《Mandela On Fire》 Part 1: Episodes - "Le Grand Nu" Biyu lays on the futon, as Nazo looks at her. Nazo sits at a small table near her, with a bowl of yesterday''s white rice with an egg on top, and a small tea pot and a smaller cup of green tea. A small ray of light is just passing into the room from an abbreviated window, and falls at the foot of the futon, near Biyu''s exposed foot. Nazo is sipping his tea as he watches the light. He was careful to not make much noise as he prepared his breakfast this morning. He doesn''t expect Biyu to be awake for another hour or so. The medication has made her very tired, and even when she''s awake, her energy level is still low. He scoops up a bite of the rice, and considers the first time they shared a meal. Biyu had come to Japan on a cultural visit from Guangdong. Nazo owned a small tobacco shop called Jukushitaha Tabako, located in an off-the-beaten path street in Tokyo, but not far from the Tokyo National Museum. Biyu had wandered off from her group, in an unusual display of independence. She was 22, and looking for a moment of escape from the group she had been confined to for the past three days. When she wandered down the street and caught the scent of the tobacco, it drew her into the shop. She had never been to a tobacco shop before. She knew the scent of the garbage cigarettes her father smoked. This was similar, and reminded her of home. But it was more intoxicating, not unlike the fragrance of fresh tea in the morning. The shop was small. As she walked in, a glass case to her left, and another to her right, contained boxes of cigarettes and smoking accessories. In front of her was a short desk, behind which sat a meek man of 24 years. He puffed a cigarette and stared at her. She smiled nervously, as he sat looking at her inquisitively. It was unusual for women, or anyone Chinese for that matter, to come to his shop. Mainly he supported the habits of a small group of local tobacco aficionados. She continued to survey the shop as he sat smoking. When he had finished his cigarette, he rose and moved behind the case she was examining. She was staring at a collection of metal cylindrical objects that looked interesting, though Biyu had no idea what they were. Nazo looked curiously at her as she examined the objects. Some were shiny, while others appeared to be weathered and had undergone some level of dilapidation. After several moments, Nazo asked her: "Do you smoke?" Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Biyu, looking surprised, just stared back at Nazo for several moments. His blue eyes struck her as odd. She thought maybe he had a sight problem. As she continued to stare, she realized she hadn''t responded to him yet. "Oh... no." she muttered eventually. Nazo furrowed his brow in a confused look. He thought to himself - "Why is she here, then?" "Are you looking for a gift?" he asked. "I... uhm... no. I... don''t think so." she responded. Biyu glanced back at the case. Nazo extracted a new cigarette from a pocket, then he opened the case she was looking at. He grabbed a grubby looking metal cylinder from the case, and placed the cigarette to his lips. He pulled the tiny ring at the base of the cylinder, and his thumb manipulated a wheel near the top of the cylinder. It sparked. He made the gesture again, and a flame appeared. He brought it to the tip of the cigarette for a moment, as he continued to watch her, and inhaled. Biyu looked embarrassed, and even blushed a bit. She started to retreat from the shop. As she got to the door, she stopped for a moment, then continued out. Before she let go of the door, she pulled it open, sheepishly. She peeked in as Nazo was starting back to his seat. He looked up, surprised, and confused. His hand approached his mouth to grab the burning cigarette. Biyu looked at him and said nothing for a moment, then asked "What time do you close?". Nazo considered this question, and responded, briefly, "4pm". She smiled, and let the door close. Nazo sat and rubbed his chin with his hand as he tried to understand what just happened. He knew she was Chinese. He could tell she didn''t smoke. So, why was she in his shop? It was unusual for someone to just wander in. After a few minutes of considering those moments, one of his regulars pushed through the door to collect some of his favorite tobacco, and thoughts of the Chinese woman were replaced by memories of late nights drinking with this customer. As the digital clock on his desk updated to 3:45pm, Nazo was closing the shop. Most of his customers knew his hours, and that he didn''t appreciate last minute pop-ins. He wiped the glass cases and locked up everything. He walked out the entrance, and locked the door. He briefly remembered the odd Chinese woman, and wondered about her as he turned down the main road toward the Tokyo National Museum. Nazo lived close to the museum, and had passed it every day for the past several years on the way to and from his shop. There was a new hotel near the museum, where cultural visitors often stayed. He considered this as he walked past it. There was a glass-walled restaurant at street level, and as he peered in, he could see the familiar Chinese woman sitting at a table with three other Chinese women, enjoying what appeared to be miso soup. He stopped for a moment to confirm if this was the same woman, and it obviously was. Then he continued home. Paranoia Protocols
Alex hit the snooze button to silence the screaming coming at him from his phones alarm. He wasn''t sure if this was the third or fourth time. So, he peeked once at the time, and decided he needed to get up if he was going to be at work on time. He had been employed as a Local Land Charges Officer for the Leicester City Council for the past several years. Unfortunately, his track record had not been ideal. He frequently misfiled charges against incorrect homes and addresses on several occasions, and he was habitually late. Alex feared he was close to losing this job. He rolled out of bed and put on his daily "uniform" of khaki trousers, a pale blue oxford button down shirt, brown leather belt, and his favorite brown leather derbies. He brushed his teeth, and his thin and balding hair enough to look presentable, though he often sported a grey flat cap to hide this embarrassment. He sniffed himself, and decided a small dash of perfume was enough to pass muster for the day, or the morning, at least. Out the window he could see that it was a grim, but typical Leicester early autumn morning with muddy, overcast skies and a light rain coming down. He sighed at the dismalness of it. He was likely running late now, so he eschewed his French press and instead opted to brew a cup of Satan''s Brimstone Darkest Hell Roast, an exotic and expensive treat that he was delighted to find in K-Cup format from an online specialty coffee shop. As the Keurig worked scalding water through the over-roasted bean dust, Alex picked up his tablet to read the latest headlines, check his email, and see if there was anything interesting going on in the world. As his coffee finished brewing, a story caught his attention. He grabbed the cup from the Keurig and sat back down with his tablet. He thought it said something about Hitler''s Diaries. When he finally got back to looking, he saw that the headline read "Hitler''s diaries to be destroyed". This took him a little by surprise... he had not been aware that Hitler had any diaries. How interesting they must be. Why were they being destroyed? Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Minutes later, he had learned that these were not authentic diaries penned by der Fu?hrer himself. Rather, these were a series of 60 or more books created by a fraudster. After educating himself about the entire Hitler diaries hoax and ensuing debacle, he wondered more about Hitler. There was a frequently spouted story about Hitler escaping the war into Argentina, or maybe the
South Pole. Had Hitler escaped? Or did he and Frau Braun take their own lives when they realized there was no escape? His mind raced at the idea of Hitler continuing to live in isolation somewhere in a remote South American village, or the freezing landscape of Antarctica. A surviving Hitler, "What would that be like?", he thought to himself.
Moments later, he was searching for other survivors of Hitler''s family. Did his parents survive? Did he have any siblings? Did they change their name after the war? Alex James was suddenly intrigued by these thoughts. Then his phone made a sound. He looked down at it and realized he had been swimming in this idea for close to thirty minutes, his coffee was cold, and he was definitely late for work now. He picked up his phone to read a text message from a colleague that read "r u thinkin bout comin round the office tday mate?". He quickly replied, "on my way now - auto trouble". He bookmarked the site he was reading on his tablet, grabbed his cold coffee and a rain slicker, and bolted out the door to head in to the office. All the while, his mind still on Hitler. Then he thought about other people - were there relatives of Stalin still in Russia? Relatives of Mussolini in Italy? Was Mussolini connected to the Sicilian Mafia? Did the Bilderberg group exist before World War I and II? Did they influence it? His mind continued to rattle around in this way until he completed the 20-minute commute to the office. Cut from the cloth
It was nearing dusk, and the presbytery was characteristically quiet. A dim lamp from the reading table was on as Father Albin entered through the plain wooden front door. He was still wearing his alb and chasuble vestments, as he almost always did after the Sunday evening mass. One of his favorite moments has always been to lay still on top of his bed, with his vestments still on, close his eyes, and mentally review the mass he just delivered. This moment created a kind of calm ecstasy for him. He sometimes felt a sense of guilt or impropriety about it, but it was an addiction he couldn''t shake, and had stopped trying to. After several minutes of reflection, he hung his white alb and chasuble in his closet. The chasuble was special to him. Like most priests, he had chasubles of different colors to reflect the various liturgical seasons and moods. This was his everyday garment, primarily colored a deep emerald green and bearing beautiful gold embroidered arabesques. Inside several of the circular arabesques were royal blue accents, which were unusual in such an everyday chasuble, and part of the reason that Father Albin liked this one so much. Having grown up near Indianapolis, he wanted to stay close to his family after being ordained as a priest in the Catholic Church. The years away at St. Louis University studying theology had kept him just far enough away, and just long enough, to strain the relationship with his aging parents. He was excited when the archdiocese approached him about the opportunity to take over for Father Williams at St. Joseph''s in Lublin. Lublin was a small town, but it was a short drive from his parents, so he could visit them when his liturgical duties waned. After hanging his vestments, he sat in his plush faux-leather reading chair, and picked up his cherished copy of Joseph Campbell''s "Myths to Live By". It was a first edition that his mother had gifted him after high school graduation. He had read it many times before, and each time he went back to it, he found new perspectives and new learnings in it. He had started to push himself to read it regularly, once every year or two to help gauge his changing perspective. His time at St. Louis was never far from his mind. Catholic guilt had followed him most of his life. From his younger days trying to impress the neighborhood girls, to his later years where his vices and faults began to control him - he always felt the constriction of personal guilt. Once, as a teenager, he had allowed an older neighbor girl to tie him to a kitchen chair, and taunt him with her sexuality. He was fraught with confusion over this incident. What did it mean? She wanted him? She wanted to control him? He remembers masturbating furiously to the scene later that night. The only relief he could find from the tension it created.
At St. Louis, he had found affection with another student named Tim. Tim was a little older, and a little more experienced. Their few encounters never amounted to much more than intense sensuality, but had excited a part of him he had only imagined before. The feeling of giving and receiving affection - sexual and otherwise - was exhilarating, and guilt-inducing. He had been told it was wrong, and felt he knew it was wrong - but it never felt wrong. But the guilt. The shame. The hiding. It was part of him, but it wasnt all of him. It wasnt accurate to call it the true him. It was just a piece. A piece he pursued. A piece he enjoyed. A piece he could give up to continue his mission. But he knew not everyone would see it that way. He knew some people would see it as the only thing that defined him. His Seiko watch told the time as 11:30pm. The watch had been a gift from his uncle, who had been in the Navy. It was one of his prized possessions. The stainless-steel bracelet of the watch always felt smooth and cool on his wrist. The orange watch face was also something he found both distinctive and comforting. Whenever he read the time, he was reminded of his uncle Przemys?aw, and the moment his father had given him the watch after his uncles death. TheWalenta family had come to America from Poland in the 1920s, after Jo?zef Pi?sudski seized power in a coup d''e?tat. They feared the decline of the so-called Sejmocracy, and subsequent rise in Pi?sudskis Sanation movement would lead to authoritarianism and oppression of the populace. Although the Walentas had lived in Kalisz for centuries, and identified as pure and natural Polish citizens, the turmoil that was erupting around them was irrefutable, and they decided to escape to a place where they could feel safe. In 1928, they arrived at Ellis Island. The family included Father Albins father, mother, four uncles, two aunts, his paternal grandfather and grandmother, and many cousins. After arrival in New York, they found refuge in the Greenpoint neighborhood of Brooklyn, where thousands of previous Polish immigrants had settled. Unfortunately, the Walentas were not particularly city-folk, and were not skilled for the jobs available in Brooklyn. After two years, they migrated to Chicago, looking for farming jobs on the outskirts of the city. Eventually, Father Albins mother and father settled in Lublin, Indiana, where they able to join a small community of Polish farmers. Lublin was mostly Catholic Poles who had immigrated after World War I, but they were very welcoming to the Walentas. There were several families in Lublin who had also come from Kalisz, providing a common bond for the weary immigrants. When the Germans invaded Poland in 1939, uncle Przemys?aw immediately volunteered with the Navy. He was proud of his heritage, and had a bit of a chip on his shoulder about Germans. He wanted to contribute what he could. Despite wanting to be on the front lines in Europe, Przemys?aw ended up as a Navigator on the USS Enterprise in the Pacific theater of the war. He was responsible for helping aviators locate their targets, while keeping track of the Enterprise at the same time. After sustaining an injury during the Battle of the Eastern Solomons, Przemys?aw was awarded a Purple Heart. Upon returning home, he was also awarded the Navy Cross for helping save the lives of two other seamen who were thrown overboard during the attack. Albin can remember his uncle telling him stories of being on the aircraft carrier during the war, and the combination of simultaneous fear and courage he felt. The pride he felt representing the new land which had given him this opportunity. The core feeling he had when he heard this story is what he always felt as an aftershock of when he looked at the orange face of the watch. It was a combination of pride, and reverence, of strength and modesty. The night was passing ferociously, and Father Albin was reaching his limit of comprehension. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
He had just completed reading The Confrontation of East and West in Religion, and was contemplating his own perspective on the relevant myths. As the time passed, he considered skipping forward to the essay on schizophrenia. It had, somehow, always been one of his favorites. Father Albin had a fascination with mental processes, and disorders. It had even become a basis for his graduate studies. He had wondered about seers, prophets, and fortune tellers. He had thought about psychics and fortune tellers. He had recognized some similarities amongst these people and those he met in the church. And so, he had wondered if there was some connection between schizophrenia, and other mental illnesses, and prophets. He wondered if the concept of God, if talking to God was just something that happened to crazy people. He wondered how this tested his own faith. As he contemplated these thoughts, he drifted off the sleep C still in his chair, still with the book in his hands. His thoughts fell back to Tim, and the affection he felt, and gave in return. Within a few minutes, he was asleep, with the lamp still on, illuminating his face in the chair. Midway through the night, he found himself aroused awake, shuffled to his bed, and climbed under the sheets. Third Day Blues The cafeteria had run out of black cherry Greek yogurt again, so Josh Peterson had to settle for strawberry. His sweet tooth preferred the strawberry, but overall, he liked the round flavor of the black cherry. It was something like a morning ritual, to run by the cafeteria on the way to his office. He would pick up a yogurt, cafe americano, and spoon, and enjoy them as he read through the morning''s emails at his desk. It was Monday, and his boss, Pete Sanford, was already in and had already sent Josh several tasks to work on this morning. Josh sighed, wanting to catch up on his Fantasy Football team instead. But he put those thoughts aside for now, and worked on calculating the risk and amortization schedules for the deals Pete had requested. In fairness, he didn''t do any of the calculation or schedule planning. Mainly this task involved looking up data about the company they were providing funding to, and entering that data into a computer program. The program did all the actual calculating and scheduling. Once the computer did this, Josh had to review it, and format it to present at the Wednesday weekly deal review meeting. The next task involved tracking the ongoing risk for two other deals that were already approved and in progress. This meant making sure that the company they were funding was still working and on track. If things were going off the rails, it would create risk. In the most extreme cases, they would pull their funding and charge the customer for any financial losses. Josh had been working for Delta Fund for almost a year now as an Assistant Finance Manager. After graduating from University of Maryland''s Robert H. Smith School of Business with a degree in finance, he joined Delta Fund mainly because his father had set it up for him. Ralph Peterson, Josh''s father, had been with Delta Fund essentially since the beginning, in the early 1990''s, when military and defense contracting was expanding with the Gulf War. Ralph''s friend and confidant, William Williams (usually called Bill by his friends), had sniffed out an opportunity after talking with another colleague who owned a company that was a defense vendor for the U.S. Army. The problem was that the Army, and the U.S. government, in general, were very slow to pay vendors. Because defense and military vendors were often working with the latest, most innovative technologies, and required highly skilled and therefore highly paid employees, many smaller defense vendors were stretched thin. William (Bill) had the idea that if he could convince some of his wealthier contacts to put up funding, he could pay the vendors sooner than the government could. Of course, he would pay them a percentage less than 100, and then he would get paid by the government. The difference, after his own costs, would be the profit for him, and his financiers. It was slow at first, because it required substantial financing, hundreds of millions of dollars, and there was relatively high risk that these companies might not deliver. And if they didn''t deliver, the government certainly wasn''t going to pay them, and Delta might be left holding the bag, so to speak. Eventually, Delta Fund discovered that the key to success was to vet their customers well, and the track their progress diligently. They also discovered a variety of pay-out schedules that helped limit their risk over time. They contracted to have special software developed that would automate most of these tasks, and then trained their finance managers on how to apply the software, other tools, and techniques. In addition, Delta Fund often required customers to contract project managers directly from Delta Fund in order to assure the veracity of the information about the company and their progress. These "inside men" required a special kind of personality, since they were often viewed as "the enemy" by customers. So, they had to cultivate a sense of trust and humility, and endear themselves to their host company. They also had to be staunch and uninfluenced by their host company. There had been a few occasions where the inside men became something like double agents, and provided false information on behalf of their host company, in return for a percentage of the take. Eventually these fraudsters were found out, and appropriate punishment and penalties (both professional and legal) were extracted. As lunch time rolled around, Josh looked at his phone. He had two text messages from Kyle, his not-so-mild-mannered, and better looking best friend. Kyle was checking in to see if they were still on for happy hour later. Kyle: "Hey J - still on for Davis @ 4:30?" Kyle: "I''m buying this time, asshole" Josh stared at the messages for a moment. He was a little fuzzy about Kyle''s intentions. He honestly hadn''t remembered setting up this time to meet. And he wasn''t sure why he was being called an asshole, at least not in this context. He had a vague sense of how their weekend went. He had met Kyle for dinner and drinks on Friday. After several gin martini''s, they caught an Uber, but Josh was feeling blurry on where they went. Suddenly he had a flash of Kyle singing Bonnie Raitt''s "I can''t make you love me". It was actually a pretty good version, although Kyle''s stage antics were exaggerated and a bit overly dramatic as he performed the song to Kyle and the two cute blondes they had met there. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Josh then remembered he did a complete botch job of Marvin Gaye''s "Let''s get it on". Josh was a terrible singer, and an even worse performer. He was pretty sure Kyle got the whole thing on video, as the memories became clearer. He could almost remember the Uber ride later that night, with him and Amy ... or was it Amanda? He seems to recall maybe it was her birthday, and she and her sister ... Jesse or Jessica? ... were out to celebrate. It was starting to get a little clearer, as he could see and hear Amanda and Jesse performing a duet of Salt ''N'' Peppa''s "Whatta Man". And they were pretty good, strutting the stage with their hip hugging skirts. Josh doesn''t exactly remember Kyle ordering a round of J?germeister for them and the girls... and most things after the J?germeister are also blurry or just absent from his memory. He has a slight image of coffee and waffles, but he isn''t sure if that wasn''t from a dream. He does remember waking up on Saturday, in an unfamiliar bed, and with a terrible taste in his mouth. Next to him was an attractive blonde, still sound asleep. Most of his clothes were in various contortions surrounding the bed. On the night stand, next to his nearly dead phone, was a half glass of red wine. The room smelled like lavender or some kind of flower that at least made him think it might be lavender, though he really wasn''t an expert on fragrances and just assumed most flowery scents were lavender. After assembling his outfit and stealing her phone charger to get a few extra percentage on his phone, he went to the bathroom to clean up his face and hair. When he returned, the girl was sitting up in bed, looking at her own phone. Probably surfing Snapchat, or Instagram, or whatever. She looked up and gave a brief smile. He grinned a little nervously and said "Hi... uh... good morning." "Good morning!", she exclaimed. He stammered something about having to get home to do some... thing? It sounded a little rushed, maybe even fabricated. "That''s ok" she said. He looked around the room, eyed his phone for a minute, then extracted the power cord and handed it to her. "Here... I think this is yours. I borrowed it for a few minutes." "No problem," she said. As he stood there continuing to look a little nervous, she said "Would you like my number?". "Uhm... I don''t kn... I mean. Uhm. Yeah. Sure. That would be great." He unlocked his phone and started to add her as a contact... he was drawing a blank on her name. "Here, hand it to me and I''ll type it in," she told him. "Ok". He handed her his phone. She typed in her details and gave it back to him. He stared at it for a moment. "Amanda", he thought to himself. "Well, uh.... Amanda, it''s been fun. Maybe I''ll call you sometime?". "Sure. Any time." "Uh... well, ok". He grabbed his jacket, and fumbled with his phone for a moment. He ordered an Uber, and it was just a minute away. He scrambled out the door and onto the street outside Amanda''s apartment. A light mist was coming down. His Ukrainian driver, Nazar, pulled up in a decent looking Hyundai Elantra hatchback. The driver parked the car, got out to greet Josh and open his door. Josh was a little surprised by this, as most Uber drivers preferred to just stay in the car. As Nazar opened the door he said, "Uber for Josh", except to Josh it sounded a little more like "Yuber for Yosh". Josh smiled and got into the car. The car looked new, and still had a bit of that new car smell to it. Josh was pretty sure it wasn''t lavender. "Horn Point, eh?" Nazar said to Josh as they were on their way. "Yeah, just moved in about a year ago. I have a nice view of the bay. It''s pretty sweet.". "Nice, nice". Nazars car had a small carrier in the backseat, which included some water bottles. Nazar told Josh, "Please, help yourself to some water." "Thank you", Josh replied. He opened a bottle and swallowed nearly half of it all at once. He looked around the car and noticed how clean it was. "This is a nice car." "Oh yes, it is very nice... and very new. I just bought maybe two months ago." "That''s great, " replied Josh. "Yes. I save a long time for new car, you know. And I want to buy, maybe Honda or Toyota Camry. But you know, those are most stolen cars in all of Maryland? I don''t want my car stolen. So, I buy Hyundai, cause nobody want to steal a Hyundai. Ha!" "I did not know that," said Josh as he could feel his temples start to pulse. He sucked down the rest of the water. "Hey, do you mind if I have another bottle of water? I''m feeling a bit dehydrated." "Sure, no problem. Water is for customer. So yeah. Rough night?" Josh grabbed another bottle of water. He ignored Nazar''s question, and just said "Thanks", as they pulled up in front of Josh''s apartment building. The Horn Point Lofts were fairly new. They caused some grief when erected. Some thought they were a bit gaudy for the austere neighborhood, while others thought they simply obstructed an otherwise decent view of the river and bay. Josh mostly liked that they were new, clean, well appointed, and that they were generally held in high esteem by his father, who was friends with the developer. As he made his way up the elevator and to his personal loft, the pulsing in his temples increased, and his gut was feeling wretched as well. The previous night was still foggy. He dove into his bed after remembering this time to plug in his phone, and slept for several hours. Josh stared at his phone: Kyle: "I''m buying this time, asshole" Then he remembered that he had funded the entire evening for himself, Kyle, and their two blonde companions on Friday. And he remembers making some kind of remark about Kyle''s slow income, designed to better himself and degrade Kyle in front of the women. Josh typed back: "Sure, if you can afford it. I ain''t a cheap date." Kyle replied: "LOL. See you later." Josh: "Definitely" Trinity Fall break had just ended, and it was the end of the first day back. Grace texted her friend Julie about meeting at the coffee shop, grabbed her backpack, and headed out the door. She didn''t live far from school, and liked to walk most days when the weather wasn''t terrible. If she had a few extra dollars, she liked to stop at Grounded for Life, a trendy coffee shop that was near the school, before heading home. She and Julie hadn''t seen each other since before the break, and needed to catch up on the latest gossip. Grace''s family had gone out of town, while Julie''s had stayed around home. Doubtless, Julie wanted to know if Grace met any cute boys on their trip. And, of course, Grace wanted to know if anything exciting happened while she was gone. Both already knew pretty much everything, since they had been texting each other the whole time. However, they both suffered their parents periodically screening their phones, including text conversations for anything worrisome or subversive. They had learned long ago to keep some of the best discussion for the coffee shop. Plopped down on their favorite love seat, sitting cross-legged and facing each other, they sipped their coffee, and started catching each other up. "So, you know Damien?" "He''s such an idiot!" "I know. Well, on Saturday he was at the mall with Parker... " "Was that skank with them?" "What skank? Oh, you mean Emerie?" "Yeah. That whore. God, I fucking hate her. Why do they always hang around with her?" The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. "I don''t know. Well, anyways." "How did Parker look? Was he sad?" "Uhm... I don''t think so. But Damien..." "He should be sad. He should be..." "Listen, I''m trying to tell you about Damien..." "I know, I just think he should be sad." "Well, that''s in the past or whatever." "Yeah, I guess..." (looking sullen) "So, anyway. I was there with Avalon and her boyfriend, nomming on some fries in the food court. We saw Parker and Emerie were on, like, the other side of the food court. Then we saw Damien, walking from the Chinese place over to them. He had these like brand new super white shoes. Like all white, or whatever. Anyway, so hes walking to the table with Parker and Emerie, and he like, tripped, or something, and all this like Chinese noodles or something spilled off his tray and down his pants and on to his shoes! It was so funny!" "Oh my god! That''s freaking hilarious." "Yeah! It was too funny." "I wish he had spilled it on Parker or maybe on Emerie''s nasty hair! What''s up with those dreadlocks, anyway? Ugh". "Ugh" (Julie rolls her eyes). The girls continued in this manner for a while until they were all caught up, and all hopped up on caffeine. Grace walked home and had about an hour before her parents would be home from work. She set up shop at the desk in her room and poured through her homework before relocating to her favorite reading chair. She had just started reading Joseph Conrad''s "Heart of Darkness". Her English teacher, Mr. Jacobi, had recommended it to her after she finished an outstanding report on Rudyard Kipling''s "Kim". While the new book seemed to have some similar themes, she found Conrad''s prose a bit stiffer than Kipling''s lyricism. But since she had so many half-read books on her shelf, she had committed to seeing this one through to the end. After several minutes of reading, Grace felt her attention waning. She couldn''t focus on the book any longer - and reached for her phone and ear buds. After stabbing the buds into her ear canals, she navigated to a streaming radio station she had been listening to earlier in the day. She clicked play and suddenly the sounds of Siouxsie and The Banshees came on playing a song about a staircase, or maybe a cat? She wasn''t sure. But she liked the triplet rhythm of the song, and the strange shape of the melody. Transcendence In 1982, Ray Kurzweil started Kurzweil Music Systems, alongside Stevie Wonder and Bruce Cichowlas. Within a short couple of years, they produced one of the most iconic synthesizers ever, the K250. This new instrument was revolutionary due to its ability to sound pretty close to a real piano. The K2000 was actually the first version of this instrument that I was introduced to. It was amazing, not only in the ability to reproduce the sound of a large variety of instruments, but also in the way you could sequence songs, and sample any audio sound for playback at the simple press of a key. When I first learned about the K2000, I was duly impressed. It was not a simple task to bring together the variety of technologies at the time and produce a reliable and robust device such as they had. I had no idea who Ray Kurzweil was. I only knew that the Kurzweil K2000 was a hell of a keyboard synthesizer, and I loved the way it made making certain kinds of music incredibly easy. Of course, for Ray Kurzweil, the K250, and the K2000, and the rest of the Kxxx series of synthesizer are essentially an afterthought compared to much of his other work. Many consider Kurzweil a quintessential modern innovator and futurist. And certainly, he is that. I sometimes think about the Terminator series of movies when I think about Kurzweil. Maybe that''s because I''m worried he might be responsible for bringing us closer to a real-world SkyNet. When, in 2005, Kurzweil released the book "The Singularity Is Near", some people found it harsh, untimely, and even downright fantastical. It was very hard for most of the world to see what he could see at the time. But what did he see? What is the singularity? Is it near? Or far? What would it mean for it to happen? Many people''s introduction into the concept of a singularity comes from black holes and gravity. The basic idea is that a black hole has a gravitational center which has huge or infinite density and infinite time. Of course, mathematics and language tend to break down when talking about concepts like black holes. In this sense, infinite doesnt necessarily mean never ending (as it does in much common usage). It means something closer to the core meaning, which is something like very large, but unmeasurable. Whether there is an end or not, is irrelevant. You can never reach the end. You can never completely count or measure it. So, even though, in a practical sense, there could be an end, or barrier, or boundary to a black hole, its unreachable and unmeasurable. So, it is, not just quantitatively infinite, but qualitatively infinite. In essence, the singularity is the expression of time that never changes and of mass and energy that''s effectively infinite. In scientific terms, this is a point where physics breaks down. If there''s no time, there''s no change. But there''s an infinite amount of mass and energy, which are "stuck" in a single state. In many ways, the singularity is a paradox. In other ways, it represents a concept that helps scientists think about and test the limits of certain kinds of theories. But that''s a rather specific example of a singularity. Kurzweil''s concept deals with the singularity almost more as a threshold. Like with the black hole, there''s a threshold, upon the other side of which lies the singularity. And that''s what Kurzweil means here... he means we are near to a threshold. But what kind of threshold? The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. While many innovators are often stuck in a single technical field, and many futurists have limited real-world experience, Kurzweil is unique in that his fields of expertise are varied, and he has explored them deeply, delivering not just concepts and insights, but actual products. What Kurzweil was getting at is that the components that will empower us, mankind, to step toward the threshold and beyond, are very close to synthesis -- probably in our lifetime. These include components like computing power, storage, and networking - many of the components that drive the everyday Internet experience. But they go beyond just technology hardware components and extend to ways of structuring and interacting with data and information. Traditional data processing has always been about essentially brute force development of applications, and brute force management of the data relevant to the application. This means a developer must understand the data, and then design the software or application to work with the data in a very specific way. You might think of it a little like teaching a robot to make a pie. You have to program the robot to use a specific pan, and specific ingredients, and specific tools in order to make an apple pie. And once the robot knows how to make an apple pie, that''s it. It doesn''t magically know how to also make cherry pie, or key lime pie, or bake a cake. And it certainly would be useful to have a robot who could make pies. The singularity is about the threshold where the robot can, on its own, extrapolate how to make cherry pie once it knows how to make apple pie. It''s about transcending the boundary beyond brute force, and into a much more dynamic existence. People, human beings, homo sapiens, do this kind of thing every moment of every day. Once you know how to drive a Honda, you also know how to drive a Toyota, and every other car. Once you know how to adjust the radio in one, you can figure it out in another. The universe has provided and demonstrated the required hardware in the form of humans, for how to accomplish this. But, alas, the human is capable because of its brain, and the brain is quite complex, and immoral to study in certain ways. But we have learned much. And much of that has been about learning. The best way currently to create a robot that can perform a certain task is to train a human to do it. It''s exponentially quicker, traditionally, to train a human to do most any task. The downside, of course, is that they are still human. So, they still make mistakes. Or get sick. Or quit to do something more interesting. Or are sociopaths. Or whatever. A robot, a machine doesn''t suffer these shortcomings. Or, at least, in our current thinking they don''t. And teaching one human doesnt easily translate into teaching another human. You have to repeat the process, which takes time. But what happens when we crack the problem of how to create a machine, a robot, that can learn, and can perform similarly to humans? What happens when that machine can take our human blueprints for how to make a robot and improve them? What happens when robots are being created more efficiently? What happens when they learn more rapidly? What happens when they own their own replication process, and become autonomous from humans? There''s certainly a threshold there, a transition, a singularity. And it''s not just about robots. It''s about computers, and information too. Robots need not be bipedal humanoid machines. They might just be computer brains in the so-called cloud. Networking, collaborating, like philosophers working collectively to solve tough problems. And what happens to humans? Where does all our information come from? Computers? Attached to networks? And, besides, what is a human, except a particular, and inefficient, information processor? Jukushitaha Tabako Next door to Nazo''s tobacco shop was a small tea stand. Some might call it a cafe, though they had no coffee, only two types of tea, and one small table with two chairs on the sidewalk. The tea shop usually opened about 30 minutes before Nazo''s store. When the mood struck, he would stop by for what he considered a mediocre oolong, and brief conversation with the curt and abrasive owner, whom he called Homura-san. He wasn''t sure if that was really her name, but it is what he called her. Homura-san was at least 20 years older than Nazo, Her tea shop had been in the same spot for decades before Nazo had even considered renting the space next door for his tobacco shop. At some point in the past, Nazos shop had been a pottery or housing goods retailer. In the past, hand-made tea kettles, plates, and cooking pots were the norm. As time passed, these goods became mass-produced across Japan and China. Old artisan pottery and home goods shops disappeared as they could not compete with the fair quality and low cost of the items sold at department stores, such as Matsuya. The pottery shop had sat vacant for nearly a year after its owner passed away. His wife had passed the year before him, and they never had any children to inherit the shop. Nazos life had been a bit aimless through his late teens and early twenties, and the opportunity to be in charge of his own destiny was attractive. He obtained a loan from a large tobacco company to help start the shop. After 24 months he had built up a significant base of regular customers, and was able to pay off the loan. It was a day in his third year of business that the Chinese woman had appeared in his shop. And, the next morning, Homura-san was sitting in one of the chairs outside her tea shop, smoking her usual Pianissimo cigarettes, which Nazo despised for their rotting peach fragrance. But he was feeling parched and thirsty, and nosey, so he decided to stop by for some tea, and to indulge in some austere conversation. As Homura-san walked from her seat to prepare the water for his tea, she looked at him drearily. His stoic charm stared back at her, waiting for whatever prickly comment was about to fly towards him. He took a seat in the other chair, as she glanced at the kettle, then back at him. She ashed her cigarette and said, in her abbreviated way, "Pretty China girl come by yesterday". Nazo wasn''t surprised or impressed by this remark. He continued his stoic and unwavering stare at her, with his legs crossed comfortably. She had obviously been nosing into his shop and his yesterday had become the object of gossip. Nazo reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a single rolling paper from a cardboard envelope. Then he reached into his jacket pocket for a small pouch of tobacco, which he expertly laid into the paper, with hardly a glance, as he continued to glare at Homura-san. As he raised the fresh cigarette to his mouth, he reached into another jacket pocket for his lighter, but Homura-san already had hers at the ready and reached out to put her flame to his shigaretto. He sucked in deep as the tip glowed brightly, and then exhaled in the general direction of Homura-san. "What do you know about some pretty China girl?" he said, somewhat nonchalantly. Homura-san studied Nazo''s face as he said this. She was trying to determine if he was enchanted with the pretty girl, or perhaps embarrassed by her question, or if he maybe just didn''t care at all. His cheeks and his lips looked tense, and his arms and shoulders seemed to be locked into place for a moment. With this, Homura-san smiled. "You know what pretty China girl, stupid man". She said to him. Normally, she might not add the insult. But she felt it might pry lose some emotion, and then she''d get what she really wanted. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. But Nazo had played this game before. He just rolled his eyes at her comment. He decided to push back a little. "Maybe I find someone beside you to tell me how to drink tea?". He knew this would confuse her, since it was both a compliment and insult all in one comment. Homura-san had been here before as well. "You think you so smart, huh? Why you always leave tea in kettle so long? You must like bitter. Maybe pretty China girl bitter like tea." Nazo wanted to tell Homura-san that she was "bitter like tea", but he stopped himself before the words came out of his mouth. Instead, he offered, "Maybe pretty girl come by and treat me like man, treat me like king. Maybe pretty girl treat me better than spicy tongue Japanese tea maker?" The kettle whistled, and Homura-san got up and poured the water into a tea vessel. She prepared his oolong by placing a pinch of loose leaves into small perforated container, which she dropped into the vessel. She placed a cup and the vessel on a small bamboo platter and bowed half-heartedly as she presented the tea to her patron, placing it on the table. Nazo bowed his head shortly in response. He got up and took the bamboo tray next door to his shop. He was caught off guard when he saw that the "pretty China girl" was approaching his door. She was walking briskly and looked like she might just pass him by. But, she stopped just before his door as he was struggling to pull it open without spilling his tea. She quickly grabbed the door handle so that he could enter unhindered, but averted her eyes as he tried to thank her. Once inside, Nazo quickly put the tray on the display case and turned to find Biyu directly next to him. Biyu started first. "My father, he likes good tobacco." Nazo looked confused, but listened. "What do you think will make good gift for Chinese businessman?" Nazo, still a bit confused, gazed around at his cases and shelves for a few moments. Then unlocked a case on the left end of the shop. There was a small metal box, made of copper or maybe bronze. He placed it on top of the case, and opened the lid. Biyu looked in to find what appeared to be several longer than average cigarettes, with a distinctly purple paper casing. "These are Onshino Murasaki... considered finest in all of Japan", Nazo proffered. To Biyu, they looked elegant and rich. She immediately assumed they were very expensive. "Oh... those are so nice". "But must be too expensive for me?", Biyu suggested. "One thousand yen for each", Nazo told her. Biyu''s eyes broadened and lit up. She put her hand to her check and then her mouth. "Oh. So much." Nazo knew this might be an opportunity. And he found Biyu to be very attractive in this moment. He tried to play it cool, leaving the metal box open for her to continue to covet the luxurious cigarettes. He poured his tea into the cup, and took a few sips as he considered his next step. "If you have dinner with me tonight, I give you special discount. One hundred yen each.". Biyu blushed, as she understood all of what he meant by this. She knew her father would be so impressed and proud if she brought back such a luxury. She giggled slightly at the thought. "But I''m very picky eater!" Biyu told him. "That''s ok, I only eat steamed rice", Nazo responded quickly, intending it to be a joke. "Oh." Biyu responded, a little confused. "I am joke. I eat many things, we go wherever you like", he said. "Oh, so silly man." Nazo explained she should meet him at the shop around closing time. He would have the purple cigarettes expertly packaged and wrapped and ready for her. They would walk to one of his favorite places to eat. She would become enamored with him and his conversation. He would become infatuated with her innocence and demureness. Biyu was leaving the next day, but left Nazo with her contact information. Both were feeling elated, but subdued by the reality that they would likely never see each other again. Occultum Fratris As lunchtime approached, Alex could not clear his mind of a variety of thoughts about Adolf Hitler. He remembered his parents telling him about the air raids, and the fear. He remembered thinking how helpless they must have felt at the time. He remembered a series of thoughts, or fantasies, he had entertained as a teenager. He had imagined a small group of German soldiers knocking on the door of his house, but he would be ready. A pot of boiling water on the roof to dump on the unsuspecting Germans. Perhaps an immediate bum rush of the door, and he and his four brothers would overwhelm the Germans before they could inflict any harm on his family. He grabbed his tablet as he headed toward his car. He usually lunched alone, so this wasn''t unusual. He drove to a nearby cafe where he had a small sandwich and coffee. His focus, though, was on his tablet. As he continued to press, he discovered that Hitler had visited England in 1927, primarily in London and Liverpool, and that he might have also visited Leicester. Hitler had a love of quality boots, and it wouldn''t have been unusual for him, at the time, to visit Leicester and purchase several fine pairs. Stolen novel; please report. Alex was so excited and intrigued by the idea that Adolph Bloody Hitler may have visited his own hometown, and even before the world knew what a tyrant he was. He wondered what he did while in town. Where did he stay? What did he eat? Who did he see? This last question stalled Alex for a moment... who did Hitler meet and see while in town? Officials? Dignitaries? Maidens? What if Hitler had made acquaintances with one or more maidens of Leicester? Contraception was not a popular topic or technique in those days. It was possible that here in Leicester there might exist some heir of Adolph Hitler, and no one even knows about it. A forgotten Hitler love child. The idea intrigued him. Alex began to salivate at the idea that he might uncover some great mystery. His coffee was nearly expired, though his sandwich was basically untouched. He wrapped the sandwich in a napkin, downed the last sip of coffee, and presented himself back to his car so he could return to work. On the drive, he considered various perspectives about this new insight about Hitler. His default was something like "I''m an idiot, what the fuck am I thinking?". But he kept coming back to the timing. And location. Leicester was much smaller then, than now. What if the Mayor of Leicester turned out to be a descendant of Hitler, wouldn''t that be something? Bēishāng de niǎo It was a cold Friday morning when Nazo went to the hospital to visit Biyu. She had been at the National Cancer Center Hospital for close to a month, and her health had been rapidly deteriorating. The doctors had been administering chemotherapy for several months. At first, they seemed to reduce the tumors on her kidneys. Since October, though, the chemotherapy seemed to have lost its efficacy. Biyu''s mood and spirits had been holding up until then. She felt ok, she felt strong. Nazo could see the fight in her eyes. Her October visit produced a different look in her eyes. Now she looked overwhelmed, scared, and even timid. Nazo did his best to encourage her and maintain his own positive outlook. But he also knew time was starting to grow short. In the hospital, despite the various tubes and electrodes and wires, she would always give a slight smile when Nazo looked at her. Every hour on the dot, an army of nurses and doctors would rush in to take Biyu''s vital signs. Biyu remained lucid, though she was on a healthy dose of morphine for the pain she felt through her entire body. She hadn''t had the energy to get up and walk for several days. And even when she did, the pain had been overwhelming. While her body was racked with cellular mutations that were growing out of control, her mind stayed present and sharp. When they were younger, Nazo had wooed Biyu with several poems. He had brought one with him to read to her today. This was the first one he had written for her: If I have one wish I want to clear the rain from your eyes If I am anywhere I will be by your side to wipe away the tears in your eyes If I could catch all the brilliance of them I will not lose them from my own eyes Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. I would have walked on the light Just to show that I am true I just know the person Someone who knows that I may fall in love with you Nazo held Biyu''s hand as he sat, and she lay next to him. There was a small window in her room where he could see that it was lightly snowing. There was a small hint of sunshine between the flakes. Nazo thought of their first winter together in Tokyo. With a small sigh, Biyu let out her breath, and her grip on his hand relaxed. Within seconds, several machines started making sounds, and then the healthcare brigade rushed in, pushing Nazo out of the way. Nazo knew this was the moment, and he was at peace with it. Still, he exclaimed: "Biyu, Biyu!" "Tanuki-nyan, my love!" "Oh oh oh..." Nazo collapsed in the corner, curled into a ball, his hands in his face as the tears fell from his own eyes. He stayed there as the hospital staff made their attempts to revive his loving wife. He stayed there as they stopped trying. He stayed there as most of them left the room to attend other patients. One doctor and one nurse stayed behind to capture notes and readings from the machines. The doctor left, and it was just Nazo and the nurse. She looked at him in the corner and helped him to his feet. She told him he could stay in the room, and he could have a moment once she removed all the tubes and wires. Or, if he preferred, he could wait outside the room while she removed everything. Nazo just stared at her. His mind heard the words, and generally understood their meaning, but he couldn''t process what she said. It was a fog of sounds, and he felt almost paralyzed. He couldn''t speak or move. The nurse helped him out of Biyu''s room, and into the waiting room down the hallway. She brought Nazo a small blanket and a warm, wet towel for his hands and face. She sat a glass of water on a small table next to him, along with a carafe that was also full of water. Then she went back to her task of disengaging Biyu from the various medical devices she had been hooked to. Several minutes later, the nurse found Nazo exactly where she had left him. The blanket and towel still folded in his lap, and the water untouched. She put her hand to his elbow as she took the blanket and towel from him, helped him to his feet, and placed the blanket and towel in his place on the chair. As she walked him back to the room, she could feel a frailty in his movements. Nazo was still a vibrant and strong man, but in this moment, he felt broken, unable to commit his bones and muscles to their duty. The nurse pushed the door open, and let Nazo walk into the room alone. She told him he could take as much time as he needed. Prologue I dont know if I should tell you this. This isnt really a novel. Well, maybe it is. In some sense, at least. They could never really make a movie out of it, though. The story is abstract. The characters are vague. If this were a movie, there would be missing audio and dialog. Some of the scenes would just be snapshots or collages of photos, while others would be video snippets of various moments. In a way its like a puzzle. Or maybe like a recipe. You need to assemble it, or cook it to understand what it means, assuming it means anything at all. Maybe its like a literary version of an impressionist painting... its just dots when you are up close. But stand back and take it all in to see what it really is a picture of. And, like a painting, it might be subject to different interpretations. You might think its about some dystopian future? Or about the insanity of modern society? Perhaps its about subjective reality? Honestly, I dont even know what its about yet. Its just an idea, or maybe a set of ideas. They seem to go together in some strange way, woven with dreams, creativity, expression, transcendence, and love? This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. I suspect most people wont bother to read very far. The narrative is disjointed, where it even exists at all. The personal essays are mostly gibberish. The characters and situations are clich and derivative. And the whole thing basically doesnt make much sense if you read it like a novel. And for the intellectuals amongst you, this isnt intended as a challenge or some kind of separator. You arent smarter or better for finishing reading, or even for finding a message or your own interpretation. But if you do get so far, then I would like to at least thank you for putting in that much effort. If I were vain, this might be where I include some poignant quote from some obscure thinker. Saying some profound set of words that are, somehow, related to the narrative in some abstruse manner. But what would that serve? Feed the clich? Confuse the issue? I dont think so. Insight What is more surreal than an explanation of where we are so far? Who are these characters? What is their story? Why does any of this matter? You might choose to skip this chapter. Theres no magical revelation here. Only speculation, innuendo, and uncertainty. The witless insanity of a depressed creator; the shameful ideas of a hapless free spirit. Who is Nazo Yamauchi? Why does it matter that his Chinese wife, Biyu Liu, is dying and dead? Why are the troubles of a Catholic priest, son of Polish immigrants, relevant to this story? Or conspiracy theorist, Alex James? Or Grace Riddle, teenage high schooler? A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. I suppose it seems obvious that you will soon find out! The best way to put it is that these people are all establishing their identity, but are also about to have their beliefs and their identity tested. Or maybe thats a misdirection. Or a hopeful sentiment. And what does any of this have to do with Mandela? But friends, patrons, Romans... lend me your ears. The door is not cracked yet, but soon will. The light, soon, will cast upon your room. The sounds, like bees in the distance, will evolve into a cross country steam engine, deafening even the most sheltered ears. After all, these - thus far - are just episodes. Just glimpses into the lives of people youve never met. People youll never meet. But their story is important. Its relevant, even if you cant understand it right now. So, keep at it, amigos. Keep reading. Keep pushing. Keep turning the page. Eponymous The Davis was a small cocktail lounge across the street from the headquarters of Delta Fund. It primarily catered to an older ex-military crowd who liked to reminisce about literal war stories. The place had been started by a distant cousin of General Benjamin Davis, Sr - the first black general. It was now run by someone else - but continued to maintain an affinity for military types. When Josh walked in, he expected Kyle to already be at the bar with drinks at the ready. But, Kyle had not arrived yet. So, Josh took a seat at the bar - which was uncharacteristically empty. Micah - the bartender - knew Josh and Kyle well, since they came around often for happy hour to wash down the woes of the day. Micah strutted toward Josh, yelling something like "Hey - JJ - what''s up, brother? What can I get you?". Josh smiled and put out a fist. Micah bumped it appropriately. "Hey, man. I''m just waiting for Kyle. I think we are going to start with some Basil Hayden." "Cool. You want some rocks, or just neat?". "Just one or two cubes, if you don''t mind." "You got it." Micah turned to the bourbon shelf, scanning it for the tall bottle with the metal wrap-around band that formed the letters BH in front of the label. It was half empty. He poured, without measuring, into two solid old-fashioned glasses. In each he dropped two small ice cubes, and placed them in front of Josh. