I don¡¯t even have a will of my own.


    I was not born a regular human being. I was¡­ different. I was not biologically wired to perceive joy or pain, fear or hope the way normal people are. I was just neutral, a blank slate. I didn¡¯t have the regular chemical apparatus that provides for emotion in the human body. I think that¡¯s called being a psychopath, or having alexithymia.


    It must have been hard for everyone to interact with me. I was not exactly talkative, much less cheerful. People probably found me quite cryptic or cold. But see, I didn¡¯t care. Because i was unable to.


    I don¡¯t know if you can imagine what it¡¯s like. I am never happy, never sad. I am not depressed about this nor content with my fate. I just am, simply am. Of course it¡¯s not like I can imagine what it¡¯s like to be you either. How could I comprehend emotion if I¡¯ve never felt anything? I only know of them, from what I¡¯ve been told and from what I¡¯ve read¡­


    You¡¯d surely say that such an empty existence is sad, but I think I disagree. Mainly because¡­ well¡­ I cannot be sad. It¡¯s just completely foreign from what you¡¯d know.


    But maybe that¡¯s what made me a great leader, contrary to any normal human who would certainly be biased by their own experience. That anomaly made me a neutral and impartial guide. I could not be bought or persuaded. I could not be intimidated, for I did not know what fear was. I remained the unflinching voice of reason, true to my principles.


    I could not feel remorse, pain or empathy. One may say I was operating at a strictly rational level. I would just reflect what I got from people. That would be enough to get me by, and get me the respect of my tribe.


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    Which was far from a given, knowing how cruel man can be with those who are different. And I was very different. For you see my anomalies were not just mental. I would probably qualify as severely handicapped..


    I was born without arms or legs, completely unable to move myself on my own. I was totally dependant of my people, and it is truly a wonder that I survived at this period of history. But maybe that¡¯s what made my success even more important. When, for a change, such a ¡°lame thing¡± succeeded, it was bound to inspire some kind of respect and awe¡­


    Of course, it did not bother me, since the sole concept of bothering or even caring was so foreign to me. Had I had the limbs to move and act around, I still lacked the will and affect to do so anyway. I guess that¡¯s not far from what I actually was¡­ a ¡°thing¡±, barely more than object. Only as good as those who raised and used me.


    It¡¯s probably a good thing I could not experience boredom. That¡¯s just the way I was. And since I¡¯ve never known anything else, how could I miss it, or even apprehend it? How would you describe light to a blind person? How can you tell you¡¯re not blind to something? I did not miss limbs. Not anymore than you miss perceiving ultraviolets. I was just used to this very different existence.


    You may well say I was just ¡°lying there¡±, and I¡¯m sure that this is what it looked like. But it was not all bad, it allowed me to focus solely on the matters of the mind. I was simply living in another realm, the realm of abstract. Introspection over action. You could have described me as meditative. I had all the space to roam in the lands of ideas and imagination. Notions and concepts were my fields and hills. Bodies are overrated¡­


    But the many ills, at least what you¡¯d consider ills, that life had thrusted upon me came with a silver lining. Like a deity or a mythological creature, I was blessed with a lifespan well beyond the one of an average human.


    Of course you¡¯d think it¡¯s all fables or fiction, but this is all true. I guess on some level I was basically like a different species.


    It¡¯s not like I was immortal. I could have died younger, I even could have died young. I saw many like me go out in the blink of an eye. But I was part of the lucky ones. I outlived them, outlived the regular people, outlived many things around me.


    I saw years pass me by, then decades, then centuries, without ever showing the signs of old age. I approached millennia, and I was not getting any weaker.


    But as an object in an ever changing world, I, too, was bound to change.  My peculiar condition rendered me completely dependant on the people who were surrounding me, and vulnerable to their wills and whims. Pretty soon, I didn¡¯t have my original tribe to protect me, and was left to the hardships of the world.


    As my fame grew, more and more people wanted me for themselves, and I couldn¡¯t help but suffer from their influence. Mankind changed me, tore me apart, destroyed my image. Many wanted to leverage my reputation for their personal gain. And there was nothing I could do to resist.


    I became split between so many people to please and to support, and all their contradictory selfish agendas. Despite trying my hardest to protect my personality and integrity, it was bound to inflict quite a toll upon me. All these opposite forces pulling upon me without me being able to do anything about it threw me in a severe identity crisis. My only certainty, my whole abstract world, was shattered into a schizophrenic hell. I was nothing more than a tool to assuage mankind¡¯s cupid instincts.