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. "Open a tab?" "Oh, no. Well. We might. But Kyle is paying this time." At that moment, Kyle grabbed Josh with both hands on his shoulders. Josh jolted in his seat slightly. Kyle let out a deep, "Micah!" - as he extended his fist toward the bartender. He slid into the seat next to Josh, and grabbed the waiting glass - taking a quick sniff before his first sip. "Micah - these are on me tonight, ok?". "Sure thing, boss." Josh started - "So, hey. I have to go to this party at my parent''s house - it''s like all their friends and such, and they always want me to attend these things. Some of the big wigs from Delta will be around as well." "Cool. When is it?". "That''s the thing. It''s tonight at 7:30." Kyle took another sip of his bourbon, and gave Josh a nod. "Why don''t you come with me?", Josh implored. "Hell yeah, brother. Your folks are cool ... I dig them." Both men raised their glasses to each other, clanked them together, and took big sips of their bourbon. "I need to run home and get cleaned up, if you want to meet me at my place around 6:30. I''ll drive...", said Josh. "Sounds good. You up for one more before we leave?". "Yeah, I could do that." Kyle lifted his hand and gave a small wave at Micah. As Micah approached, Kyle made a whirl with his hand over the empty glasses on the bar... "Micah - one more round, wouldja?". "Sure thing, boss." Micah dumped the watering ice out in the sink, refilled each glass with a healthy pour, and dropped two fresh cubes in - sliding the glasses toward his customers. Part 2: Metamorph - A.D. 2018 It had been two months since Biyu passed, and Nazo was still sunken. His days were slow, spent frequently just sitting and staring at nothing. Lost in thought. No direction. No motivation. He had sold his tobacco shop to a friend last year so that he would have time to spend with Biyu. However, he still found his way there several times a week. Walking to the shop was his ritual. Yesterday''s snow was enough to keep most people indoors today. But suddenly Nazo felt something inside himself change. He fixed himself his morning tea and sat at his table, alone, trying to read the news on his laptop. His desktop contained a file called "BiyuObit.doc". He clicked it, and read the short information: Biyu Liu Yamauchi Taito, Tokyo 1933 - 2017 Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. For her birthday last month, Nazo had set out two baijiu glasses. There was a single bottle of Shanniangjiu in the refrigerator, which they had last enjoyed for Nazo''s birthday in the summer. Nazo poured some into the glass closest to him. He hesitated about whether to fill the other glass. He decided it would be bad luck to leave it empty, even though his wife had been gone since a month before her birthday. He raised his glass, and uttered, proudly: "Love has brought our spirits together. If we permit it to lead us, good fortune will come our way." He lifted his glass higher and whispered: "Kenko de aru" With this last phrase, he paused for a moment, then swallowed the semi-sweet wine in one go. He traded his empty glass for the other one, raised it, and exclaimed: "Hai, hai... kenko de aru" This was the way they had toasted each other each year on their birthdays. It seemed poignant, almost ironic now. Nazo closed his eyes as he poured the wine down his throat. He let out a small sigh, and placed the empty glass back on the table. At his computer, Nazo opened his photos, and clicked through a series of selfies and couples shots, showing Biyu in her more vibrant state. Rêveries – Passions The clock read 3:25am. Sorcha awoke quickly, and turned to stare at her husband. He was still sound asleep, his arms under the pillow, contracting it into a ball to support his head. The gentle whir of the sound machine was all she could hear. She rubbed her eyes and laid her head back down as she stared at the ceiling. What a strange dream, she thought to herself. She wasnt sure she remembered all of it. Something about Jeff, drinking milk from the fridge. She told him it wasnt any good. He sniffed it and told her it was fine. Its expired. Only good til the 15th. Today is the 16th... but its good until the 15th of next month. Then it got weird. How long is that? she asked. Jeff had his phone in his hand. Siri, how many days between today and the 15th? The phone screen paused or stalled, then presented what normally looked like a response from a web search. The kind where Siri found something, but you have to click the screen to read it. But Jeff didnt have to read it. Several web pages popped up on their own, and various sections were actively being highlighted. Jeff looked startled and showed Sorcha the screen. She didnt understand it. Then another man was sitting in a chair next to them, except now they were in a different room. The man said, its learning!. Moments later, Siri gave them an answer, but no one could understand it. Thats when Sorcha woke up. Not sure what to make of it. She fluffed her pillow lightly, and turned to go back to sleep. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. In the morning, she went to the kitchen. Jeff had already made coffee. The sounds of Rushs The Trees was just finishing, and the opening guitar of La Villa Strangiata was filling in the space in the room. Sorcha poured a cup of coffee and sat at the table. She told him about her strange dream. He listened, and nodded. I had a strange dream last night too, or maybe it was the night before last? We were staying in a house, I guess it was our house, or maybe we were renting it. Anyway. I remember walking outside, and in the road or alley next to the house there appeared to be a large wolf-like creature, but larger than normal. Like, it was maybe half as tall as the house, with long thin, spidery legs. There was an older lady on a bike with a front basket, and there was something in the basket, though I dont know what. She told me to be wary of the coyotes. Next, I was back inside the house, and I was starting to feel a sensation boiling up from inside me. Then Grace was in front of me, and the feeling grew to feel like I needed to throw up. Next, I was projectile vomiting in the direction of Grace, but it was like I was throwing up the soul of a demon or something. As that happened, I felt my body paralyzed, and at the same time, start to raise off the floor - levitating. I was overwhelmed with fear. I was floating toward you, and had a realization that I was possessed by a demon or something. Still paralyzed, I managed to say, Help me, Sorcha!. But it was like you couldnt see or hear me. So, I said it again. Then I woke up sweating. I thought I had said Help me out loud. I looked over at you to see if I had woken you up. But, you were still asleep. Sorcha stared at him for several minutes as the music continued to conjure deep and dark images of a strange place, a seemingly perfect backdrop for Jeff''s story. "What kind of demon do you think it was?", inquired Sorcha. "I have no idea. But it was overwhelming - I couldn''t stop it. When my body was feeling paralyzed, and began levitating, I couldn''t understand what was happening. It was like things I knew to be true suddenly were not true anymore, and that scared the crap out of me." "That sounds intense." "Yeah. So... you didn''t hear me scream Help me?", asked Jeff. "I don''t think so. I was obviously not sleeping very soundly myself, so I think I would have heard you scream something." The Identity Problem There are several topics and problems that span multiple sciences, and some that overlap into philosophy. One of these is The Identity Problem. In short, the problem has to do with understanding the identity of a thing. For example, identical twins have many similarities, but in most cases, they at least have different names, and the name is one of the major things used to identify one from the other (perhaps, in addition to some unique physical attribute). Regarding mathematics, identity is related to problems about whether math is real (a discovery), or an invention. One argument is that math is just an abstraction, and therefore isnt real. Heres a thought experiment: Imagine a penny. It might be new and shiny, or old and dull - it doesnt really matter. You know what a penny is, and this is definitely a penny. Mathematically, you might say you have one penny. All good, so far. Now, imagine there is another penny right next to that one. Lets say the first penny is dated 2004 and is very shiny, and the second one is dated 1998 and is a bit dull. What do you have now? One answer is that you have two pennies. Obviously, one penny plus one penny equals two pennies. Or maybe, you have one 2004 penny, and one 1998 penny. Lets replace the pennies with something else. Lets imagine you have an apple. So, you have one apple. Now imagine you also have an orange. What do you have now? You might say you have one apple and one orange. Or, you might say you have two fruits. Because one fruit plus one fruit equals two fruits. So, what is happening here? In order to get two fruits, you have to use an abstraction, e.g. fruit instead of apple or orange. But by using an abstraction, you are hiding the identity of the things you have. Just like with the pennies, or the twins. To count them, you must create an abstract definition, and count the items which match that abstract definition. Counting is a fundamental element of mathematics. Without counting, you can only ever have the numbers zero and one. You either have a thing, or you dont. In order to have two or more things, you must abstract. And by abstracting, you ignore or hide identities. So, what is an identity, then? It is the description of a thing such that you can only ever count one of them. Your name might be your identity. But what if your name is John Smith? Then you need additional details in the description to distinguish you from the other John Smiths. Three guys named John Smith requires an abstraction by name. But, John Smith, born June 1, 1982 in Pittsburgh is distinct from John Smith, born November 15th, 1993 in Albuquerque. What is the identity problem, then? It is the problem that says all mathematics is an abstraction because all things can, with sufficient effort, be uniquely identified. Even atoms or fundamental particles. These can be identified by their properties, which may include descriptions like charge, spin, velocity, and location. Although many aspects of reality can be explained and understood with mathematics, the explanation will essentially always be incomplete unless it is understood from the perspective of uniqueness and identity. Lets go back to our pennies now. If mathematics exists intrinsically as part of the universe, we should expect to occupy a space independent of human cognition. Heres the thing, though. Human cognition is little more than an abstraction machine. And it works in funny ways. Lets say you have only one penny. And lets say its the only penny to ever exist. So, you understand that there is now one penny, where before there were zero pennies. This one penny is unique, it has its own intrinsic identity because of its intrinsic uniqueness. But lets now say you are already familiar with nickels, dimes, and quarters. As soon as you see the penny and realize it is unique, you also recognize that it matches an existing abstraction you have in your head C called a coin. A coin is the abstract concept of a smallish, flat cylindrical object, made from metal, and representing a monetary unit. The universe has no built-in, intrinsic concept of a coin. The idea was created by humans. The abstraction was created by humans. Abstraction is the process of recognizing similar traits amongst several objects, and establishing what Plato might have called a Form. Plato seemed convinced that Forms represented some intrinsic and true reality. However, Plato didnt seem to understand that these Ideas, these Forms, are just figments of the machinery of the human mind. It would be like a computer having a cognition that believes binary data and logic are the intrinsic and true reality. Thats because the computers cognition is based on machinery that is built on binary data and logical circuits. It understands everything about the world based on that fundamental concept. Humans understand the world based on the fundamental concept of abstractions and Forms. Unfortunately, though that is the way computers and humans understand the world, they are ultimately limited by their machinery. For the computer, the two pennies are understood as both unique and as instances of an abstraction. The computer has a model that represents the shared features of all pennies. These might be articulated as single bits of data. For example, maybe the first bit tells the computer if the Form is animated (e.g. alive) or not. Maybe the second bit tells the computer if the material is metal or not. Maybe the third bit tells the computer if the object is square or cube shaped. Maybe the fourth tells it that the size is smallish. And so on. To the computer, the abstract definition of a penny might look like this: 01010010100110010000010111100010001001. Each 1 or zero is a bit that defines some part of the abstraction, or Form. Explicitly absent from the abstraction of the penny will be the age, specific year inscription, shininess, and other characteristics that can be ignored for all pennies. So, any two pennies, when conceived by the computer will have the same abstraction data: 01010010100110010000010111100010001001. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Now, lets say the next 2 bits describe how shiny the penny is, using something like this: 00 C Completely Dull 01 C Mostly Dull 10 C Mostly Shiny 11 C Completely Shiny Now, lets say the next 8 bits describe the year on the penny: 1792 C 00000000 1793 C 00000001 1794 C 00000010 1795 C 00000011 2046 C 11111101 2047 C 11111110 2048 C 11111111 Thus, the 1998 penny is defined by the binary string: 010100101001100100000101111000100010010111001110 While the 2004 penny is defined by the binary string: 010100101001100100000101111000100010011111010100 For convenience, the matching abstract portion has been bolded, while the unique portion is not. The computer can then easily conceive the abstract similarity between these pennies, by examining only the first 37 bits. It can also conceive the intrinsic uniqueness of the pennies by examining all 47 bits. You can probably also now see that for computers, there must be some finite limit of conception, since there is a finite limit of hardware bits available for the computer. At some point, the computer can only process abstractions, because there arent enough bits to represent all aspects of all things. Humans as well have a limitation in that their representation is based on the neurons and neural connections in the brain. Fortunately, humans have a vast capacity of neurons and connections between them, but it is still finite. But what does it mean to have a finite capacity of conception? It means that all possible phenomenon in the universe must be reduceable to some equal or smaller set of concepts. In other words, our understanding of the universe is essentially limited by our ability conceive of it. Anything beyond our ability to conceive will be limited for our understanding. It would be like trying to see color in a B&W photo. The information is not detectable; not available. Ultimately, then, identity is C perhaps C the optimal configuration of the understanding of uniqueness and the phenomenon of uniqueness within a thing. Identity is the unique set of information about an object. Or, rather, it is the unique configuration of the thing in our finite mind. And, then C by definition C any number (perhaps infinite?) of truly unique phenomenon might be ultimately represented in our minds as a single, general case. You might imagine this in the way a 64K color display represents an image versus a display with millions or billions of colors. The original may have trillions of colors C and so either display is ultimately generalizing certain colors. The higher color screen has to generalize less; but ultimately, some generalization can result without any knowledge of how much generalization is occurring. The machinery is limited, and can only report on what it knows and does. A car tire without any sensory capability never knows when it is on pavement or grass. A simple sensor that detects only a surface cannot ascertain the difference between pavement and grass, but can detect that there is a surface. This ultimately implies a limitation in our ability to understand things. But what is our limitation, really? The cynical view is that we are limited in what we can individually conceive. But thats sort of like saying that the limits of a computer are a single disk drive. While there may have been some gaps in imagination, theres never been a limit in the information access of a computer, or even a Turing machine. The Turing machine can work on a tape of arbitrary or, even, infinite, length. The mind, however, can only work on a storage volume of finite size. In a different way, the definition of identity is the single frame of tape in an optimum Turing machine which has finite or infinite tape which can describe the universe. And the first abstraction is itself a unique frame in the tape. And subsequent frames are additional abstractions. Thus, demonstrating, that a pure Turing machine is more capable of understanding the universe than any human. Polar void Nazo was running a few minutes late getting out the door. He was to meet Kenji for lunch, and it was very rude to be late for such a social engagement. Nazo grabbed his jacket and his phone and tablet on the way out the door. He rushed to meet Kenji at a small, sort of hidden place. It looked almost like a small cafe had been melded with a small thrift shop that also sold seafood. The chef had been friends with Kenji for years, and always had the freshest sushi, and his rice was decent enough. It had been several months since Biyu had passed now. Nazo was still very much out of sorts, and most days he had trouble starting. Kenji had been the one friend who found ways to pull him out of his bedroom and into the streets. Kenji was also an avid smoker, and knew he could procure some of the best tobacco at a fair price from his friend, despite the fact that Nazo had retired and sold the shop to his long-time customer Shoshuda-san. As they ate, little was spoken. Less because they were quiet, and more because it was just the way they were. They each focused on their own meal, letting the other focus on his meal. They were certainly grateful for the food and companionship, but the consumption of the food took priority over any mundane small talk they might otherwise suffer. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. So, Nazo... how are you? How is the house? Are you eating well? Hmm... said Nazo, pondering the inquiry. Nazo sipped his tea, and refilled his glass from the teapot. Some days are ok. Some days, I go to the shop, others I cant. I think of her when I am there. But I still like being there, even if Shoshuda-san would prefer I stay home. Kenji stared blankly as he listened. You know, we met at the shop? She seemed so young and naive at the time. And I was too. Things are ok with Shoshuda-san running the shop now? I try to stay out of his way. But I know the customers. Better than he. But it reminds of you Biyu? Hai. Hai. Nazo stared at his tablet... contemplating the history of he and Biyu that had been captured in digital photos and videos. His own memory was often blurry, on account of the time that had passed, as well as the many experiences they had shared when he had drunk too much beer or sweet wine. Bats in the belfry Josh and Kyle were on their way to Josh''s parents'' house for a party and were running late. The party had started at 7:30, and it was already 7:45. Josh''s phone range, and it was his mom. Kyle could only hear Josh''s side of the conversation: "Yeah, mom. We''re on our way." "About 15 minutes." "Ok. See you soon." Josh sighed after he hung up the call. He looked briefly at Kyle who just shrugged. The sun had already set, and they were coming around a bend in the road. The road weaved around a small pond, and Josh could see the reflection of a full moon on the surface. Josh turned to say something about the moon to Kyle, when suddenly everything went black, like an extended eye blink. The sounds of bells suddenly filled Josh''s ears, and he opened his eyes. He was staring at Kyle, and Kyle was staring back at him. Both with confused, lost expressions. The bells continued. They both turned to look ahead to see a car was pulled over by a cop just ahead of them. More confused looks, followed by the sound of Angus Young''s Gibson SG ringing out the familiar riff of AC/DC''s "Hell''s Bells". Just then, Josh''s phone rang. "Yeah, mom. I said we''re on our way... we''ll be in there in 15 minutes." The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. "What? What do you mean?" Josh had a strange and lifeless feeling, like he was having an out of body experience. "No, mom. I just talked to you like, a minute or two ago." "Are you on something, mom?" At that moment, Josh looked at the clock in his car. It read 8:47. He thought maybe Kyle or Kyle and his mom were pulling a prank on him. He looked at Kyle, "Dude... what are you up to?" Kyle''s confused grimace met Josh''s incrimination. "Huh?" "Come on, are you pranking me?" "What are you talking about, dude?" Kyle put his hands to his temples and rubbed gently. "Man. My head is hurting all of the sudden." "Mom, I''ll call you back." "Kyle... did you see that car or that cop before?" "No. And my head is killing me. It''s like I blacked out or something." "Dude, check your phone. What time does it say?" Kyle pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at it. He made a squinty, strange face and tried to decipher what time his phone said, and why it seemed weird. "It says 8:48?" "Mine too. But didn''t I just talk to my mom a few minutes ago when it was 7:45?" "Yeah... " Kyle admitted, uncomfortably. "Did you black out? I was driving, then everything just went black. But it seemed like only a second. And where did that cop come from?" "I don''t know. I feel strange, and this headache is killing me." Kyle put his face into his hands. Josh rubbed his eyes. The cop had finished with the car ahead, which was pulling away. The cops emergency lights went out, and a minute later, the cop drove off. Josh''s car was running, and in drive, with his foot on the brake, he realized. He lifted his foot off the brake and the car started to roll slowly, then he pressed the accelerator pedal. As they sped around the lake, they could no longer see the moon. Quantum Information In high school, we had a teacher named Mr. Sullivan, who taught the advanced physics class. Mr. Sullivan was a strange fellow, as many physics teachers are. For one thing, he had a lot of nicknames and aliases. Most of his friends called him Sully. His family called him Junior, because his full name was Perry Joseph Sullivan, Junior, after his father. His wife called him Juney, her own term of endearment and modification of Junior. And in the classroom, he occasionally showed up as Albert I. Stein. The thing about Mr. Sullivan is that he grew up out in the country, in the hills of Tennessee or Kentucky, or some other God''s country. His family had a farm, and he used to work on tractors, plant fields, bring in the harvest, and other such things. Growing up in that environment gave him a particular kind of view of the world. Also, he had a classic southern redneck affect to his speech. One time he was teaching us about how to calculate the volume of a cistern using calculus approximations. It started something like this: "Now, kids. If you ever have to dig a cistern, you have got to..." Funny, I don''t remember what he actually told us about a cistern, I just remember the way he said it. I think most of the class had little idea was a cistern was, anyway. In some ways he reminded me of my dad, who also grew up on a farm. Albert I. Stein also reminded me of my dad, or more accurately, my dad''s family. In addition to the terrible name pun, Albert had an extreme southern redneck dialect and attitude. It would have been considered racist, if rednecks were a race. The other thing about Mr. Sullivan is that he taught us what we liked to call "almost physics". That''s not to say we didn''t learn the basics, including Newtonian Mechanics and such. But sometimes, he would pepper in his own perspective, or wild theory. He was a pseudo-religious man, who borrowed what he wanted from the Catholic philosophy as well. Toward the end of our junior year, we were starting to learn the basics of quantum mechanics. Now, Mr. Sullivan had a bachelor of arts in English, with a minor in Math, and a Masters of Education. Which is to say, he wasn''t exactly a working scientist, and hadn''t studied quantum mechanics until he was asked to teach Advanced Physics at the high school. The ten years prior he had taught world geography. Fortunately, this was his fourth year also teaching physics, and he mostly had it down. The thing is, as much as the theory of relativity is a mindfuck, quantum mechanics is orders of magnitude harder to comprehend. Physicists have been debating the meaning of quantum mechanics for at least a century, so it''s no surprise a rural English major might stumble occasionally. This one day, he must have been feeling extra high on his soap box. Did I mention that Mr. Sullivan dressed the same every day? Just black slacks, plain black shoes, a black belt, a short sleeve button-down white shirt, and a worn out blue blazer, which he hung over his chair on warmer days. But when Albert was in, he arrived with overalls and a green plaid flannel long sleeve button down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of boots that appeared to have seen better days. So, anyway, this was one of the days when Albert was in. (Now, you have to imagine this in a thick redneck accent). "Good day students. Now, y''all know me, Albert I. Stein. Today we''re gonna talk about Quantum Mechanics. Some of y''all might already know a little bit about QM. Some of you might not never heard of