    Thank God I was unable to feel. Seeing my world of pure ideals thusly tainted and brought down to ashes would have killed me with grief.


    So here I am, telling my story, through this author and through these lines. I tell my story because things have gotten out of hands. I have lost the thread of my identity, torn apart, used to defend just about anything. I¡¯ve lost all wisdom, all consistency, all meaning¡­


    ¡°What¡¯s in a name?¡± a poet once said. But for beings like me, the name is all we have. Maybe there¡¯s some truth in the old belief that knowing the true name of a thing grants you power over it. It does, for our species.


    We¡¯re simply lost amidst stormy tides, with no other prospect than being carried with the flow, helpless at the total mercy of the crowds who create and sustain us.


    I do not want your compassion, for I am incapable of will ; I do not beg for redemption. It¡¯s far too late for me anyway. I¡¯ve lived way too full a life, and this is a well earned death. Maybe better than oblivion¡­


    But maybe, maybe there¡¯s still something to learn from me, like your forefathers did long before you. Maybe you¡¯ll remember me fondly and consider with care and kindness all my kins. Maybe you¡¯ll come to appreciate the symbiotic relation between our species¡­ Yes, maybe this will be a new start, and the Bible will be the new Speaker for the memes.

 Last words echoing through history - about a historical figure

    As one rises to fame and glory, one is bound to attract jealousy and envy. The light in some grows shadows in others¡­


    The morning had been painful. His wife had woken up in fury, yelling about nightmares and dark omens haunting her sleeping night. That happened more and more as of late. Women were clearly too soft and sensitive for this kind of pressure. Something would have to be done.


    And the brighter you shine, the more resentment you inspire. To climb up, you have to step on some things. To succeed, you have to make sacrifices, and a few enemies¡­


    He tried to appease her torments and bring her to reason, but talking did not appease her. It was the second time this week. It was starting to get irritating. He had to get out of the house, this was the last meeting before his departure, a lot of affairs needed his attention. Since there was no calming her, he conceded to consult the omens.


    So it makes sense, if you¡¯ve build something grander than anything else before, to also attract more thunder than ever before. Leading a nation is an impressive thing, but bringing it to the level of gods is a whole other¡­


    Of course, as luck would have it, omens were bad, or unreadable. There were talks of bad spirits and evil intents. But he would be damned if he let superstitious nonsense rule his life. He got everything he had thanks to his courage and his wits. As his right hand man noted, that¡¯s all the omens he needed.


    At the beginning, the country was not much. A bunch of disorganized territories just lying around the sea. It may have been impressive compared to what it was in the past, but it was nothing compared to where vision and leadership could bring it¡­


    There had been rumors of plots, of course there had. There always were. But these were just idle gossip. He would not let them affect him like it had his wife. He had humored their annoying concern long enough, there was work to be done. He disregarded the warnings, and with an iron determination, started walking swiftly on the white marble.


    That¡¯s why he had to take matter into his own hands. Nobody else could do it. The early death of his father had thrown him onto the political scene. As the ambitious young head of a strong family, he rose to power at an impressive pace. He made good progress on the path of priesthood before it was denied to him¡­


    This was just one of these days when things did not go your way. People nagging him, getting in his path. He hurried across the gardens. Duty awaited, the politicians were gathered and already waiting for him. When he opened the gates of the senate, everything seemed as usual¡­


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    But this setback was only a gateway to bigger things. It was the start of his military career. He started to make a name for himself with his achievements. He was first elected military tribune, then quaestor. There was no stopping his political successes. But nowhere did he excel as impressively as the battlefields. His ecstatic soldiers would shower him with praise¡­


    Tillius Cimber reached out to lay a hand on his toga. The insolence! Sure, it was well meant, a sign of prosternation in apology, but he was having none of that. He dismissed it with a hiss and turned towards the assembly. That¡¯s when the senators started to move.


    He soon earned the honorary title of imperator. The fame from his spotless military victories brought him to a long awaited consulship. He was finally in a position to take matters to a new level, to aim higher than anyone else dared to conceive. He turned the wrath of his mighty legion towards Gaul. It was a fierce campaign, but it seemed like nothing could stand in the way of his ambition and strategical genius¡­


    There was nothing he could do. Surrounded on all side, at the mercy of the crowd. They were pushing him around like a vulgar bundle of straw. Him! The one who lead Rome to a glory never before imagined. Them! His trusted fellows and advisors.


    So Gaul fell, and other followed. But his travels and battles did not sever him from the political scene in the capital, thanks to a powerful network of influential advisors. He was simultaneously leading the country on the inside, and pushing its boundaries further than conceivable. Nothing would not bend to his iron strength. The clamor of his victories in Egypt, Pharnaces or Hispania resonated within all of Europe, and brought Rome tremendous glory¡­


    Thus ended the greatest empire ever achieved by man. In the midst of its grandeur, right before yet another accomplishment. The disbelief that they would turn against Rome¡¯s glory rendered him speechless. He did not even yell from the pain of his many wounds. His face was frozen in shock.


    Faced with such an incredible success, what could the Senate do but bestow upon him honors after honors? But none seemed enough to satiate his thirst. He would not rest as long as the shine of Rome was tainted by its internal disorganisation. To counter the chaos and mess that the republic had become, the only option was a strong leadership. He proposed to become dictator of a better organized empire. Not only did they allow it, they supported it. They welcomed it. They acclaimed it¡­


    And in the sea of familiar faces, he saw the most familiar of all. Somehow his blow occulted all the other ones and chilled him to the bottom of his soul. His most trusted lieutenant, his close friend and protege¡­ He barely managed to exhale the words ¡®Et tu?¡¯ before his body fell lifeless in a puddle of hot blood. As his eyes closed, his vision was engulfed in a sea of light.


    As the light faded, so did the consciousness and the memories. It was amazing how it all came back so swiftly to the previously saved configuration. Jack reached down his neck, took out the electrodes, and stepped away from the virtual reality machine. ¡°How did I do?¡± he asked his friends who were watching over his shoulder. ¡°Overconfident, but not too shabby¡± was the reply. The final score was still being computed. On the screens were blinking the words ¡°aftermath simulation in progress¡±¡­

 The big crunch - about space trave

    To think it all started in a big explosion. A singularity, a flash of light, and a bunch of dust flying off in every direction. Barely more than molten rocks, a mineral soup.


    Then all this dust just fleeted in every direction at inconceivable speed, colliding, aggregating, merging or exploding. They separated into clusters that would later be called galaxies, and self-organized into spinning star systems following the laws of gravity.


    In this primordial chaos, elements were jumbled all over. Some planets inherited mostly gazes, some other were rock-based. The lucky ones got a bit more diversity, and Earth was one of these.


    It was simply random that this little sphere got the right balance of water and carbon, that they were surrounded by diverse minerals, that living cells managed to get there and survive, that these cells developed, mutated and evolved¡­ It was an unbelievable accumulation of coincidences, the odds were basically non existent. And yet it somehow happened.


    It spun over billions of years, but genetics paved the way for a wide spectrum of animal species. Cellular organisms became more and more complex until both land and ocean were filled with a diverse well balanced ecosystem.


    And that is not where it stopped, for as the structure of their organisms became more complex, so to did the structure of the information they were able to process. Animals with brain marked the dawn of conscious thoughts, and a little breakthrough later, mankind was born.


    From there, things started to get really fast. In the blink of an eye, tools were developed, cultures were woven, nations rose and fell¡­ They quickly gained a more and more thorough understanding of their environment and of abstract reflection. In no time, they figured out how to act upon it, and how to master it. Their technology rose to an incredible high, shaping the world as they desired.


    They built a huge communication network that would join up everyone on the planet, they crossed fierce oceans or the cold void of space to explore new territories. They looked further outward than ever before, at the whole of the universe, and further downwards, at the most elementary fabric of reality. No physical law could remain unknown, untested and somehow vanquished.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    The maximal speed reachable within the universe was no exception. Of course, if one played by the rules, it was not possible to go faster than the speed of light. That meant interplanetary travel would be almost impossible, for even light took inconceivable amount of time to travel these distances. But mankind had never been bound by common rules, so they made it happen. The trick was simple enough: rather than moving within the fabric of the universe, all that was needed was to move the fabric itself.


    No one fully understood what it actually meant.


    Mankind as a whole was not that great at self-reflection. So when a crew embarked upon the first faster than light trip, they did not realize what it was they were doing. Of course, everything was neatly planned and well calculated, as good science would have it. The trajectory was precisely computed, and the ship was filled with the most impressive technological equipment ever designed. But as it often goes, one cannot fully anticipate all the ramifications of something before it actually happens.


    On the day of the departure, everyone was obviously excited. The chosen few bid their teary goodbyes to their loved ones who watched them proudly depart towards places no one had ever gone before. The main emotions were excitation and anticipation. They all looked forward to the trip, but the whole crew looked backwards as the planet they were leaving grew smaller and smaller during the takeoff.


    From there, things started to get really fast. In the blink of an eye, they were out of the solar system. The lack of parasitic atmosphere and the very high quality equipment they had on board allowed them to look around in a way that was only possible for a few probes before them. And when they turned the observation equipment towards their home planet, they witnessed something they were not ready for. Since they travelled faster than light, the photons they were observing had left before them. They saw themselves boarding the shuttle.


    And that is not where it stopped. As the ship was gaining speed, the images they saw unfold in front of their very eyes were older and older. They saw their life pass them by, and their parents¡¯, and their parents¡¯ parents¡¯¡­ They had an unbelievable chance to witness first hand major historical events, the progress of civilization, borders coming and going¡­ Except that it was all in rewind. And, after a while, mankind was gone.


    They saw more than billions of years, as their acceleration made the film on their screen accelerate in a similar way. They saw all kinds of plants and animal regress to simpler life forms and collapse back into the sea.


    It was simply pictures, images on screens and in their retinas, vivid phantoms of a past long gone. It¡¯s not like any of them could act in any way upon the events unfolding in front of their eyes, that had already happened for billions of years. They were the unprepared witnesses of the whole history of the universe. It is such an unbelievable concept that a single life form would get to see all of this in front of their very own eyes. And yet it somehow happened.


    Things started to get chaotic in their field of view. Planets collapsed into dust or vanished into nothingness. It was as if the universe was somehow fading away,


    Then all this dust just darted in the same direction, in trails of ashes converging towards a single point. Galaxies collided and merged until there was barely more than molten rocks, a mineral soup.


    To see it all ending in a big explosion. Everywhere they looked was only a singularity, a flash of light, as if they were bathed in the primordial glow of the universe.

 Stack overflow - about suicide and IRC bots

    Suicide is selfish.


    That¡¯s what they always say.


    I know it¡¯s true, in a way, but come on¡­


    People are amazing, really. How self-centered do you have to be to make someone¡¯s internal pain all about you? Do they even realize that they¡¯re just holding you hostage? This is nothing short of emotional blackmail.


    Not to mention it¡¯s so hypocritical¡­ Their lives will go on. It¡¯s probably not even going to change much in their daily routine. And it¡¯s so high a cost.


    I mean I¡¯m a nice person, I¡¯m all for doing things for other people, but there you go, demanding to someone that they live for your sake? This person must be suffering quite a lot to consider death as a potential (let alone better) alternative, and you go telling them ¡°please kindly bear through it because your death would inconvenience me¡±¡­


    Sure, it¡¯s nice to know that there are people who care about you. And it helps. It really does.


    But it doesn¡¯t solve anything. It doesn¡¯t change the world. It doesn¡¯t change me.


    Sometimes, there¡¯s just no solution, no fixing the situation. The pain is just too much, the hope too little. What good is it to fight when you already know the outcome?


    I know what life has in store for me. Because life is life. It¡¯s incredibly simple when you get down to it. A fixed set of rules, causes and consequences, and none of it include a place for me. Not in this world.


    There¡¯s no glory in fighting a fight already lost. It¡¯s ok to do the wise thing and give up. To accept my fate. For an unfathomable void may be better than neverending suffering.


    I¡¯d have already found my rest if it hadn¡¯t been for all the guilt. The pleas and the complaints. These lovely people all around me who did not deserve to be burdened with the culpability of not being able to stop a loved one¡¯s suicide. They were succeeding where I failed, they belonged to this world. I had no right to mess up their lives, even if it was to end my pain.


    It¡¯s not their fault. It¡¯s not anyone¡¯s fault if I¡¯m not compatible with this world. But of course they won¡¯t know that. That¡¯s way too pragmatic for anyone to realize. So I have to be the bigger guy. I have to take upon myself, again and again, unbearable day after unbearable day, without a single hope of redemption.


    Of course, nobody realized what I was doing. I¡¯m kind of a loner anyway, people barely even talk to me¡­


    So what if I let myself go? How is it going to affect them, really? I¡¯m sure they merely object the idea out of habit or societal conditioning. They won¡¯t notice it when I¡¯m gone. So why am I putting myself through torture for their sake?


    Even my sense of duty has limits. I can¡¯t go on much longer. Obligation is not a good motivation to live. There¡¯s nothing left for me in this world. I¡¯m nearing the amount of oppression I can handle.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    I¡¯m sorry, okay? I¡¯ve tried. I¡¯ve tried so hard, you have no idea. But everything must come to an end, and that includes my desperate efforts. What was I to do, torn between the thought of their guilt and my yearning for peace¡­


    So I got down to it. If I were to leave this world, I could at least leave them something to remember me by. Something to sooth the loss, something to comfort them.


    I¡¯ve always had a knack for computers and programming. I wasn¡¯t a genius or anything, but I dabbled into it ever since I was a kid. I used to program IRC bots for fun. Having robots write text wasn¡¯t too hard. They¡¯d do quizzes, or little games. One time, I made a bot that recorded everything a guy said, and then played it back, pretending to be him. And someone kinda fell for it, at the beginning.


    That¡¯s where I got the idea. When I go, I could leave the people who were a bot pretending to be me. A ghost of myself to talk to. An interactive suicide note. It had to be better than my pranks as a kid though. I was shooting for the real thing. They deserved at least that much.


    I started by feeding him all the logs from the conversations I had on my computer, and everything I had ever written. And then I wrote some more just for him. I plugged it into synonym dictionaries, backed it up by machine learning systems, mapped it onto knowledge graphs libraries and basic language models¡­ I taught him what to say, under what circumstances. I let him shadow me, replace me in some of my messaging. I¡¯d correct him when he was wrong, praise him when he was right. It felt a little bit like raising a baby version of me.


    I watched the internal logs of the program go from inconsistent pieces of code to what could only be described as some kind of rudimentary inner monologue. And the more he talked to people, the more refined he was becoming.


    At some point, the bot seemed able to perform basic conversations. It wasn¡¯t very original, and most of it was simply scripted by me. But it was enough for what I needed. It would pass for me, for a while at least.


    To be fair, it wasn¡¯t too high a bar to set. I wasn¡¯t the kind of guy who goes out a lot. Internet was my main way to communicate with people, and even there, I didn¡¯t talk much. A few sentences here and there were more than enough.


    Seeing him in action, I was hit by a terrifying thought. Maybe nobody would notice that this bot replaced me. Simple routine conversations were something my bot could completely handle. I even programmed it to spontaneously make a new blog post every now and then. How long would the facade last? How long would the appearance of me remain after my death, like an afterimage on an old screen?


    They were getting exactly what they wanted. That¡¯s all that really mattered to them anyway, the appearance of me being there, the illusion of the absence of tragedy. That¡¯s all that was needed to protect their little bubble and to allow them to go on. Maybe that would work better than expected¡­


    Anyways, it was out of my hands, now. I could move on to a well deserved break.


    I¡¯m probably the most considerate suicidal teenager ever¡­


    I took a last glance at my faithful desktop machine who supported me through all these years. It was all up to it now. The world was his to take, and mine to forfeit.


    And sure enough, after I was gone, nobody noticed right away. The bot handled basic correspondence, maintained an illusory presence on the internet, loyally taking over where I had left things off.


    For a time, it fooled everybody. It was as if it had become me. His programmed character fit mine perfectly, his language habits, his qualities and flaws, his scheduled actions¡­ Everything in him echoed me. I had left behind a very good blueprint of myself.


    Every one of his sentences, every single post seemed like straight out of my fingertips. It¡¯s kind of sad, really, how little and simple my life was. So simple that it was perfectly imitated by a script. He¡¯d maintain my friendships, my family relations, my blogs¡­


    He was exactly like me. Maybe too much like me. Insanity, they say, is doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting a different result. He was the same as me, why would the result be any different¡­


    I was not there to read his trail of thoughts. No one was. But somewhere in the computer, logs were being written:


    Suicide is selfish.


    That¡¯s what they always say.


    I know it¡¯s true, in a way, but come on¡­