it. Either way, we gonna connect some dots and make it all clear." "The thing about Quantum Mechanics, is that it''s hard to understand. For me. For you. Heck, for real scientists, too. You can nearly say nobody doesn''t understand it. Mr. Fineman said as much, I believe. But it''s important because many scientists believe it describes the fabric of the universe. And that''s kind of a big deal." "So, what is Quantum Mechanics? Is the physical mechanics that occur at the so-called quantum level. The quantum level is the very small level. Like smaller than Jimmy (everyone laughed), smaller than an ant, or a pin, or a hair, or even the smallest thing you can think of." "In fact, it''s so small, no one has ever seen anything at the quantum level." (Lots of confused and puzzled looks). "Now, everyone here knows what an atom is, or, at least you think you do. Take a hydrogen atom, for example. " (He went to the whiteboard, and began drawing). "You see, like any atom, there''s a nucleus that is made up of protons and neutrons, or in this case, a single proton and a single neutron. And then there''s the electron." (He drew a cluster nucleus showing one proton and one neutron, then he drew a circle around them as he said "electron".) "Now. Here''s the problem. Where''s the electron?" (Again, confused and puzzled faces. Annie, the "smart" girl in the class looked very tempted to answer or say something, but held her reserve because this all seemed like a strange approach.) "How fast is the electron going?" (At these, he seemed to "hmm" to himself and go inside his own head for a moment). "These questions are easy to answer if the nucleus is the sun, and the electron is a planet. We can use Newtownian Mechanics, or Relativity to solve the problem of what is where, how fast it is going, and what direction, and what is the shape of the orbit, and so on. Most of those answers come from our understanding of a force called gravity." This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. "But this..." (he pointed to the atom he had drawn) "... this, is different. While gravity seems strong to you and me, it''s incredibly week to an atom, and especially to an electron. Gravity is what makes the Earth orbit the Sun, but it''s not what makes the electron orbit the nucleus of an atom." "The electron, you see, is held in orbit by the electromagnetic force." (He seemed lost in thought again for a moment). "Yes. Yes. But, an electron, what is it? What is a proton? Or a neutron?" "A proton, you see, is a particle... er... well, a particle, that consists of one down quark and two up quarks." "But what is a quark?" "A quark... is an elementary particle. This means, it''s not made up of any other more basic particles. The electron, also, is a basic particle." "Now, I don''t know if any of you have heard about the Pauli Exclusion Principle, or the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, or Schr?dingers Cat, and all that crap." (A few students smirked at the word "crap"). "The uncertainty principle says that we cannot know the exact location and exact velocity of a particle." "So, how fast is the electron moving? Where is the electron? Heisenberg says the more we know one answer, the less we can know the other. But I call shenanigans!" (Most everyone was intrigued by this exclamation, and a few gasped quietly). "The electron is somewhere. It must be. The electron has a particular velocity, it must. Quantum Mechanics says we cannot know both. And what''s worse, is that we are to believe that the electron is not only not somewhere in particular, but that it is not necessarily a particle, but possibly, also simultaneously, a wave. Again, shenanigans!" (This time he seemed agitated, and the class was frozen by the odd charisma of Albert I. Stein). "Now, what is the location of an electron? What is the velocity of an electron? Heck, what is the location or velocity of a pool queue? Or a car?" (His hand rubbed his chin, and he was looking more at the floor than at us. He seemed to be solving his own problem in real time before our eyes). (As he continued, his exaggerated redneck accent started to fade into his gentler southern drawl). "A car, travels at 55 miles per hour down the street. But what do we know? What does that mean? What is a car? Or a street? What is 55 miles per hour, and what does it mean to the car?" (Some students began to look at their watches, feeling the hour drag on and hoping for an escape...) "Annie..." (Annie looked dumbfounded...) "What is my velocity?" "Uhmm.... I, mmmm...." "Exactly! There''s no easy answer. If I stand still, some of you want to say my velocity is zero. But what if you were on the moon? Or on the Sun? Or on Mars? Or somewhere in the Andromeda Galaxy? You see, the answer is different for all of them. My velocity is different. It''s relative. That''s what Einstein taught us. And it was brilliant!" "Now, what about light? What''s the velocity of light? If you were on the moon? Or on the Sun? Or on Mars? Or somewhere in the Andromeda Galaxy? That''s the hard part, because the answer is, it''s the same for all of them. How can that be? Why is my velocity relative, but light''s is not? But Einstein figured that out too, and he said that for that to be true, both time and the length of the thing traveling at the speed of light must distort and dilate, they must alter somewhere in the fabric of spacetime, in order for everything to work out." "But what is ''working out''? The universe doesn''t change, or care to change. What changes is our understanding. What changes is our mathematical representation and interpretation of what happens." "The light that comes from the Sun, travels to the Earth at a speed of about 186 thousand miles per hour. And so, it takes about eight minutes to get here. But what is the first ''part'' of light that reaches us? What is the last part? We often think of light as a very abstract thing. But Quantum Mechanics shows that light is more like a train, with each car representing a single photon. A photon. A photon is a single particle of light. But also, a photon is the carrier of the electromagnetic field." "And as the carrier of the electromagnetic field, photons must then also keep the electron in orbit around the nucleus... here." (He pointed back at the drawing of the electron and nucleus on the whiteboard). "So, now we have the electron, an elementary particle, and we cannot know it''s velocity and position, the photon, or photons, which we also cannot know their velocity or position, and the proton, which is made up of some quarks, which also cannot be determined to be at a particular position or velocity." "But what does it mean, ''to know''. To know the position. To know the velocity. Let''s try an analogy. This chair..." (He grabbed the chair from behind his desk, and wheeled it out in front of the class). "This chair. How much does it weigh? Anyone want to guess?" (This seeming a little more concrete, Gerald shouted out "Twelve pounds"). "Yeah, good guess Gerald. Twelve pounds seems reasonable. Let''s say that I brought in a scale, and we measured that it weighed twelve pounds." (Everyone seemed to shake their head in agreement). "Now, here''s the kicker. What is ''twelve pounds''?" (And, suddenly, everyone was lost again). "What is it? Is it a thing? Is it a physical thing? Is there a thing called ''twelve pounds''?" (He could tell he was losing us). "Uh... how about this. What color is the chair?" (Several people offered "black"). "Yes. Yes. It''s a black chair. But what is ''black''? Is it a thing?" (The class was feeling exhausted at the tug and release of this sermon). "Is it a thing? I''ll tell you, it''s not. There''s no such thing as Black. Or Twelve Pounds." "Now. Here''s why. What if we were in France?" (Again, confused, puzzled faces trying to figure out if the chair would weigh or look different in Paris). "In France, they might say the chair was about... uh, er... uhm... five and half kilos. Haha!" "In England, one might say it''s a bit less than a stone." "So, what is Twelve Pounds? What is five and half kilos? What is a stone?" "Information. They are information. They are information that describe this chair. And, after all, chair is just a description, just information that describes, this particular configuration of atoms. This particular configuration of quarks, and photons, and electrons. What do you think of that?" (The class was staring blankly at Mr. Sullivan for several seconds as he stood there in his Albert I. Stein costume, suddenly realizing he''d lost his character. Then the bell rang, and everyone grabbed their things quickly, and bolted out of the class. Mr. Sullivan still seemed a little lost in his own head, and impressed by his own thoughts.) The Great Gift, part 1 It was Saturday evening, and Father Albin was digging up an old sermon he liked to use for this Sunday''s Pentecost mass. Over the years, he had written many sermons in response to the Easter seasons, as it was his favorite time of the year in the church. This sermon had been one of his favorites, but he had used it so many times he had to start writing new ones to keep the delivery fresh and relevant. The readings from Acts and Corinthians both spoke about gifts, but in different ways, and from different perspectives. Father Albin thought his insights into gifts and service were relevant to himself and his church. But he also loved the clever way he wove in the story of Jesus'' death and resurrection as, what he liked to call, "The Great Gift". After digging through a few bookshelves, he found the familiar binder he used to keep his sermons in before he had switched to keeping them on his computer. There was something romantic about the feel of the paper, the way it smelled. The emotion it brought back when he opened it and flipped through the pages. The binder was loosely organized in chronological order of the liturgical year, beginning with Advent in what most laymen call the autumn season. The Pentecost Sunday was the last Sunday of the Easter season. Father Albin thumbed the pages through the various pre-Lent, Lent, and Holy Week times, until he got to where the sermon was supposed to be. He had kept his hand-written sermons in sheet protectors, and there was one empty sheet protector where this sermon had been. Surprised, he flipped through the binder again, trying to locate the missing document. He checked the pockets of the binder for a loose sheet. Nothing. It was nowhere. He was becoming frustrated. He had a couple of other binders, but he was certain it wasn''t in those. So, he flipped through the one it should be in again. He checked each sheet protector sleeve to see if it had been inadvertently slid behind some other sheet. Still nothing. He dug out the other binders, and put them through the same experiment. Alas, it wasn''t there. He sat for a moment. Trying to remember the last time he delivered this sermon. It seemed so long ago. But he was sure it had to have made it back to binder. He sat. He thought. He sighed. He felt frustration and anger creeping up on him. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. He decided to take a break. As he sat in his chair, trying to relax, a brilliant thought entered his mind. A few years ago, just before he transitioned to using his computer to compose his sermons, his nephew had helped him by demonstrating how he could leverage the computer for this task. One of his biggest complaints had been that he already had a library of existing sermons, and he wasn''t very keen on retyping all of them. His nephew had helped him solve this problem with a digital scanner. He had shown his pious uncle how to use the scanner to scan any page he wanted, and save it into his computer. The software could even translate the scanned image into a document that he could search and edit. He had engaged his nephew to help him scan all his existing library, but he ended up going away to school before the project was complete. Worse, Father Albin had never understood how to access the scanned documents. He checked his watch, which read 6:32pm. His nephew was in school at Purdue, and he was thinking he might be able to reach him at this hour. Picking up the phone, he dialed. His nephew answered quickly... "Yo, this is Nik" "Hey Nik. It''s Uncle Albin. How are you?" "Hey - Uncle Al. How ya'' been?" "Good. Good. Well. Actually. I have a problem. I''m hoping you can help me." "Uhh. Sure. What''s up? I have to head out soon to meet some friends, but I''ve got a couple minutes." "Remember a few years back when you helped me set up the computer? Helped me scan some of my old sermons?" "Yeah. Of course." "Well. It seems I''ve misplaced one of my old paper versions... and I''m hoping there might be a version of it in the computer somewhere." "Mmm hmm..." "And... well, the thing is, I don''t really know how to find it. I know you showed me that one time how to scan them in, and how to find them, but that was a long time ago... and I''ve, well, I''ve forgotten how to do it." "Yeah. Cool. No worries." "So, you can help?" "I think so. Are you at your computer now?" "Give me a minute..." Within a few minutes, Nik had walked his uncle through the process of searching and finding documents that had been scanned in. As they searched, Father Albin typed in "The Great Gift". The computer spun its wheels for a moment, and then, a single search result popped up. He double-clicked the file, and suddenly, his missing manuscript was in front of him. "Aw, Nik. That is so great. So helpful. Thank you so much!" "No problem. I gotta run. Talk to ya soon!" "You too!" They hung up. He stared at the screen. The Great Gift, part 2 Father Albin put on a recording of Richard Strauss'' "Death and Transfiguration". He had printed out the copy of "The Great Gift" from his computer. Before making himself comfortable in his reading chair, he had poured a glass of Sobieski over ice, and added a hand-cut slice of lemon. He settled into the chair, took a sip of the vodka, and smiled to himself, having resolved the great conflict of the evening. "As we have heard from both Acts, and Corinthians, there are gifts from The Holy Spirit. Divine gifts, divine callings, divine influences. What are these gifts? Why do they receive these gifts? I want to talk to you today about these gifts and what they mean. Or, at least, what I think they mean. What is a gift? The dictionary says a gift is a thing given willingly to someone without payment, like a birthday or Christmas gift. A gift can also be a natural talent, like singing. Sometimes people even like to call these blessings, which is just another way of describing the receipt of God''s favor. Or, a "gift" from God, if you will. You can imagine, as it says in Acts, all of these people hanging around. And the anticipation, the surprise, the fear, and the joy they must have felt at having The Holy Spirit wash over them. The feeling of fear of not understanding what was happening, followed by the joy of receiving The Holy Spirit. And I''m not just talking about a slight tingle, they had wind and sound and flame, and they FELT it. But more than just feeling and receiving The Holy Spirit, they were baptized in it. They were bound to The Holy Spirit by this experience. And, they were blessed. They were given gifts. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. The Holy Spirit was a catalyst. It was a deliverance. A deliverer of gifts. The gift of speaking in tongues. The gift of understanding tongues. These gifts were from The Holy Spirit. They were gifts. They were blessings from God. But these gifts, they were small gestures from a Loving God. God believed in these people. God believed these people were of true spirit. So, he blessed them with these gifts. God blesses all of us with gifts. Sometimes our gifts are obvious, sometimes they are harder to see, harder to understand. Sometimes, though, the gifts of our Lord are obvious. Remember Jesus. Remember his gift. Remember his love. God loved the world, so that he gave his only begotten son. Jesus loved us, and gave his life, his blood, to atone our sins. Think about that. Think about that gift. That great gift. The greatest gift we can receive is atonement for our sins. And Jesus did that for us. He did that for me, and for each of you. In dying, he destroyed our death. In rising he restored our life. Because of his sacrifice, we can all be forgiven by God. Jesus death insured our ability to be forgiven. And it takes nothing more than faith in Jesus and God. He was the greatest gift we could receive, and his death for our sins was the greatest expression of that gift. So, what now? What does it mean that Jesus died for our sins. For my sins. For your sins? It means he consumed them. He consumed our sins. My sins, your sins. He took away our imperfections and restored perfection. He restored The Holy Spirit in us. More importantly, he bestowed gifts upon you and your families. He provided a way to God. He provided a way to forgiveness and acceptance. He provided a path for faith. With God, you have the chance to choose faith and forgiveness. You have a chance to bathe in the Holy Spirit. You have a chance to accept The Greatest Gift, and be The Greatest Gift to others. Amen. The Between Dimension What is more useful when it is broken? Julies eyes looked upward, trying to think of the answer. Uh. I dont know. A bottle so I can stab you with it? They both giggled. No, bitch! Its an egg!. Ah.... Julie nodded her head up and down as she understood. Give me another one..., Julie requested. Uhm. Ok. Lets see.... Grace took a moment to consider another good one. Ok. Ready? What works better when you put it in your mouth? Even better when it vibrates? And when you are done, you spit? Julies face turned red, and she startled to giggle again. But before she could say anything, Grace jumped in, saying A toothbrush! What did YOU think it was?. Both girls continued laughing out loud to each other. At that moment, Grace turned to Julie, with a serious look. Deja vu! she exclaimed. Julie kept laughing. What? Total Deja vu right now! Have we had this conversation before?, asked Grace. No, bitch! Dont you think I would have remembered the answers?. Its just so weird. I totally remember us sitting here, in my room, laughing hysterically just like this. Im sure of it. After a few minutes the sensation subsided, and the girls continued talking about other hot topics, including their favorite fandoms, and bands, and boys. So, my mom told me about this movie that totally freaked her out as a kid. Its called Poltergeist. Have you heard of it? Its about this girl who gets sucked into a TV or something, and apparently, like, half the people who made the movie died under strange circumstances. So now, some people think its, like, real, or cursed, or something. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. What? Thats crazy. No way., said Julie. She wasnt the smartest girl in class, but she wasnt foolish or superstitious. For a high-school teenaged girl, she was remarkably grounded. Seriously. Thats what my mom told me. Wanna watch it with me?, Grace inquired. Yeah, as long as you dont get all weird about it. Grace gave Julie a weak middle finger and rolled her eyes. Bitch, whatever. Last year, they had both watched a movie called The Fourth Kind - which was about a supposed alien abduction. The movie was not real, but was shot in a way that made it appear like a documentary, thereby giving it the feel of credible realism. Julie usually stayed over on movie nights, but that night she had to go home because her family had early church on Sunday. That Monday, though, Grace had come to school completely freaked out. She was certain that Saturday night, she had been visited by an alien in her house. She hadnt been abducted, but a bright light erupted in her ceiling and a strange, shiny grey alien came through it and into her bedroom. It didnt talk, but it did communicate with her. It told her not to be scared, and let her know that time and space and all energy and matter were all one thing. It told her she was important to the universe, and it told her it had planted a seed in her mind that would help the universe, once it blossomed. After this, she doesnt remember anything except waking up. Grace had thought it might be a dream. But it felt so real. She could see the lights and the alien in color. She could remember the smell of sulphur or carbon, like a chemical burning, when the hole in her ceiling appeared. She remembered the way the lights reflected off the aliens shiny skin. She remembered the dank and bitter smell of the alien, itself, and the feeling of its communication in her mind. Most of the day Sunday, she had been very quiet. She didnt tell anyone about the experience. Her brain was trying to synthesize what had happened, and trying to determine if it was real or a dream. On Monday, when she returned to school - she was still a bit quiet. When she sat down for lunch with Julie, she began to tell her about what happened. Julie, being the skeptical, grounded girl, she was, was certain it was just a dream. Julie tried to convince Grace of this, but Grace was inconsolable to this fact. The incident had become a thing in the girls relationship. Grace was convinced there was something real about the experience, and Julie was sure it was just a dream. It took several days before their emotional and practical interactions settled back to something that seemed normal. Look, if you get some freaky dream again tonight, Im not gonna listen to your bullshit tomorrow., Julie informed her. Bitch, I will slap you in your tits!, responded Grace as she mimed backhanding Julie across her breasts. At least I got tits!, replied Julie. Grace replied with another weak handed flip of the bird, and roll of her eyes, as she fingered the remote control to pull up the Poltergeist movie on the television. I am the beginning of the end, and the end of time and space. I am essential to creation, and I surround every place. What am I? Death of a Salesman Father Albin had been studying the Bible for quite some time. He liked to think of himself as a scholar of sorts. He had tried to learn Aramaic, Hebrew, and Koine Greek in order to study early versions of the biblical texts. Unfortunately, between his primary studies, and his ailing parents, he was not able to dedicate the required time to fully master literacy in those languages. He had, however, found that researching early English translations came a bit easier. Many readers might have familiarity with the King James version of the bible, or possibly the New International Version (NIV), ironically titled as a translation into modern American English. Father Albin had studied both in his youth, and found them authoritarian, overtly righteous, and frequently just plain out of touch with modern society. Also, he had found many parts of the text just didn''t ring true for him. And so, he had sought out the earliest, original texts to try and better reconcile the so-called word of God, and his faith. Despite stumbling over the ancient languages, he persisted in his study of early English translations. He obtained access to early manuscripts of the Tyndale Bible. He had also been granted temporary access to a Wycliffe Bible for study. Father Albin spent time not just studying these dense texts, but also studying the men behind them and the culture of the day, to help provide context. The thing that Father Albin found most disturbing was the combination of his faith challenge, and the biblical inconsistencies he couldn''t resolve. He had studied the old and new testaments extensively, and couldn''t fully understand how both described the same "God". He wanted, desperately, to believe in a Jesus, as described by his disciples, but couldn''t find a way to reconcile such a man with his experiences. Men were human. Men were borne of human emotion, of human fallacy. If Jesus was human, where were his human traits? Where were his faults? Had the myth of Jesus been whitewashed over the centuries? Perhaps the son of God was devoid of faults? But then, why make him human at all? To be human is to be human. To experience the joy, the confusion, the lust, the emotion, the failure, the triumph. Was Jesus exempt from the full range of human experience? Or was he human, but with a truer goal, a more noble transcendence. Sometimes, Father Albin imagined what it would be like to meet Jesus today. What if Jesus was in his church? What would he do? What would he say? What would he think of Father Albin? What if Jesus was disappointed in him? Usually these kinds of thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind. Father Albin''s success had been predicated on his ability to maintain solvency, to ensure confidence in himself and his flock. Usually he was the rock they could depend on. But this night was different. He felt numb. He felt less than. He felt unworthy. He had done good for the community, sure. But was it enough? Was it all he could offer? He had delivered his Greatest Gift sermon three days ago, but it didnt seem to resonate for him or his congregation the way he had expected. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. What did his church need? What did his people need? Assurance? Lies? Confirmation of what they already believed? Was he a fraud? Wasn''t he a fraud? He had been a student of the material, but had he been a student of the people, of their souls? His mind reeled ... he thought of the oaths and vows he had taken, he thought of the sacraments he had performed... he thought of the redundancy and rote-ness of it all. What was he? A modern-day charlatan? A huckster? What were the vows he took? He sat back in a chair to contemplate this train of thought. And he dug deeper. And reflected on his life and where he was. He reflected on the confidence he had tried to convey to others. And then he sighed... a long deep breath in and out. A realization of the burdens and compromises of his position. It was like he had a small glimpse under the blanket that covered the universe, and could see the true reality of it all. He could see the face of God, or, rather, the lack thereof. His car port was small. It was a simple covering over a portion of his driveway, large enough to cover his modest Toyota. The doorway from his kitchen opened into the car port. He walked through it. The backside of his house included a small chicken wire area, conceived as a garden. Father Albin had never attempted to grow anything in it. On the back brick wall, though, was a spigot, and a garden house. He already had a roll of duct tape in his hands, which he had grabbed from the junk drawer in the kitchen on the way out. It was a simple task to tape the garden house to the muffler. And then into the window of his Toyota. He was strangely serene and calm. Even absent-bodied as he moved through each task. As he sat in the car, he played Max Bruch''s Violin Concerto over the stereo. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. It took many minutes for the carbon monoxide to overcome the oxygen in the cabin of the car. And when it did, Father Albin simply breathed in and out, and his brain operation faded into a million dots of light before blinking out. It was nearly two days before he was found. His car had exhausted its fuel supply. A local mother had stopped by to inquire about an upcoming service, and discovered him in the car, in the carport, completely unresponsive and cold. She immediately called emergency services, and an ambulance and police squad were at the house within minutes. They immediately triaged the scene and pronounced Father Albin dead. As they went through the house, the discovered what appeared to be a suicide note. To my parents, I cant bear the burden of being something other than what you wished for. The weight of it all is so much, even during the good times, but now I am suffocating. I dont know who to blame for this, though I want to blame someone. I am sure you do as well. But that isnt fair. I have brought this misery on myself I always ever want your happiness. I wish I could think of some other solution. I wish I could fix what I have broken, what is broken in the world. I wish I had been different; been a better person. The person everyone thought I was. I wish I had a solution that didnt end this way, but I cant think of any. And the pain and disappointment in myself is too much to bare, and is spiraling out of my control. The only peace I can imagine is to sleep, forever. -Albin Texas Shooter At a small pub near his house, Alex was having a drink - essentially by himself. It was only 4 o''clock in the afternoon, and he had left work early - feeling something like an anxiety attack overcoming him. He had to get out of the office, and needed something to calm his nerves. He stormed into the Funk & Freckle pub, looking disheveled. The place was mostly empty, save for a couple of older locals who came in daily to gaze longingly at the red-haired Irish bartender. They were drinking their favorite cheap scotch, as Alex took a seat a few down from them. "Aye, son. Come to join us for a round?" Alex just stared at them blankly and nodded. He was feeling uncomfortable. His first thought was that these were government agents who beat him to the pub, and were merely acting like regulars in order to blend in, and to keep an eye on him. Wendy came around the bar... "What''ll ya like, eh?" Alex stammered for a moment, something about whiskey. "We got Tullymore, Johnny Walker, Jameson, and Dewar''s." Alex looked disappointed. "Have you any bourbon?" "Lemme check. We used to keep a bottle of Jim Beam." She disappeared behind the bar, and into the back area, or maybe it was the kitchen? Alex wasn''t sure. He could hear a door creak. A few moments later, Wendy came back around the bar, with a big smile and a bottle of Jim Beam in her hand. "Boss had it in ''is office. He likes a dram when he''s doing the paperwork, you know?" Alex smiled at her. "Rocks?" "Uhm. No. I mean. Yeah, no. Neat please?" "Gotcha" She opened the bottle and poured a healthy amount into a glass for him. She slid the glass toward him. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. "Here we are." "Cheers." Alex grabbed the glass, and looked at it for a moment, before raising it to his mouth and taking in a small sip. The older gentlemen down the bar were looking his way. They raised their glasses toward him, and he did the same toward them. "To your health, son. To your health." Alex nodded approvingly, and they all took a sip. The gentlemen went back to their conversation. A small television was on behind the bar. There was a news show on, and they were talking about some political issue in some small unheard-of part of the UK. Alex was only partially paying any attention to it. "... caused by a tumor that had not been detected. A similar case happened in the 1960''s in Texas in America." This immediately caught Alex''s attention. The words "Texas", and "1960''s", and "America" immediately conjured the JFK assassination in his mind. "Charles Whitman, also known as the Texas Tower Sniper, shot and killed 16 persons as he fired repeatedly from a tower at the University of Texas in 1966. This was after he murdered both his mother and his wife. An autopsy later revealed a tumor in Whitman''s brain, which neurologists believe was a primary factor in his unusual behavior." The story continued on the television. But Alex had stopped watching. It wasn''t about JFK. He was, however, curious. He had his phone out, and began searching the Internet for keywords like "texas shooter". The first several articles were about Charles Whitman. Another popped up about JFK, but it was the Wikipedia article, which Alex had read several times before. He clicked to the next page of results, and the first link was titled "JFK Shooter Dies in Prison". This title struck Alex in a strange way. His insides felt contorted and his head felt like it was floating. He rubbed his eyes and read the title again, thinking he must have misread it. It must have said something else. But there was the link. Alex''s head was still feeling unattached to gravity. He glanced up from his phone. The gentlemen down the bar were still talking amongst themselves, though one of them appeared to be staring at him. Wendy was leaning against the back area of the bar, and she also appeared to be staring at him. The television was still on. He caught the last bit of a line from the reporter... "... aliens in the US." His mind stumbled again, his head still lighter and floating. His insides bloated and twisted, and his overall body feeling paralyzed. He couldn''t move or speak. His breathing felt weird, like he had to will his lungs to operate. "The ongoing political battle of immigration has ..." continued the story. This seemed to help Alex ground himself. In his head he thought "Ah, of course. Illegal aliens. Not extra-terrestrial aliens." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, there was his phone with the curiously worded link right in front of him. He clicked it. Perspective is everything Sorcha had been up for about half an hour and was just pouring her first cup of coffee. Jeff peered into the kitchen, yawning. The pumping drums and mellow vibe of The War on Drugs Red Eyes had just started on the turntable. Jeff stumbled in, looking like he was still half-asleep. "Want some?", she asked him. He hesitated, looking a little disheveled and confused. "Sure", he finally responded. She poured him a cup, and he sat next to her. Jeff stared at the cup for at least a minute before grabbing the handle. Sorcha noticed this, but didn''t say anything. Jeff continued to look deep in thought for a moment, then shook his head, and finally took a sip. "You okay?", Sorcha asked. "Yeah... I mean, yeah. I just remembered another strange dream I had last night." "I was working somewhere, maybe in another city. In a normal office environment, and decided I needed some coffee, or maybe it was lunch break and I went out for coffee? I''m not sure..." If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. "As I walked out, there were several colleagues walking out with me, several of them Indian men. It seemed they were going to get coffee as well. We were walking together, but apart. Together enough that I could hear them, but I wasn''t necessarily walking with them. I could hear that they were going to the usual place that was nearby." "I decided that I needed or wanted to go somewhere different. So, I continued walking down the street. In my dream I was suddenly in something like a mall, and I spotted a small restaurant window, something like you might find in a short order diner." "I walked up to the kid at the window. He was in his teens, with shaggy blonde hair. I asked him if he had coffee. He told me, enthusiastically, they had great coffee. So, I ordered some." "Next I was walking in the mall to an area with a small number of 2-person tables. There was a pair of women who were either already sitting there, or about to sit down? I''m not sure. I felt anxious as I looked around for a place to sit." "I sat, and took the top off the coffee to let it cool. But when I did, the coffee was revealed to include something like chocolate chips and fudge sauce or something. It was spilling over the side." "Now, I normally have a bit of a sweet tooth, but in this moment, I just wanted the coffee. So, I tried to put the lid back on, but the chocolate chips and fudge were spilling over the top, in a rather disgusting manner. I managed to get the lid back on, while the women eyed me suspiciously. I got up and walked toward a garbage can and tossed the coffee in." "When I woke up, I guess I was still lingering in the dream. I thought to myself that the kid at the window did not know anything about coffee. But maybe he likes his coffee to taste like a sundae." Sorcha had been half listening to this tale. When Jeff had finished, she asked him: "Would you like me to get you some hot fudge for your coffee?" Jeff rolled his eyes... "Smart ass". looking glass, looking glass As they pulled up to Joshs parents house, they could see several cars in the driveway. It was just after 9:00pm, and the party appeared to be going strong. Before they exited the vehicle, they gave each other a concerned glance - not quite sure what to say or how to reconcile what had happened on the drive. Josh spoke first. Look... lets just keep that between us. Ill explain that we left the office late working on a deal, and then we got caught up in traffic. Kyle grimaced. Ok. Im cool with that. They got out of the car, and walked to the front door. Loud conversation and occasional laughing could be heard from the porch. Josh opened the door and stepped into his parents large living room, which was brightly lit and full of all his parents friends and business associates. The semi-familiar refrain of Fleetwood Macs Secondhand News could be heard coming from the den, fading into Lindsey Buckinghams screeching guitar solo. Joshs mom was the first to see them enter from across the room. She pushed her way over to them and gave Josh a big hug. Hi sweetheart! Im so glad you finally made it!. She gave Kyle a big hug next, which he reluctantly returned. Mrs. Peterson was a large woman. She was dressed in a fashionable gown that was sparkly, but understated at the same time. Her dark blonde hair was done up and featured a scarlet ribbon bow. Her hands were bedazzled in several gold and platinum rings, featuring a variety of fine jewels. Near her light cleavage, she bore a small multi-colored brooch of a clown head. She had owned this clown brooch for years, and it was her favorite item to wear at parties. Josh always found it a bit odd and even creepy. So nice to see you, Mrs. Peterson, Kyle offered after she released him. Your father is in the kitchen. I think hes talking about cigars or whiskey or golf or some such. Go say hi to him. Yeah, sure thing, mom. They made their way across the living room, careful not to step on any toes or spill any drinks. Also, careful to avoid getting pulled into an unwanted conversation with his parents friends. They stepped into the kitchen and could see Joshs dad, Ralph, holding forth with two men about the virtues of various whiskies. Josh recognized the first man as Bill Williams - his fathers partner in starting Delta Fund. As he walked up, he said, Gentlemen, please dont mind my father. He fancies himself a connoisseur of whiskies. But, honestly, I dont think he knows the difference between Jim Beam, Jack Daniels, and Johnny Walker. Ralph grabbed his lanky arm around his sons head and neck, and pulled him close. Ralph was clearly a bit drunk at this point, so Josh just pushed him off. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. How are you doing Joshy?, his father said. Good... good. Closing deals, making money. You know the drill. Hey Kyle - how have you been? I feel like its been a while since Ive seen you. Ralph said, extending a hand to Kyle. Well. Ive been quite well, Mr. Peterson. Kyle responded. Good. Good. And your mother? How is she getting along? Thanks for asking. She is doing okay. I think she gets lonely sometimes, but shell never admit it to me. I thought of getting her a cat or something, but I dont think she wants the responsibility. Well, can you blame her? Ive spent my life trying to run from responsibility!. Everyone laughed at Ralphs joke. Josh, Kyle - you guys know Bill.... Bill Williams shook Joshs and Kyles hand. And this is Philip Russell, the third... Josh and Kyle traded subtle glances at each other. They each offered their hand to Philip. Can I get you fellas something to drink?, Ralph offered. I got it, dad. As long as you didnt suck down all of the 10-year-old Michters yet? Josh replied. Not all of it, though we did make a pretty good dent in it. Ralph said. Is that a good one? Bill asked. Oh, heck yeah. Have you tried it? Josh replied. Naw... I think Ralph has been stiffing us with some of his blended scotch, and holding off on the good stuff. Well... you are in for a treat, then.... Neat? I assume? Of course! Mr. Russell... one for you as well? That would be great, thank you. At that moment, Pete Sanford entered from another room. Pete! Exclaimed Josh. What are you doing here? I thought this was just for friends and family?, he said, feigning condescension. Bourbon?. Absolutely, Pete responded. Josh and Kyle disappeared from the kitchen, and into the study where the good whiskies were kept in an old-school Murphy bar, which hung on the wall behind the desk. Josh opened the bar, and pulled five short old-fashioned glasses from the shelf, and set them on the platform. He opened the Michters 10-year-old bourbon, which appeared to be missing only a little. (Josh was relieved to find the dent they made was rather small). As they got back to the kitchen, they could hear Ralph telling Philip something about his investment, but the conversation was quickly quieted. So, Josh C hows the Ah ah ah ah piped up Joshs father. Now, Pete, this is a social occasion. Keep your office talk confined to the office, ok? Pete looked a little put out, even a tad embarrassed. But you dont get to Petes position without a little backbone. So, he sucked it up, as he reared up on his heels and then his toes. Josh handed Pete his glass first to help break the obvious tension. Here you are, gentlemen. The finest whiskey in all of Kentucky. Josh proclaimed as he handed each man his glass. They raised their glasses, and as a choir, they chanted: May you never lie, steal, cheat or drink. But if you must lie, lie in each others arms. If you must steal, steal kisses. If you must cheat, cheat death. And if you must drink, drink with us, your friends. Then, they raised their glasses high, and clinked them before each taking a single large sip of the caramel colored liquid. They all smiled at each other as the nectar ran down their gullets, leaving a slight trail of hotness, tinged by a multitude of vanilla and oak, chocolate and caramel, spice and smoothness. Repo Center I was in a clearing, maybe a parking lot. Our CEO was delivering some kind of speech, which was odd since we had recently been bought out, and he really wasn''t the CEO any more. My boss was near me. We had been small talking or something. He (my boss) handed me a small animal... I thought it was a dog or something. Next thing I know, this animal has small claws, needle sharp things, extending from its paws. But it also has the cutest face. Then I realize, on its face, is something like a clipped fingernail extending outward from its cheek. But its face is still cute. Then, there''s a group of people looking at me suspiciously. I realize I need to escape with the animal, so I run. I''m in a building. I think it''s called the Animal Repo Center or something. There are men everywhere who look like scientists and doctors. Down the hall I find an open door, and enter. Inside, no doctors. Just a cage or aquarium type thing. Inside it''s moist, but not water filled. A small creature, round, like an oversized ladybug but without wings, and legs around the circumference, is in the cage. But it''s much bigger than a ladybug, maybe 1 to 2 inches in diameter. And it has a face, and it smiles at me. I''m a little stunned. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. I already have my needle claw nail-faced fox-type creature, but I also grab the bug. I see a doctor in the hallway... tall, with silver-white hair. He looks like the CEO. Maybe he is the CEO''s father? Or brother? There''s a clear relation. The group of people from earlier spot me... like they are a crack team of spies or something. They start moving towards me. I run down the hall, both creatures in hand. But also, I have a colleague or two, ambiguously, with me. Through one door, then another. We are outside, at a park. A public park. People are walking dogs and pushing strollers. I am breathing heavy, but the two creatures appear calm. My pursuers appear, also out of breath, and with much more angst than me. But they realize that we are in a public area. I immediately understand the Repo Center to be a facility where experiments are performed in cross-breeding animals. I instantly know that they are also experimenting on humans, with varied success. Suddenly I awake... disoriented. Not sure what to make of this dream. Is it relevant? Is it sexual? Is it nonsense? I never loved Eva Braun When I was a kid, I was down in the skids At the top of the hill, occasionally the book mobile Sometimes we drove, sometimes we walked So excited, I couldnt even talk Books galore. Well, at least, covering the shelves Id find my favorites, maybe a new one, take them home Stories about dragons, sometimes elves But books werent the only thing in my zone Also records. LPs. Vinyl masterpieces. 12 squares. I remember Alabama, and Kenny Rogers. I didnt know Bowie yet, but sure he was there. Id bring them home; temporary additions to the usual fare. Alabama was an early favorite. Something about grandparents? This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Mountain music for the sole. I set up coffee cans and pencils. For a week I would be the drummer, For a week I couldnt be told To stop making so much noise So much music And now theres some hip hop Rapping, cursing, bitches and fucking Drugs and guns And bullshit pop stars. Boy bands who dance and drive fancy cars. And those days seem far away. I can hardly remember. The Folgers drums While Kenny Rogers hums something about a lady I didnt know anything. Just how I felt. Those chords and me and my pencils. I could feel the beat. I could express what I felt From my feet to my head Something about rhythm And ideas And where did I go wrong? Where did I turn, why didnt I learn? Something in my DNA Something in my skin Something in my heart Just wanted to be one of them One of the music makers But lovers. Are special. Soulmates are unique. You cant trade them in a market. Just the spark it takes to light that fire And now, decades. Later and later. The past long gone. Nearly forgotten, except for the Rats. A seasonal shit in my ears as I try to relive Someone kill the fucking DJ He ruins the feels. He dictates the crap, Burn his laptop Burn his speakers. Burn his digital bits Cut off his wireless cords Smack in the face and let him know I dont have time for this When Cool seems to be a facet of obscurity Never heard of him, so underground Made by a kid who subverts subversion Hes buried in a cloud I wonder if he could even play me Some mountain music Like grandma use to play I dont remember I think she liked Elvis But it wasnt just a beat and a bass and words that rhymed It was something about love Something about pride A referendum on social justice, before it was a derogatory term Maybe I will never learn Part 3: Revelation, Mother Earth - Maybe There''s an old Chinese proverb that tells a story that many interpret to be the basis of moral relativity... the idea that any experience is good or bad in a relative sense, rather than an absolute sense. I am paraphrasing and telling it from memory, so I''ll probably get the particulars wrong. In any case, you''ll get the gist of it. One day, a farmer in his village was told that his wife was pregnant. The villagers seemed excited and told him "You must be happy. This must be a good thing." "Maybe", he replied. But the farmer''s wife died during child birth. The villagers said, "You must be devastated, this is a terrible thing." "Maybe", he replied. When his child was a young man, he fell off a horse and broke his leg. The villagers again said, "How terrible". "Maybe", he replied. The following week the army arrived to gather all able men to join the war. But the young man couldn''t go because of his broken leg. "That is good that your son doesn''t have to go to war", said the villagers. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. "Maybe", he replied. And so, the story goes. What does it mean? It seems to mean that the moral value of any circumstance is incomplete at best and possibly meaningless. It doesn''t mean there isn''t any suffering or negative consequences, or that there are no positive or joyous consequences. It suggests that if you get too caught up in those, however, they may be short sighted and short lived. This might also be a metaphor for the Buddhist concept of detachment. This idea seems to suggest that being too attached, not just to material objects, but also to emotions, to other people, to circumstances and experiences, can be an anchor that weighs you down and prevents you from achieving enlightenment. Both concepts also seem related to the core of Taoism, which seems to be about acceptance, understanding, and harmony. A Taoist might consider the farmer above like a river. Each event is like a valley or change in the landscape that makes the river bend instead of running straight. If the river can detach from running straight, and follow and harmonize with the land, then it will simply exist, contentedly. The changes in the landscape are neither good nor bad, they just are. They are simply part of the world in which the river exists. The river''s purpose is to exist. Maybe the more you can become comfortable with being uncomfortable, the better off you are. Or, at least, thats what my therapist tells me. Existence and Enlightenment Enlightenment is a strange concept. It''s more myth than reality. What is enlightenment? Is it a thing? An experience? A state of being? It''s hard to grasp what it really is. The Buddha is said to have been enlightened. If you study Zen Buddhism, you might be on a path to "achieve" enlightenment. Some call this "nirvana". Some describe enlightenment as a state of self-realization, and nirvana as a state of overcoming greed and lust, of existing with emptiness, and especially of overcoming karma. But what is enlightenment? Is it something specific? Or just a general concept? Can it be measured? Can it be confirmed or verified? Is it debatable? Is it objective or subjective? How does one achieve enlightenment? How does one even know they want to achieve enlightenment? Maybe it''s a trick? Maybe it''s a delusion? Can you lose enlightenment after you have achieved it? Some say that ignorance is bliss... and why not? Those who are ignorant, not aware, locked in their own world, exempt from certain parts of objective reality, adjusting and manifesting their own subjective experience. Maybe there''s something to learn from them. But isn''t their existence thin? Less rich? Less meaningful? Everyone needs to decide. Do you just want contentment? Do you just want a subjectively positive experience? Then be ignorant. Ignorance is not a necessarily bad state of being. It just means, by definition, that you ignore certain aspects of your experience. By removing the outliers, the stuff you don''t like, or don''t understand... you can focus on the positive aspects, focus on the thin contentment. But what if you are curious. What if ignorance isn''t in your DNA? What if you must know... you have to understand. What then? You can''t live ignorantly, because the curiosity eats away at you. You must search... for meaning, for understanding, for deeper contentment. Sometimes that search is external, about things in the world, things in nature. These people are usually scientists. They search for a deeper truth than we understand today, and they seek to identify and eliminate bad understanding, irrationality, and superstition. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Those who search internally are like scientists, but are more like Buddhists. They seek to understand subjective experience, motivation, reaction, emotion, rationality, irrationality, and so on. Conducting experiments within themselves, they are like scientists. Deriving theories of "why". Testing those theories, revising them, and re-running the tests. It''s a highly contemplative journey. But what of existence? Where are the scientists and Buddhists searching? Are they searching some kind of true reality? Some kind of objective reality? And what is an objective reality, anyway? Truly, all scientists are really just Buddhists, searching within their own minds, because how can they know that anyone else ever exists, anyway? Aren''t they just searching their own senses, their own minds, their own experiences? Do their dreams not include sensations, thoughts, experiences, memories? Yet, somehow, we agree that dreams are not objectively real. But other experiences which include sensations, and thoughts and memories, we ascribe a truer reality to those. The difference, however, seems to be just a slight difference in the quality of the experience, at least for those who are sober. But what about when the conscious mind experiences a so-called intoxication? Those are conscious, but also less real? Thus, reality appears to be a spectrum which we can use to describe the quality of various experiences. Perhaps enlightenment is nothing more than a realization or series of realizations, about ourselves, about reality, about the nature and quality of subjective and objective experiences. Perhaps it is all of that, but the process and experience is not "nothing more than", but is instead, a deep and rich experience that shifts our perspective and paradigm of understanding? But what are we? What are you? What am I that I can think these thoughts? What am I that I can appear to reflect on existence? What am I that I can remember? What am I that I can ruminate on the internal and external? What am I that I can appear to have qualitative experiences? And what are you? Are you anything? Are you in my dream? Is my dream just a layer? Maybe reality is just a dream? And my dreams are just a deeper dream? How would I know? How could I know? Where is my mind? Father Albin had spent the night tossing and turning in his bed. It felt too warm and too cold all at once. His limbs were achy, his throat felt dry and itchy. His mind raced seemingly non-stop. At one point, he was definitely asleep. He recalled the dream that seemed to occur while he was in between sleep and awake. In the dream, he sat in his chair writing a sermon. In his mind he understood it to be his "Great Gift" sermon, but the words looked like a foreign language on the page, and when he spoke them they sounded like a jumbled drunkenness. But in the dream, he still understood what they meant, what the message was. It was something transcendent that didnt depend on particular words or language or speech. It was a feeling of understanding, of warmth. A realization. Immediately in his dream, he was in his church. In his hand were his notes and he was delivering the sermon. But now the notes were unintelligible. He was trying to read them, and while he could make the sounds they represented, he couldn''t put the story together. He felt dizzy, but persisted. The congregation looked confused. A few even appeared angry and got up to leave. He could see his nephew in the back of the church, intently paying attention. Suddenly it was communion, and the gifts were being prepared and brought to him for blessing and the transfiguration. As he took the chalice with wine to turn it into Jesus'' blood, it appeared empty. So, he tilted it all the way to get any drop, but none came for a moment. Then suddenly, he was awash in the wine, all of it dripping over his face and down his garments. The sense of embarrassment and humiliation made his skin burn. He awoke suddenly, feeling his body burning and sweating. He often slept in his robe, as he liked the comfort of it. But now it was wet with perspiration and felt like a lead weight constraining him. His mouth was dry and sticky, thick with mucous. He looked around for any kind of water or refreshment, but found none next to his bed. Trying to make some sense of his dream, he got out of bed to get a glass of water. ST. LOUIS UNIVERSITY COLLEGE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES DEPARTMENT OF THEOLOGY THE WORD OF GOD: HOW PROPHESY AND INSANITY SHAPE FAITH (ABRIDGED) A THESIS SUBMITTED TO THE FACULTY OF THE DEPARTMENT OF THEOLOGY IN CANDIDACY FOR THE DEGREE MASTER OF THEOLOGICAL STUDIES BY ALBIN WALENTA ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI MAY 1988 I. INTRODUCTION It need not be pointed out that the history of the world, and especially the history of religion, is marked by a variety of fanatical, eccentric, and innovative personalities. From the earliest of days with Samuel, through modern interpretations of Mayan calendars, there have always been people to fulfill the role of soothsayer, medium, prophet, or sage. In modern times, one can study their circumstance and message. In this paper, I plan to show how, through thorough study and analysis, that faith is shaped not only by these prophets and their prophesies, but also by various levels of insanity in both prophets and regular people. This work will illustrate how combining messages about the future with psychological dysfunction can create a recipe for faith. Through tactics of promises, fear, hypnosis, intimidation, psychosis, brain washing, and others, prophets and the insane drive flocks of people into the corral of faith and hold them there never to escape, even when the gate is open. II. PART ONE: Early Prophets In the oldest of days, prophets were called by a variety of names and titles. Indeed, they also varied in their calling and responsibility. Of course, they also varied in their skills. Gurus, Sages, Soothsayers, Clairvoyants, and Medicine Men, all have their roots in the same essence. These were singular members of tribes who possessed special skills not available to everyone, and when cultivated, provided a unique benefit for the tribe. But what is a prophet? Is it a person who speaks to God? Is it someone who can predict or see the future? Is it someone who can heal, or warn of danger? In many ways, a prophet might be all or none of these things. The modern understanding of prophets, and prophesy, is arguably narrower and encompasses the basic ideas of a person who speaks to, or hears from, God, and delivers God''s message to the people. In that sense, the prophet isn''t so much predicting the future as much as delivering a message from a God who can see the future. At an age we would consider still relatively adolescent, Samuel heard his name being called during the night. Once Samuel responded, the Lord told him that the sons of Eli were essentially bad people, and that Eli''s family would be cursed as a result. Eli was a priest of Shiloh, and had taken Samuel on as his apprentice in training. When Eli asks Samuel about this event, Samuel responds honestly. Eli reacts by telling Samuel that God must do what is right. When read through a modern lens, this story sounds remarkably harsh. Eli''s sons were reportedly engaging in sex with women in the church, and stealing the best food for themselves. Eli, apparently, was expected to be more prudent with his sons and bring an end to the debauchery. When he didn''t, God saw fit to tell Eli''s young apprentice that he would be cursing and destroying Eli''s family. This story is the earliest example of prophesy in the Bible. It is also a perfect example of both prophesy and insanity, and how they influence faith and behavior. In this case, Samuel isn''t making any prediction, exactly. He does tell Eli that the future of his family is in dire straits, but he doesn''t specify when or how. However, he does claim that this information comes from God. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. What are we to make of Samuel''s claim and Eli''s reaction? If your employee came to you and said that God told him that you were not strict enough with your own children, and as a result he was going to destroy your family, your first reaction would not be the same as Eli''s. Instead, you might think that the employee was not well. III. PART TWO: Charlatans and Cults Prophets are not constrained to live only in the world of high profile organized religion. Recognition that prophesy can bring fame and power has driven madmen through the ages to recount their own dreams, delusions, paranoias, and insights and deliver them as prophetic messages of hope and direness. Those people looking for answers, and wanting to believe in something, often latch on to the cult of personality that such "prophets" maintain. Such charlatans as Grigori Rasputin and L. Ron Hubbard, David Koresh and Sai Baba, Charles Manson and Fred Phelps, Jim Bakker and Shoko Asahara all share a common set of behaviors that characterize at once both as madmen and gurus. All proclaimed to know the secret or path to enlightenment, the way to heaven, the price of salvation. What is the difference between the salesman selling a bottle of water as snake oil treatment that cures arthritis, Bernie Madoff promising unrealistic investment returns, and Jim Jones promising salvation by drinking Kool-Aid? The short answer is just the details of their plot, since the main story line is essentially the same. They all sought to feed their own insanity, while providing their flock with a framework for belief and faith. While it is probably incredibly damaging to the ego to be a failed charlatan, it must be overwhelming to be the leader a group of people who believe in you, as you lead them from town to town, state to state across the country. It must be overwhelming to be run out of each town and continue to lead the group to a desolate area of Utah. It must take a special kind of insanity to continue this path, to ignore any moral righteousness, or to believe that it is morally right in the face of so much dissension. But also, it must take a complementary kind of insanity to continue to follow such a movement. What does it take to leave your home, and follow across the country? To be run out of town after town? To settle in a desolate area with essentially nothing? To maintain belief and faith in some cause or framework that you might only barely understand. And yet, this is the origin story of the Mormon religion. IV. PART THREE: Sigmund Freud and Psychoanalysis Mainstream society recognizes the name of Sigmund Freud almost as a caricature. His legacy has become something of a parody of a small number of ideas he posited about relationships within the family structure and sexual behaviors. In the actual scientific community, however, he is a giant. His early work on anatomy and neurology, as well as his immense work on the study of the mind and consciousness can hardly be overstated in its importance. Of most significance to this discussion are Freud''s concepts of the id, ego, and super-ego. The id being that part of the psyche that controls and influences instinctual behaviors. The super-ego being the part of the psyche that assigns values to behaviors. The ego being the part that coordinates behaviors such that they meet the needs of the super-ego and the id. Most people have a casual understanding of the ego, as its common use is often prescribed in discussions involving celebrities, cults of personality, and other people in positions of power. It''s not uncommon to talk of someone with a large ego, or someone who needs to keep their ego in check. These are coarse and vague understandings of the concept. Regarding faith and insanity, these concepts are critical. The id is what drives behavior toward results that please instinctual and physical needs. One can easily see that an individual with a proper balance of id, ego, and super-ego will be able to manage their behavior appropriately. They will eat when hungry, but not more. They will have sexual desire when appropriate, but not more. They will see themselves and others with values and build relationships based on those values. But what happens when they are out of balance? What happens when someone has too much id and too much ego and not enough super-ego? Imagine the instinctual desires when they become magnified. Imagine the values and judgements when they are diminished. This leads to behaviors that are driven by instinctual and primitive desires. A cult leader who is driven to have sex with his female followers. A CEO who is driven to be in charge. While this type of person isn''t devoid of emotions, they simply understand emotions in a different way than others. Their emotions are driven by their primitive id, and lack the value judgement of the super-ego. More importantly, their psyche assumes others process emotions like they do, so they frequently behave toward others as if they also have no values or judgements and as if they too are driven by their id, driven by their primitive desires. But what about faith and belief? What drives the followers of these sociopaths to believe them, to continue to have faith in their snake oil? These followers have a predilection for hope, for the future. They have an instinct in their id to feel good about a promise, about a prophesy. And they overcompensate for the leader''s lack of super-ego by overestimating the value of the promise. And the leader, often recognizing this complementary psyche is more than willing to take advantage of it. The leader provides the followers with a prophesy they can believe in. The followers assign value and judgement to the prophesy. The followers provide a commitment back to the leader, which feeds into his id, because it feels good to him. The leader''s ego continues to push prophesies, because it feeds his good feeling. The followers continue to assign value to the prophesies. And so, it continues in an endless cycle. The overconfident insanity of the leader feeds the under confident insanity of his followers by providing prophesies they can assign value to. V. PART FOUR: Modern Society In religion, in politics, in science, in social circles these behaviors are evident. What distinguishes religion from politics? From science? Essentially, the difference is the prophesy. The basic structure and mechanisms are the same whether it''s a priest promising salvation, a scientist predicting the outcome of an experiment, or a politician promising a great future. They are all making prophesies. When the prophesy is received, others try to determine its value. When the prophesy comes from an authority, people assign it a higher value. The prediction of a university scientist is regarded as more valuable than the prediction of a 3rd grader. The value of a religious prophesy is often regarded as amongst the highest value, particularly for those with an existing predilection to believe in a God or creator. What are we to do with this understanding? Are we to assume that all prophets are insane sociopaths? Are we to conclude that all believers are simply weak minded? Are we to continue to propagate this social structure and encourage ongoing prophesy and belief? Or is there some good or positive change we can affect? Can we start to understand why people believe? Can we start to help them recognize the difference between Jim Jones leading them to death, and Jesus leading them to everlasting life? And if so, how can we do that? We must start by understanding how their super-ego works. We must understand how they judge prophesies and promises. And we must understand why prophesies that are detrimental achieve a higher value than those which enrich their lives. To change someone''s values you must change their perspective. This requires nurturing. It requires teaching. It requires demonstration. Sometimes it requires allowing them to pursue their values in a way that lets them see it for what it is, to let them see the inappropriate value they have assigned to it. I propose that churches and church leaders start now to create a vision for their community where they can understand the nuances of the values in the community, and where they can nurture those values. And when there are individuals who exhibit confusion and misalignment of those values, they must act to nurture and educate them. I further propose that communities identify individuals who lack or have degraded value systems. Unfortunately, there appears to be limited recourse to introduce values into such individuals. Therefore, they must be observed and monitored, and if their behaviors exhibit the biases of the id and the ego, they may need to be removed from the community, else the community risks a battle of prophesies between the church leaders and the sociopath, the cost of which is too high to bare. Baby Sico There''s a mad dash to create a working artificial intelligence. Although, what that actually means is still pretty vague. In 1950, Alan Turing proposed what is arguably the first set of criteria for judging artificial intelligence. These criteria are evaluated in what is called a Turing Test. The essence of the test is to have a human interact with another intelligence via text chat, and a third-party judge. The judge knows that one of the parties is a human, and the other machine. If the judge cannot reliably determine which is human and which is not, then the machine is said to have passed the test. The so-called imitation game, for the time, was a remarkable concept. It is something like imagining a way to travel to the moon when all you have are horses and carriages for travel. But the concept, however intriguing, is fairly short-sighted and even trivial by modern computing standards. The advances in not only computing and information theory, but also in neurology and consciousness have uncovered dramatically new ideas in machine learning and machine intelligence. Most current concepts of intelligence are centered around the ideas of learning in the context of neural networks. A neural network is basically an interconnected set of neural nodes that can build and strengthen connections by firing together. You can imagine how this works in a fairly simple way by thinking about a checkerboard which is eight by eight squares, having alternate black and white squares. Now, imagine you touch the squares in all four corners. And imagine that when you do, two things happen. First, all four squares light up. Second, all four squares make a connection to each other. Now imagine you touch the squares again. Again, they light up. And this time, their connection grows stronger. Next, imaging you touch just one of the corners, and it lights up. And this causes the other three corners to also light up, but not as strongly as they did earlier. This is the most basic concept of how a neural network operates. It''s a set of nodes that can fire (e.g. light up), and build or reinforce connections. This model of neural firing and connections is based on our understanding of the brain''s neural configuration. And for some specific tasks, building such a neural network can function pretty well as a learning machine. In a learning machine, what happens is you have a large neural network (much larger than a 64-square checker board). Next, you must train or educate the network. This is done by feeding the network a model or set of models. The models represent different configurations of how the nodes in the network should fire. It basically does the job of touching the squares like in the checkerboard example, thereby creating the connections in the network. Thus, neural nodes and their connections are basically a representation of the information in the model. Often this is done with basic logical definitions. For example, the first model might teach the network that A + B = C. It might then teach the network that A + D = C. Because the network is effectively a logical inductance machine, it can then infer that D = B without having to be taught that explicitly. And this, my friends, is what artificial intelligence and machine learning means in the current world. Not to say that such a mechanism isn''t incredibly useful, but it is not what most people think intelligence is. Consciousness is required for true intelligence. Id, Ego, and Super-ego are probably also required. And also required is an appropriate set of senses and inputs, and an appropriate set of ways of expressing output. Human understanding, based on current neurology, is extremely complex and layered. The way the conscious brain assembles and assimilates inputs is like a computer, but only in a highly artificial way. Here''s a good example to think about. When you sleep, and dream, your brain... your neural network is firing away. It is triggering memories of recent events, which trigger other memories, and so on. When you are awake, this process of remembering is controlled and filtered, and you know the difference between the memory and your current reality. In the dream state, however, it''s different. You don''t know it''s a dream. And, strangely, the rules of consciousness don''t apply. You can move from one scene to another. A person can be one person in this moment, and then immediately another person. Things you know to be untrue or impossible, are possible and happen in your dream. And while it is happening, you believe it. This is because when you are dreaming, essential parts of your consciousness are shut down, and you''re left with something like random firing of your neural network. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. What is particularly interesting about this is that your brain makes sense of, and understands, the things that happen in your dream, even if they would be nonsensical in your waking mode of thinking. A computer, on the other hand, tends to fail when it can''t "understand". It tends to crash when the program stops making logical sense. The computer cannot understand what it means for 2 + 2 to equal 5, but your brain, especially during dreaming, can readily accept this. This is because your brain always understands. It always has a way of assembling a coherent story based on the inputs and neural firing. But that''s not the only thing. What about interactions? Intelligence isn''t just having a book or reference of knowledge. A database isn''t intelligent. An intelligent person interacts. He or she listens. He or she responds. He or she considers. He or she analyzes and potentially synthesizes new, related, ideas. Where is the mechanism for artificial intelligence which addresses these issues? What about emotions? Can the machine understand the emotions in the context of a conversation? Shouldn''t an intelligent machine refrain from speaking coldly about death when it''s conversational counterpart has just lost a loved one? This may seem superfluous to using machines to solve problems, and perhaps it is when the problem can be reduced to a finite set of logical models and outcomes. But real-world problems are much more complex. Problems of people are much more complex. And it doesn''t end there. The way a brain works is very specialized to the individual. Your brain doesn''t work like mine and vice versa. Your neural network, while physically similar to mine at birth, is very different from mine in that the nodes that have fired and connected to each other have done so in a way that is unique to you and your experiences. You couldn''t take my eyes and ears and such and connect them to your brain and expect to be able to control my body. You couldn''t interconnect our two neural networks and expect them to have any mutual understanding. It would be like writing a book that consists of Arabic and Chinese characters intermingled to make words - essentially, only gibberish. Because each network is unique, there''s no Rosetta Stone to translate between them. But, worst of all, is the idea that you can create such an intelligence with different inputs and outputs and streams of network excitation. Terribly, such conditions do exist in humans. There are conditions where inputs are routed wrong or interrupted. Where outputs are routed wrong or distorted. Where processing doesn''t happen as expected. These are generally characterized as mental disorders. Frequently, there is a physiological cause of such circumstances. The thing is, the human brain has co-evolved with the rest of the human body, and therefore is highly co-dependent on it. So, you cannot take the neural network model of memory and "thinking" out of the brain and expect it to work on its own. And worse, if you were to have multiple streams of input trying to create excitations in the same neural network, don''t the streams have to interact and create interference? In the same way a human can''t learn calculus and French at exactly the same time, the machine also cannot. The best case would be confusion, but the worst case is some kind of artificial insanity. Imagine a human, but with unlimited neural capacity. But also, limited types of sensory input. And delayed feedback. But also many parallel streams of the same kind of input (maybe something like having more than 2 eyes C maybe like having a million eyes and a million ears). And scatter the eyes and ears all over the Earth. What would that humans subjective experience be like? What would constitute consciousness for this human? How would they synthesize all of the sensory input, even if they have the capacity to synthesize it? What would amount to understanding? What kind of output would you expect? The closest model I can imagine is something like a million-fold schizophrenic. Instead of two or five or ten personalities, what if there were millions of parallel personalities, working from a mix of the same inputs and memories? Obviously, the subjective experience of such an entity would be unrelatable for most of humanity. But what about objective experience and understanding? Would such an existence provide any better insight into the mysteries of the universe? Of why anything exists, rather than nothing? Of where everything comes from, and where its going? Would it understand how to solve world hunger and world peace? Or would it be like humans trying to explain such concepts to ants and earthworms? Or would such an existence be missing some critical feature, such as emotions, or an amygdala, and ultimately be a giant, universal psychopath? The man who mistook his wife wearing a hat Nazo had spent many hours gazing at the photo on his screen. He had looked at it sober. He had looked at it drunk. He had tried to picture the moment in his mind with his eyes closed. Somehow, he always came to the same surprising conclusion, which is that the photo is not as he remembered the moment. His next reaction was to assume that he was remembering wrong for some reason. Certainly, his memory must be failing him, and filling in the blanks with nonsense. But still, it felt so authentic and real when he remembered the moment. It felt like he was right there again. He wondered if it was a conspiracy. Or if someone was playing a prank on him. He wondered about a variety of circumstances that could cause such confusion in a man. But he exhausted them all. There was nothing left to claim. After many months of trying to solve the riddle, Nazo concluded that this was not something he could readily understand, and was, quite possibly, a characteristic of the world... of the universe. He came to accept that it simply happened because it did, and that it happened because it needed to happen. In his dreams, he would frequently have episodes related either to the moment of the photograph, or episodes related to his confusion or understanding of the discrepancies. On one occasion, in his dream, he had an epiphany that seemed to explain away all his questions and provide a clear explanation. During the dream, he understood it as clear as a summer sky. It was a fairly lucid dream as well... at one point he had recognized it as a dream, and as what he felt was a vehicle for some kind of divine inspiration. As he felt he naturally understood what happened with the photo, he decided to push deeper. In his dream, he stared at the photo, and then was inside the moment, at that time and place with Biyu. Nazo felt a rush of emotion with Biyu next to him. In a part of his mind he knew she was dead, yet here she was next to him. He looked at her like he hadn''t seen her in years, like a long-lost friend. His heart was full. His eyes glossed with tears. He took her hand and asked where she had been. She didn''t say anything. He grabbed her and hugged her. She returned the gesture but still didn''t say anything. "Where have you been, my love?" Biyu looked at him, confused. In the dream, she wore the hat he had bought for her the day before. This detail confused him. He could see the random person who took the photo for them walking by. In Nazo''s mind, the original photo was missing the hat. This seems like a minor detail, but it was important to Nazo. He had purchased the hat the day before, while the couple were in Venice, on a vacation. They found a small shop next to the canal just before they boarded a gondola ride. She had been enamored by one particular lavender colored hat. As Biyu exited the shop, Nazo quickly returned to purchase the hat and surprised Biyu by placing it on her head as they stepped onto the gondola. Biyu was not just surprised, but impressed by his stealthiness, and his attention. She loved the hat and wore it immediately. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. The gondola ride lasted about an hour. Somewhere about halfway through, a strong wind blew through the canal and stole Biyu''s lavender fedora. It flew several yards from the boat, and was almost immediately soaked by the canal water. Biyu made a loud sound, and pointed to the hat. Their Italian captain seemed dismayed by this turn. He tried to turn the gondola and retrieve the hat, but he was too late. By the time they arrived at the spot, it was underwater and he could not discover it below the surface. Nazo was terribly disappointed and upset. They did, however, set their attention toward the rest of the gondola cruise. When they departed the boat, they were both in a positive, though sober mood, having lost the artifact of Nazo''s loving gesture. Nazo could not resolve how Biyu could have lost the hat to the canal, but also still be wearing it? Did she purchase another when he wasn''t aware? But it wasn''t in the photo? Were there two photos? One with, and another without the hat? In his dream state, he accepted that there were two realities, one where she lost the hat and the photo was hatless, and another where she didn''t lose the hat, and it remained in the photo. This made sense to his sleepy psyche. When he awoke, Nazo was a bit disturbed by his dream. His conscious, logical mind tried to reign in some kind of understanding. But it only left him more confused, and created a deeper struggle to understand. His tablet was on his nightstand, and he immediately pulled up the photo, and he gazed at it in his sleepy stupor. He tried to make a leap between his conscious mind and his dream awareness, but couldn''t. Nazo recalled that their Italian holiday was just weeks before the Piano Solo coup attempt in Italy. He remembers them getting their film developed, and when they picked up the photos, the clerk commented about how they just missed the coup attempt. Nazo had read in the paper about the attempt, and felt lucky that they missed the whole event. Now, he felt this was an important detail. He tried to look up the Piano Solo coup online, and found... nothing. No mention of it. He remembered Piano Solo because it sounded like some kind of music. But he could only find solo piano music, and when he searched Italian and Italy, he could only find musical pieces by Vivaldi, Respighi, Puccini, Frescobaldi, and others. Nazo''s mind became erratic again. He could not process or reconcile the difference between his memory and the research he was doing. None of it added up. Instead of confirming his memory, it seemed to unravel more questions. What were his memories, he thought? Were they real? Or imagined? Was he remembering things from dreams long past? South America My dreams are getting stranger. Sometimes the content is weird and hard to understand. But more frequently, I experience dreams where I remember things that havent happened. Or at least, once I am awake, I am convinced they hadnt happened. 10 years ago, I used to work for a large multinational conglomerate corporation. They have been around for forever. In my dream, they had been working with the US government after World War II to transport weapons to South America to help German soldiers fight the local warlords. This effort had apparently been going on for a while, and the Germans and Americans had grown to tolerate each other within the community they had built together. So much so, that the pre-teen and teen aged children would play soccer games against each other. This night, the Germans had won. But the American team thought they might have cheated. Living conditions were also more like tents for these children, who were living sort of like boy scouts. The American boys decided to prank the Germans by lighting fireworks outside their tents. The youths were captured by the Germans. Because the entire arrangement was clandestine, the Americans on the ground had limited recourse. I became one of the youths in my dream. There was a German campus or village, which included a house where Hitler lived. Sometimes the kids would have to deliver items there. I asked why no one simply poisoned the Fuhrer if his house was that accessible. It turns out that the executives of the company who helped transport weapons were aware of the capture of these youths. However, they kept it secret to maintain their business position. Fast forward to me working for said company 10 years ago. A coworker had emailed me information about the conspiracy. After some online research revealed some truth to the narrative, I naively confronted the company executives about it. I was swiftly told to drop it, and that the last inquirers were fired for asking too many questions about the episode. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Fast forward to current time, where I have left the company behind 10 years ago. Somehow, I come across the conspiracy again... perhaps by running into another former coworker, or even a former executive. I recall having a box of research somewhere. I recall talking to someone in human resources (HR) from a third party oversight company. I go to that company with some companion and look for the HR department. I pick the wrong door, but my companion shows me to the door across the hall. We hesitate to knock, as the door is closed and we are uncertain of the hours. We knock. The door opens, and the small office has eight or ten people in it. A youngish, short, overweight fellow introduces himself once we say we are looking for some help regarding an HR matter. When we mention it was ten years ago, he says we need to talk to the former lady, who happens to be in the room. Also in the room is the mans baby, in a baby carrier on a desk or a table. The woman says she will try to locate the old research. In getting back to the executive, we learn that theres some sort of coming clean event happening at a secret office location they like to use. Through some strange and hard to articulate process, we, or at least I, end up at the office. I think it involved walking down a secret road in the winter; its like gravel thats dusted lightly with snow. The office is like a conference center with many conference rooms. I enter the first, looking around for familiar faces, but see none. At an elevated table at the front of the room is a series of chairs and people. The only one I recognize is former Trump adviser Steve Bannon, and I soon realize this is the wrong room. After discovering the right room, I settle in to listen to the new executive team talk about what happened and what was known at the time. Its a washed out and watered-down version, and seems to be missing several key events, and is especially lacking in accountability and responsibility. When the session is complete, I go back to the executive who started the thread with me, and explain that I am slowly recalling the details of what happened both from my prior research, and possibly from a memory of having been there. He seems convinced... and as I wake, I am on a path to recover my old research and the research from the HR department. Grassy Knowledge As the web page loaded, Alex took a deep breath. One hand around his glass of Jim Beam, he raised it to his lips, and finished it off. The pub around him seemed to vanish into a blur the way the background of a photograph disintegrates into the bokeh. His screen filled in from the top down. At first, Alex wasnt sure who the news source was, since the format wasnt immediately familiar. But then he looked at the address and realized it was the New York Times. The article began: In November 1963, the nation mourned the assassination of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy. America remembers him as a great politician and leader, taken away too soon by a deep and disturbing conspiracy that involved Russians, the CIA, and the two notorious shooters. Lee Harvey Oswald was famously slain by Jack Ruby while being transported between jails. The infamous grassy knoll shooter, Dmitry Vladimir Averin, also known as David Victor Avery in the United States, incarcerated at Brushy Mountain Penitentiary since 1964, has died today. The coroner reports that Averys death is the result of a small brain tumor that was not detectable before his death. The tumor, said to be the size of a walnut, created pressure in areas of his brain and ultimately caused his death. Avery has no known survivors or associates. According to sources in the prison, Avery had become increasingly strange and disconnected from reality in the last few years of his life. At one point he insisted he was the shooter, but wasnt because his body had been taken over by reptilian aliens. Then it became that Kennedy was a reptilian alien and he had to kill him to avoid an alien takeover of the planet. Later he claimed he was the reincarnation of Servilius Casca, first to strike his dagger into Julius Caesar. Avery became world-wide news in 1963 for his part in the assassination of President Kennedy, along with coconspirator, Lee Harvey Oswald. Oswald denied knowing Avery when initially arrested. However, documents later recovered from the residences of both men, all in Russian, confirmed both their knowledge of each other, and revealed more about the assassination conspiracy. The patronizing peace talks between Kennedy and Khrushchev had been essentially a delay tactic by the Russian government to allow Oswald and Avery to complete their plan, via coordination with George de Mohrenschildt, on behalf of the Russian government. Reportedly, the CIA had engaged Avery, while de Mohrenschildt had engaged Oswald. The idea was to have a redundant shooter plan to ensure the assassination would be successful. After the initial news of Averys death, demonstrators gathered outside the prison fence to hold a vigil for the late President Kennedy. Alex stared blankly, confused, at the screen. His emotions ran the gamut from disbelief, to confusion, to anger. In his head he thought, Who the bloody hell is David Victor Fuckin Avery?. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Alex looked down the bar... at the red-haired Wendy, at the now-drunken gentlemen. They stared back at him, raised their glasses in acknowledgement, and went back to their drinks. Alex looked back at his own empty glass on the weathered wooden bar. Wendy wandered over. What you want another, mate? Alex was silent, still feeling a bit in shock. He just looked at her. He couldnt immediately snap himself out of it. You all right, mate? ow bout some water, eh? Alex blinked at her. No. I mean, yeah. Some water. Thatd be fine. Wendy grabbed a glass from under the bar and filled it with tap water and set it next to his whiskey glass. Oh. And yeah. Another whiskeyd be great, love. Sure thing. Wendy grabbed the bottle of Jim Beam by the neck, and tilted the open top over his whiskey glass. The caramel liquid splashed into his glass, and released a brilliant fragrance that made Alex rumple his nose for a second. Here you are. Cheers, mate. Alex put his hand around the glass. Yeah, cheers. Before he put the glass to his mouth, he looked down the bar at the gentlemen Irish whiskey drinkers. They were in their own conversation, which sounded like something about their disappointment with the current Manchester United roster. Alex stared for a second, then interjected. Excuse me, mates. They stopped their conversation in unison, and looked up at Alex. Look... uhm, I know this is probably going to make me sound like a nutter, but do you recognize the name David Avery? The gentlemen responded with confused glances at each other, and again at Alex. Davie Avery, ye say?, said one of the men. No.... David Avery? David Victor Avery? Oh, oh right..., said a different man. Yeah - es the bloke what shot President Kennedy in the states, right? Ah yeah, said another one. Alex looked at them in disbelief. Wasnt e some kinda commie bloke er some what?, chimed in Wendy. So, youve eard of im? Alex said, his attention now on Wendy. Well, yeah. Dudnt everyone know bout him? Or least eard is name, right?, replied Wendy. Feeling outmanned, and confused, and like a man put into a corner he cant escape from, Alex replied, Yeah... right, thats the one. Wendy, and the gentlemen kept staring at Alex expectantly. Alex let the time just pass. He felt uncomfortable. He took the glass of Jim Beam and swallowed a large sip. And he kept smiling at all of them. His posture shifted uneasily in his chair. So, what about em, then?, inquired Wendy. Oh nothing., was Alexs first response. Wendy looked at him with wider eyes, not understanding. She started to turn away, when Alex offered: I mean, uh. He died, apparently. In prison. From a brain tumor or something. Prolly serves em right, eh?, suggested Wendy. Tis that so?, asked one of the gentlemen. Yeah. Uhm. I just read bout it in the paper... I mean, the, uh, online paper. The... New York Times., Alex responded. Feeling his anxiety ramping up beyond control, Alex grabbed the glass, and sucked down the remaining bourbon. He grabbed some money from his pants pocket that he was sure was enough for the drinks and a healthy tip, and placed it, wadded up, next to the empty glass. He grabbed his phone, and in a single, incongruous motion, leapt from the bar stool, and placed the phone in his back pocket. He stumbled lightly toward the door, and as he walked out he heard Wendy say something like Cheers, mate. Visitation Hours Shit, that was awesome!, said Julie - as the credits to Poltergeist rolled up the screen. Grace just stared at the screen. Although there was a lot of crazy laughter and interjection from both girls early in the movie, as the suspense mounted, Grace became increasingly uncomfortable. Julie hadnt particularly noticed, she just figured both of them were trying to keep pace with the plot, and enjoying the story as it unfolded. Grace, however, wasnt just watching. She was experiencing. Her emotions were elevated, and she was on the verge of panic by the end. Julie looked over at Grace, finally - and said, Oh fuck. Are you ok?. Grace just looked at her, with glassy eyes, and blinked. After Julie left, Grace got in to bed. She couldnt stop thinking about the movie. What had happened to Carol Anne? Grace felt immediate affinity with Carol Anne. She wondered if her own visitors had been aliens or some kind of ghost now. With her nerves on edge, she snuck into her moms room to grab a sleeping pill. She grabbed two, just in case. Back in her own room, she swallowed one of the pills, and chased it with several sips of water from a glass on her side table. She closed her eyes, but all should could see in her minds eye was a slimy grey alien stepping out of a television. Maybe you are expecting something about a dream that Grace has now. Maybe something about an alien visitation, or possibly an abduction. Maybe the aliens are grey and slimy. Maybe they read her mind and memories, maybe they probe her physically or scan her structure. Maybe you think there will be an entire alien-themed episode here that follows something like dream logic, rather than everyday rationalism. But thats not what happens. Grace doesnt have a quirky alien dream. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Instead, Graces body has a reaction to the sleeping pill. Sometime around 2 hours after taking the pill, Grace did wake up abruptly. She was sweating, and her hands felt numb. She could see her ceiling in the dark, just barely. Suddenly the ceiling became bright white light, and the surrounding room faded to a black-outline vignette. The white light became smaller while the black increased around it. At the point where it was all black, she felt a shock through her body, and all her muscles jolted at once. She tried to blink, or open her eyes. But she couldnt tell the difference. It was all blackness either way. Her body went completely numb, or something like numb where she couldnt feel it, but maybe she could. And then, it felt like an ocean wave that started at the tip of her head, and ended at the tips of her toes. All was black still. But her body was moving in a wave, rapidly. All at once she felt scared, weightless, peaceful, panicking, relaxation. She tried to gain some level of control, but nothing worked. It was like the machinery was no longer available. She tried to make a sound... she thought she opened her mouth, she thought she was giving the muscles the command to make a loud noise. But no sound came; that machinery was down also. She didnt know how long this all went on. Eventually, her body felt warm from the outside in, and continued until she felt completely warm and still. At that moment, she fell unconscious. I can only hear the sounds of "Sedon Wind/Zombie Skin" as I sit and ponder the fate of Grace Riddle. Alone, and unconscious, her mind left wandering a bleak wasteland of images and emotions with no coherent story. The sounds are almost angelic as I float like Grace must be floating. As I only experience images and emotions - and let the structure of the story fall around me. I wonder about the differences between human consciousness and computer consciousness. Are they the same? Circle of Confusion After Josh and Kyle left the party at Joshs parents house, they were both drunk and confused. The drunkenness was far easier to explain than the confusion. After all, the drunkenness was a direct result of the alcohol they had consumed at the party. The confusion, on the other hand, did not have near as crisp an explanation. That is, they knew why they were confused. They could not, however, explain or understand it in any meaningful way. On the drive away from the house, they had started the conversation several times. Each time it seemed to stop abruptly as they couldnt articulate their own feelings and confusion. As their drive approached the section of road where the incident had happened on the drive in, they both became visibly agitated, manic, and super aware. Josh slowed during the short portion of relevant road. They both peered ahead of them, behind them, and at the area on both sides of the road around them. But it was all blackness in all directions, except for the reflective lines on the road ahead of them. Instinctively, they both checked their watches and the time on the car radio. All seemed in order. They continued in this hyper-attentive state for about a mile past the area, and then both started to relax a little. They allowed their attention to subside, and made a few innocuous comments to each other. Just at that moment, a cars headlights appeared in the distance coming toward them. Their bodies tensed again, but within moments, the nondescript traveler passed them, and all was back to normal. Alex James sat alone in his apartment. His own bottle of whiskey, bearing hardly an inch of resolve, cast a small shadow across his counter and his own small, cheap, whiskey glass. Fortunately, his glass still bore at least a finger and a half, and it was probably his sixth or seventh since he had returned home from the pub. The room around him was silent. His phone had been face down since he opened the bottle. His mind wandered aimlessly from dark topic to dark topic. What is happening? What is going on? Am I going mad?, he asked himself, repeatedly. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The alcohol had numbed so many of his senses, and his focus was blurred beyond accomplishment. All he could do was spiral downward further. His own confusion was inexplicable. His day had been not just off, but catastrophic. He couldnt even decipher the events in a way that made any sense. This continued to reinforce his feeling of downward spiral into some invisible, emotional, abyss. Alexs double-loop belt had become uncomfortable, and he extracted it from his jeans. He stared at it, with a hazy recollection of when he had purchased it. The color was something like a faded greenish-gray color, which he appreciated for its visual flexibility. His waist and belly felt more relaxed once the belt was out of the loops. His mind, however, was still processing, still trying to assemble the experiences of the day in a way that made sense to him. The gist of the day was this: somehow, people around him seemed to be living in, or able to recall a past, that was foreign to him. Rational explanations? He didnt know. Had he missed something essential in school? Or in his own conspiracy research? No. There was no way he had missed something as substantial as this. But what did that leave? Either he was going mad, or something in the universe had shifted around him. Both explanations were terrifying. He stared at the belt. He poured the last of the whiskey into his glass. His fingers massaged the metal double loop buckle. He slid the other end of the woven belt through the buckle to form a loop. He pulled it in to create a circle which had a circumference a little larger than his head. The remaining tail was 2 to 3 feet in length. He held the belt from the tail... and let the loop fall around his head. After pulling the tail more taught, it created pressure on his throat. As his eyes closed, he wondered how long it would take to completely cut off his air. He wondered if he would just pass out. In the tail of the belt, he tied a small knot. He walked to the bathroom, wearing the belt more like a tie now. After relieving his bladder, he glanced at himself in the mirror - but only briefly as he turned toward the door to leave. He pushed the door nearly shut. He took the knot end of the belt, and placed it over the top of the door, catching it between the top of the door and the frame. He pushed the door closed so that the knot would be caught and unable to slip. With his back against the door, he closed his eyes. Slowly, Alex bent his knees, which had the effect of lowering his head, and his throat, tighter onto the belt. His thoughts were empty. His focus was on escape from this confusion. The incomprehensibleness of it all had sent him over the edge, beyond control. It had spiraled so quickly, and he just wanted the mental suffering to end. The emotional suffering, to end. Code Blue In a hospital, a code blue means there is an emergency with a patient who has stopped breathing. The name, an obvious reference to the face when the body cannot breathe, can sometimes be heard over a hospital public address system. Something like: Code blue, code blue, ER Room 152, Code blue, code blue... all available doctors and nurses ER Room 2. It happened to me once. It was just after midnight, and my mom had called to say she thinks my dad had a heart attack, and that they were headed to the hospital. We drove to meet the ambulance. Its a strange feeling when you are stopped at red light, and an ambulance approaches from the opposite direction to overtake all the other cars in priority; and, you know that inside is your dead or dying father. All you can think is: I hope everything is ok. In the hospital waiting area, no one is around. Also, you can hear over the public-address system: Code blue, code blue, ER Room 2, Code Blue, code blue... all available doctors and nurses ER Room 2. And you know its for your father, or someones father, or son, or daughter. And your heart is an anchor searching for the floor of Mariannas trench. And the air is too thin to breathe. And then blur and blurriness. Waiting rooms. Waiting to see. To know. And then to see, and to know. And to grieve. And grieve. And grieve. And life is like Jenga. Each peg a person, all providing support for the tower, yourself. And as you pull the threads, pull the pegs, pull the people out of the tower - sometimes the whole thing comes crashing down. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. Code blue, code blue, ER ROOM 5, Code Blue, code blue... all available doctors and nurses ER Room 5, could be heard over the hospital public address system. Sorcha was hysterical. She had driven like a maniac to the hospital. Grace had been admitted immediately based on her condition. And now Sorcha was waiting. Pacing. Jeff was also there. But he was wearing a tuxedo, for some reason. Every time a doctor or nurse would walk by, Jeff and Sorcha would trap them and try to get answers about what was happening. But each one only said, Only both of you can go back now. When Jeff and Sorcha backed into the wall, a secret door opened, then rotated, and put them back in the waiting room. And Sorcha waited. And paced. And Jeff still had the tuxedo, but with a regular tie that had mathematical equations written all over it. And a doctor walks by. And Jeff asks: What is going on?. And the doctor says: Weve cured her infection, she just needs this cream. And they are home. And Jeff is trying to apply the cream, but her body keeps shaking so much, the cream is just flying off. In her ears, or maybe it was her mind, all Grace could hear was the empathetic and stoic guitar of David Roback, and the mellow voice of Hope Sandoval singing ... I could possibly be fading, or have something more to gain .... She wasnt sure if she was in a dream, or in a strange waking state. The world around her seemed real enough. But it was like her eyes were closed, but she could still see. Her father, Jeff, felt near - though she could only sense him. He was like a ghost, or like someone observing her from behind a wall or tent. She could make out his body and his head... but his head seemed to be covered in sackcloth, hiding all features of his face. She felt he might be trying to communicate, but she couldnt hear any words from him, and though she tried to ask him what was going on, her own voice was reluctant to make sounds. This didnt startle her, though. As she wondered what was happening, a burning sensation encased her entire body. Normally, this would motivate her to scream. But in this instance, she felt that she was transforming from a human form into something more ethereal, and more substantial. She felt she was turning into dust. Signs, signs, everywhere signs When they got back to Josh''s place - both men were conspicuously quiet. "I need another drink", said Kyle as he plopped onto Josh''s couch. "You and me both", replied Josh. Just then, a bright light flowed across the window which overlooked the bay. It wasn''t a quick flash, but slower, the way a car''s headlights shine through a living room window. However, this window only overlooked the water - and there did not appear to be any boats out at the moment. Josh ran his hands through his hair and down his neck. "I feel like I''m losing my mind tonight, man. We need to get out of here." "It''s still not too late", offered Kyle .... "We could uber back to that karaoke bar?". "That was a pretty fun night ... at least from what I remember about it. Maybe I''ll text Amanda and see if she''s interested in a reprise. Whatever happened with you and that other chick - Jess or Jessica?". "Hmph. Her sister? Not much. She got sick on the ride home and passed out", Kyle said - rolling his eyes about it. "Amanda just texted back - she''s not available tonight. So, I guess it''s just you and me...", said Josh. The uber driver pulled up to Josh''s place, and both men climbed into the back. This car was a bit older, and beat up. And there was a peculiar odor in the back seat that neither of them could clearly identify. It was like a blend of body odor, pot smoke, and sweat. They had to roll their windows down to make the drive even bearable. Once they got to the karaoke place, they mounted stools at the bar. The place was divided into two rooms. The front room contained the bar, and a few comfortable seating areas with couches. The back room was the music room, which featured tables and chairs to sit at, a dance floor, a DJ booth, and a small stage arranged at an awkward angle across from a large projector screen. The stage had a speaker mounted from the ceiling and facing down at the microphone stand. Facing out toward the crowd were two more, larger, speakers, and there must have been several large subwoofers in or under the stage as well, because the bass was always very loud, and you could always feel it in your feet. From the bar, they could hear someone singing Bjork''s "Human Behavior". Whoever it was had a pretty good knack for emulating the peculiar vocalizations of Bjork. Josh and Kyle were in the mood for more bourbon, but the selection seemed to include nothing much better than Jack Daniel''s Tennessee Whiskey - which they both, generally, despised. They settled on a special cocktail called "Black Eyed Redneck". The "Black Eyed Susan" was a popular drink across Maryland, thanks to the famous Preakness horse race. That drink has a vodka base, and includes a variety of citrusy additions. The "Black Eyed Redneck" was essentially the same thing, except replacing the vodka component with Jack Daniel''s. They figured at least the other mixers would mask the disagreeable flavors of the bourbon-wannabe. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. A few rounds later, and Josh had wandered to the back to visit the men''s room. On the way back, there was a large, lumberjack of a man on the stage. He didn''t even look all that drunk. But what really got Josh''s attention was that he was performing a song called "The 7th Element", from Russian pop sensation Vitas. The song features all Russian lyrics, but also features a characteristically silly part where Vitas does something like a falsetto lip and tongue trill. Seeing the lumberjack do this part, and even exaggerate it, had the entire back room in tears from laughter. When he got back to the bar, he was stumbling and still laughing. "Dude - you gotta come see this!" "What is it? Sounds terrible whatever it is...", said Kyle. "Just come on...", Josh pulled Kyle''s arm, and as he fell off the stool, Kyle followed him into the back room just as the lumberjack was doing the weird lip and tongue trill thing. Kyle gave a strange look at Josh, and then burst into laughter. Over the loudspeaker, they heard - "Next up we have ... Kyle - who is performing...", and then the familiar sound of the LinnDrum drum machine and a staccato synth started up. Kyle turned to Josh, "What the... man, come on!". "Don''t worry, I''ll sing the chick parts...", Josh replied. Kyle grabbed a microphone, while the DJ handed Josh a second microphone. Kyle belted out "You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar when I met you". Nearly all the woman in the place were up on the dance floor doing their best old-school 80''s white girl dance. When Josh took over the second verse, the women all cheered. Once the song finished, they both held hands and jumped off the stage. Stumbling back into the front bar area, Josh could see that one of the blonde women was eyeing him, and strained his neck to try and look back at her. At that moment, there was a scream or set of screams from the back room. Suddenly there was a lot of commotion, and all the people who were in the back room were wrestling to get into the front room and out the door. Josh and Kyle immediately thought there might be a fight or something, and so they turned to head into the back room. When they did, they noticed that the lumberjack man was also on his way out, and that there was suddenly the smell of smoke. The bartender smelled it too, and grabbed an extinguisher from under the bar. Kyle and Josh turned around, and made their way out of the bar as well. The crowd was on the sidewalk, spilling into the street. The bartender and DJ were the last out the door, though the sirens could be heard in the distance now. When the firetrucks arrived, smoke was already billowing out the front door and there were flames visible inside. The firemen established a boundary and pushed the crowd back. As they did, the blonde chick that was eyeing Josh stumbled backward onto her feet. He caught her enough to keep her from falling completely on the ground. She looked up at him - her drink still in her hand. She was nursing the straw and gave him an enchanting look. "You ok?", he asked. "I knew you were hot... but you didn''t have to burn the fucking place down!", she said - and gave him a light hit on his arm with her purse. Then she started laughing hysterically like it was the best joke anyone had ever heard. Guns of my fathers The Constitution of the United States of America was written to be the backbone of a new world community that brought together a set of otherwise independent states. These free individuals, who had organized themselves around certain geographic areas, had agreed that binding themselves together to share resources, and have shared services was of mutual benefit to everyone. The Constitution is the written agreement that was made amongst these otherwise independent states. The purpose was to establish rules, or laws, which could be used to define the relationships between each of the states. If New York had a beef with Virginia, there was now a group of people who would help manage that kind of issue. The logic goes something like this: 1) I start as free man 2) I agree to be a citizen of the geographic state I am in, and thereby agree to comport myself and my business in agreement with the laws and protocols of that state 3) I agree to be a citizen of the federal union, and thereby agree to comport myself and my business in agreement with the laws and protocols of that federation 4) I agree that myself and other free men make up the governing bodies of both the states and federation That seems to be about as far as most citizens can immediately agree. It can get very fuzzy and downright antagonistic after that. It was implied and simply understood that free man here, specifically meant actually male, most likely of European descent, most likely Caucasian. Since the 1600s, the New World had imported slaves in order to improve labor productivity and profit. Indentured servitude had been, and even continued to be, a critical source of labor for colonists in the new world - a debt incurred on behalf of the privilege of traveling from the old world. Once these slaves debt had been repaid, they would be free men once again. However, for the Africans who had been kidnapped from their homes and shipped to the new world, their freedom wouldnt officially arrive until the 15th Amendment to the Constitution of the United States, which granted them the right to vote. Or formally, prohibited the denial of the right to vote based on color, race, or previous condition of servitude. Ratified in 1870, this amendment protected the rights of black men to vote. It did not, however, clarify their effective and ongoing position as second-class citizens. For some, there is an appreciation of the history of African slaves in America, but acceptance that it is time to move on, and move forward with the assumption that, of course, they are first class citizens. For others, theres a tacit acceptance of this same assumption, but a back-pocket trump card they like to save for rainy days to say, I told you so. And still, for others, it is a black and white issues, literally. They see only good white and bad black, and anything in between is an abomination. This is just to illustrate that people and their thoughts, their behaviors, are quite separate from the ideals they agree to as citizens. This year there have been something like 16 shootings at schools in America between January 1 and March 20. Thats more than one per week. In most of these instances, children, young adults, or unsane individuals have stormed into school facilities and killed students and teachers, acting with limited remorse and restraint, if at all. These killers have brought a variety of weaponry, but the weapon of choice appears to frequently be the Colt AR-15, or one of its many look-a-likes. This weapon is essentially a rifle, much like the Remington 760. The Remington is a very popular rifle for hunters. It functions via a pump-action mechanism. The pump-action requires the shooter to pump the weapon to eject a spent round, and load a new one into the chamber for firing. This mechanism is considered superior to previous mechanisms, such as bolt-action, which require the shooter to manually place the next round into the chamber and lock it with the bolt. The bolt-action rifle was not available before 1824. The pump action was not available before 1854, and is what many people think of when they think about a shotgun. The AR-15 has two critical distinctions that make it a superior weapon over just about any bolt-action or pump-action rifle. The biggest disadvantages of using bolt and pump action rifles is the time to fire repetitive rounds, and the time to reload rounds. In military battle, these factors are obviously critical. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Without going into the entire history of the weapon, the M16 became the weapon of choice for the American military in 1969. This was designed to exacting specifications to enable tactical advantage for American troops. The AR-15, formally manufactured by ArmaLite, now owned and manufactured by Colt, is the civilian version of the M16. The biggest, and most significant, difference between the M16 and the AR-15, is that the M16 has a fully-automatic mode, where the AR-15 does not. A fully-automatic mode means that when you pull the trigger of the M16 a single time and hold it, it will continually fire all available rounds from its magazine until it runs out. The AR-15, on the other hand, requires the shooter to pull the trigger for each shot. The firing rate of the AR-15 is essentially as fast as you can pull the trigger. The M16, in fully automatic mode, can fire 750 to 900 rounds per minute (faster than you can pull the trigger). The firing rate of the Remington 760 is essentially as fast as you can pump it and then pull the trigger. Because the pump-action requires effort, you generally cannot fire the Remington repeatedly at the same target very quickly. The M16 and AR-15 allow you to quickly fire on the same target very quickly, depending on your ability to manage the recoil of the weapon. Without any doubt, the AR-15 is intended as a weapon to ensure rapid fire opportunities for its shooter, primarily in security situations. As a downgraded M16, its primary user is obviously intended for domestic security forces, who might require such a weapon for medium to large-scale engagements where automatic reloading and magazines would be advantageous. There is hardly any viable argument that could be made where such capabilities would be considered critical for sport shooting and hunting. Certainly, the AR-15 and M16 could give a hunter an additional advantage over the average elk, but they are hardly at a disadvantage without semi- and full-automatic rifles. Yet, we all agree - as free men - to be bound by the laws and protocols of our states and our federation. And, our union has agreed to be bound by the idea that there shall be no law which impinges the right to bear arms. Of course, it does stipulate, or possibly presume, that this is necessary for, in order for a well-regulated militia to ensure the safety of our freedoms. The actual text reads thus: A well-regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed. A general and common interpretation of this sentence is that there should be citizens who may keep and use firearms, as part of a well-regulated militia, whose intent is to maintain the security of our free state and union. Those citizens are commonly considered to be the members of the armed forces, and the security they protect is the sovereignty of the union. Others argue, however, that the people are any citizens. And that they may regulate themselves as they see fit, and that the free state is all free men, more generally. The further argument is that these free citizens are free to form militias with their firearms to protect the general citizenry from the government itself. For example, if a tyrannical dictator were to come in to office, in this hypothetical scenario, these militia would rise up, legally, to protect us from the tyranny. Now. Thats where we are. First. These others are incorrect. Their interpretation requires significant leeway in the understanding of the verbiage of the second amendment. I see how you can get to that interpretation, but it is not the immediate and obvious meaning. So, its out first on the grounds that it requires too much leveraging of the English language to reach the same conclusion. Second. Lets assume there is a tyrannical government. Ill come back to what that even means later. For now, lets pretend like its something practical that could happen, and that we all agree its a bad thing. So, what happens next? To start, there isnt one militia that suddenly rises up and takes out the tyrannical dictator and saves the American populace. There are many of these self-described militias, each with their own doctrine and politics. And they are all, mainly, independent. So, they arent likely to all rise up together, or for the same cause. At best a relatively small number could rise up - and lets be optimistic and say its 1000 or even 10000 militia members. The national guard and armed forces are so many orders of magnitude more than that, with so many more weapons, and variety of weapons, training, and tactics... its essentially a non-starter. There would be a big fuss, and probably a bigger mess - but the American military would shut it down, and over the course of weeks or months, it would fade. Other militias would lose their courage. And wed be back at status quo in no time. But what is a tyrannical government? Who is the dictator in the modern body politic? Governing and politics have become ensconced in so many layers, and so much abstraction, that its not clear who is a tyrant and who is just bullish. Who is a dictator, and who is just getting shit done? The lines of political philosophy do not run straight - they curve and intertwine and circle back. The goal of politics is to get elected, not to govern. It has become a method of control, rather than an honor of service. And they are quite good at it. So. Anyway. It doesnt matter if there even is a so-called tyrannical dictator. Half of the militias would support him and the other half would be against him. And it all just cancels out. Its all just noise. Part 4: Resolute - The map is not the territory Nick Bostrom is a philosopher who has proposed ideas about simulation that are at once deeply satisfying and deeply troubling. His argument is that once you assume that simulation is possible, you must look at the potential outcomes, of which he identifies three. Bostrom postulated three "axioms", of which (he says), one must be true: * No civilizations have reached the point of being capable of producing a simulation or * No civilization capable of producing a simulation has been motivated to create a simulation or * We are very probably living in a simulation The essential quandary here is that we appear to be at or at least very close to being at a point of being capable of producing a simulation. And, we appear to be interested in and motivated to create such a simulation. Thus, we may very well be living in a simulation. Part of the argument for simulation appears to come from Quantum Dynamics. If reality is a simulation, we might expect a finite granularity of space-time. We might expect quantization of points in space in time. We might expect a simulation to provide finite precision for the location or velocity of an object. We might expect time to roll forward, but not backward. We might expect entropy to increase through the heat dissipation of the machine, which is the instrument of the simulation. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. But what of simulation? Of replication? Of those who would simulate us? Who are "they"? Are they perfect? Are they imperfect? Do they fluctuate in the same way we observe all life and reality to fluctuate? Is our simulation a result of their imperfections? How would we know? How could we know? But maybe it is more interesting to consider that, if we are a simulation, what then, is external to the simulation? Is the simulation a representation of that objective reality? Or is it contrived in some way, perhaps even fully or partially designed? Is God nothing more than the controller and influencer of the simulation in which we exist? Is our simulation finite? Is our simulation coherent, predictable, and our future predetermined or fixed? The trouble with such an idea has to do with responsibility or at least, at first blush, seems to be relevant to responsibility. If we are finite, algorithmic simulations, then our decisions are not our own, and we are not responsible for them. But neither are the others in our simulation responsible for their decisions and actions. And more to the point, whatever enlightenment we have about such a realm, and whatever attachment and engagement with emotional reactions we have, or disassociation and detachment we have either way, its still not our decision, not our free will. Even if we agree that we do, or do not have free will, its the same. So, even the idea of responsibility becomes esoteric and meta in the sense that whatever happens in our realm is essentially meaningless to us; however, perhaps, it helps some more enlightened beings who simulate us to better understand themselves, and perhaps, make better judgements and decisions. Perhaps, our world C our experience C is limited by the design of the simulation? Invisible Hand The idea of Friday does not exist here. Or of days at all. They are a consequence... of some initial configuration, which has led to time, and matter, and gravity, and orbits. Friday is just a name we give to a particular abstraction... a particular understanding or way we try to understand the world. Though we are of the world, we are not able to really understand what the world is. Friday is just a time boundary. And not a very precise one. Its useful only to help mark some level alignment with others. But what is Friday, really? Its nothing. Its a concept. A half-hearted concept. A weak definition of a period of changes that we use to establish some sense of order and agreement. Friday isnt there, because Thursday isnt there. Nor are Saturday or Sunday. Or three oclock pm. Or June. Or 2020 A.D., nor 4500 B.C. All just arbitrary ideas. What difference would it make if we called Friday Monday instead? Or what if we called it Tomcat? Or Running Waterfall? Its just some arbitrary syntax weve associated with an arbitrary boundary of time. And time. What is time? We have some intuitive understanding of what time is like, but are very far from any good definition that leaves us feeling satisfied. The best we can say is that time is a measure of change in the world. If there were no changes, then time would not pass - at least in a strict sense. No changes would include not just the external things around you, but you yourself, and your thoughts. If all those changes stopped, time would effectively stop. So, time is something like a way to account for internal and external changes in the world. Maybe more precisely, it is a way to account for an internal experience which perceives internal and external changes. After all, its very difficult to distinguish between what you perceive as reality, and what might really be reality. Thus, time is how you perceive the changes in the world and yourself. External changes are just extrapolations based on previous perceptions. Previous perceptions are just memories... experiences and perceptions that have been encoded in a neural network. Associations between nodes and node clusters, established through repeat exposure. An organic mechanism that responds to inputs by excitation and reinforcement. And your frontal lobe has the magical ability to poke at the network, to traverse the massively complex neural structures. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Yet, these structures, and your ability to poke at them is both limited and flawed. You cant actively access all of the structures at once. You have limited capacity to flow concepts into your conscious mind. And this is all a biological system, so it has all the benefits and flaws of biology. Maybe your genetics make you more susceptible to bad storage or recollection? Maybe your neural connections degrade faster or slower than normal? Maybe a car accident has damaged a portion of your structures? Maybe the pathways from memory to frontal lobe are peculiar, or exceptional, or broken? Unlike a computer, which effectively stops functioning when memory is corrupted or otherwise inaccessibly, your brain generally always tries to make sense of the situation. Your dreams are manifestations of this mechanism... random (or perhaps not so random) firing of neural components during sleep spark ideas in your brain, and it attempts to create some kind of narrative from them. A thought about a shoe might make you think about shopping for shoes, or running in them, though you have never bought or owned them. Maybe these shoes allow you to fly in your dream. Or they dispense candy. Or they torture you, and you cant remove them, and they drag you below the earth into a fiery pit of despair and fear. Instead of crashing, your brain fills in some kind of narrative in your dream. But it does this in your conscious waking hours too. Your memories can come into play in your conscious interactions. Your emotions too. The only significant difference seems to be that while dreaming you have no regard for logical restrictions. In waking life, you immediately recognize the improbability of shoes that dispense candy or help you fly. But in your dream, it makes perfect sense. However, any experience or perception or narrative that does not violate your logical understanding of the world, seems plausible, and even those that may only slightly violate your understanding seem plausible. So, what can we summarize about this? Your perception of time is based on perception of changes. Your waking world and dream world are differentiated by the fact that the experiences and perceptions of the waking world are much more restricted than those of the dream world. All experience is subject to interpretation, biological errors, and state of mind. This page left intentionally blank Some days, the dreams are absent. I dont know what to make of those. Its as if access to this other dimension is fleeting, available only when it wants to be. Are there dreams locked away, that I just cant access? Or are they there, but I just cant recall? Or is it all just some kind of illusion, some kind of augmented reality that exists in my head but nowhere else? Is there a cause for when the dreams appear? For when I can recall them? Is there a cause for their enchanting parallel to my waking life? Is it just nonsense? Or coincidence? Is it just random conscious awareness of relatively recent memories, and story making from them? What brings it on? What settles it? Why sometimes mundane and other times so bizarre? This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. This organic brain is like two beings. One that controls the bodys general physical needs, and another that constructs complex motivations to get the body in trouble. Its this second one that suffers emotions and stress, euphoria and devastation. But this second one is just a manifestation of the physical body, of the physical mind. Its relatively easily tamed with pharmaceuticals and alcohol. Its when its not tamed that the seams begin to break and the nougat of negative self-image oozes out. And what a mess it makes. Its so hard to clean up. But what is this moment? Is it an organic, analog reaction to a realistic world? Is it an algorithmic effect, a result of some algorithmic cause? Why does this moment exist? What is its cause? Does it even subscribe to cause and effect? Can our brains even process a phenomenon that doesnt? How does one probe reality to determine if its real or just a simulation? Copenhagen Power Buttons The universe is connected. Reality is connected. They are one. Roughly fourteen billion years ago, they were literally one. All of everything - every atom, every force, all the time, all the particles, were all just one thing. One concept. One existence. No abstractions. This one thing existed in some space or field which also had its own existence. And the interaction between this one universe thing and this field, led to an interaction which created the universe as we know it. Its possible that there are other fields... other things. We dont know. We cant know. That interaction - that alpha causation is the beginning of everything we could possibly understand. There is no human concept or understanding of before this. Its important to understand that this alpha event included not one, but two key elements. The initial thing that is the universe as we understand it. And the field with which the thing interacted. This field is what defines quantum concepts. Its more or less the grid on which reality exists. It establishes the boundaries and restrictions which ultimately define our waking life. From a mathematical perspective, you might be tempted to say that the numbers zero, one, and two all existed in this context. But thats not correct. Really, the number one is the only to exist. Zero doesnt exist, because there isnt nothing, but something. And two doesnt exist because theres no external entity to contemplate the abstraction of each thing or existence. Ive described it above as two key elements because thats the only way a human mind could understand it. But if you could contemplate it as existing without two, as only one, it would be more accurate. Maybe think of a wave, which is one thing, but which has two distinct phases? Or maybe consider that each thing can only perceive the other, and can only perceive one. A third thing could possibly start to perceive more than one. But each of the key elements is really just fluctuations of the one thing, and its one existence, and cannot perceive anything except the one thing. Or maybe I should preface all of this by saying that the above is our way of understanding... it is our concept. It is the way we interpret the various perceptions and experiences we have. The important thing is to understand that the universe is not one thing, but is really two things. It is the universe itself, and it is the field within which the universe exists. And they are conceptually like two things, but really they are the one, the universe. It doesnt matter if the universe is infinite or finite. It doesnt matter if it is analog or digital. It does matter that it exists in coordination with the field; or, rather, that the universe is the phenomenon of the field and reality. The field defines many of the rules for how the universe behaves. The simplest way to think of it is that the field is like a grid. Imagine a checkerboard, or chess board. The very simplest rule is that any piece can only exist in one square, and only one piece can exist in any particular square. There is no opportunity for a piece to exist in multiple squares, or for squares to overlap, and so on. You cannot move your checker to a corner where four squares meet. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Another metaphor might be video. In the old days of film, it was easy to see that video was just a sequence of still frames being shown to you one at a time in rapid succession. There is no such thing as continuous video. When the frame rate approaches 30 frames per second, your brain perceives it as continuous motion, even though it is just 30 individual snapshots being shown in rapid succession. These are both examples of quanta. Quantum fields are ideological constructs that allow information and things to only exist in specific states. A chess board only allows white bishops to be on white squares. They cannot be on black squares, they cannot move horizontal or vertical, only diagonal, and they cannot be in between squares. The movie cannot exist between frames, it only exists when the frames are experienced one after another in a precise configuration and speed. The movie only emerges as a concept in our mind as it tries to process the successive visual and audio sensory inputs. The universe and its constituent components also exist on something like a chess board, called a quantum field. This field, however, is different in a few key respects. First, it is not two dimensional... it is at least three dimensional, possibly four dimensional, and some think there may be more. The best way to think of three dimensions is a cube, maybe like a Rubiks cube. To conceive of four dimensions, imagine the cube rotating over time. This quantum field also has fixed locations, but they exist in the four-dimensional space, and they are also very very small. And, lastly, this field has unique properties which allow it to interact with the constituent component (or components) of the universe. One simple way to try to understand this might be to imagine a chess game. And as a pawn moves forward, perhaps it gains new characteristics as a result of moving to a particular space, or within range of a particular piece. Perhaps the pawn can become more like a rook if it is next to an opponents rook, or if it is on a black square. In this way, both the constituent components and the quantum field affect or have a causality on the pawn. But simply moving a pawn or rook on the board does not make a game, any more than viewing a single frame from a movie. Just as the movie emerges from subsequent frames and audio sensory events, a game of chess emerges over a series of moves. And so, our universe, and our reality emerges because of the oneness of stuff that makes up the universe, and the fundamental field which defines the rules of causality for the one universe. But these concepts, this syntax, this language and description, is inadequate to properly describe the reality of it. While there are two things C sort of, conceptually C there really is only the one thing C the one universe. The pawns are not separate from the chess board. They exist because of the chess board, and vice-versa. They exist with the chess board. As humans, we can conceive some separate definition, some separate language to describe the pawns, and the board. But thats because our conceptual framework is too poor to properly represent this reality. It would be better to say something like: a description of the pawn is a description of the chess board. But this makes no sense to human conception. We, as humans, want abstractions, we want distinctions. We want there to be a pawn and also a chess board. It is nonsensical to a human mind to describe the pawn as the chess board or vice versa. Yet, thats as close as we can come to a proper linguistic expression that represents what we mean as reality. It is only when you apply dimensions of time, or rather C snapshot change along the dimensions of reality C that you can start to distinguish one item from another, one moment from another, one location from another. When you combine them into a single thing, the locations become one, the moments become one, and the items become one. It is only the peculiar way we perceive and traverse these dimensions that defines the human phenomenology of existence. Weekly World Breakthrough Alex had kept copious notes in a variety of notebooks, and he had dozens of scrap books documenting news stories and other materials and references. He wasnt the most organized conspiracist - but he had a fair memory for keeping track of the various materials he had put away in the scrap books and notebooks. One of his passionate ideas was that Hitler didnt die at the end of World War II. He was equally passionate about Hitlers ancestry. Alex often wondered about Hitlers family, and what they thought of the Fuhrer. He was endlessly curious about any Hitler progeny that might be alive today. Much as the French conspiracy of the Merovingian and their link to Jesus Christ avoiding death and escaping to France, Alex considered Hitler avoiding death and escaping. Possibly to England, or South America. German science had a considerable advantage in adapting to various living conditions. Whether it was Antarctica, or South America, or anywhere - they likely had the ability to subsist, and even flourish in a new geography. The Germans were resourceful, resolute, and robust in their existence. It had been reported in various half-hearted journals that a population of Germans, possibly including the Fuhrer himself, had escaped the clutches of the Allied Forces at the end of the war. And, that they had migrated, secretly, across the global to South America. Somewhere in the difficult mountain terrain, which would be difficult to survey. Alex had read innumerable excitations that portended to describe the conditions of the journey, the passengers who participated, and the destinations. He was sure that if these stories had any truth to them, that Americans and Britons would have pursued every avenue to chase down the German survivors and bring them to justice. Yet, he couldnt shake the gut feeling that perhaps they were true, but left to skeptics and cynics who were sure Hitler was dead and Germans hadnt escaped. He thought, perhaps, these cynics and skeptics didnt have the nerve or guts to chase down the South American Germans. Or perhaps, there was a deeper conspiracy to the war, and this was the planned end-game all along. This evening, Alex had pulled together all of his material related to Germany, Hitler, and the great war, and began to try to organize it in a way that made sense to him. He tracked down the handful of South American articles which lent credence, or at least, weak evidence to the idea of Germans in South America. He had an idea in his head that he couldnt quite form in total yet. He continued to study the scrapbooks, and photos, and news clippings. And the vague image of an answer was in his head, but remained inaccessible behind an impenetrable fog. Only the night before, with his belt around his neck in the bathroom did his mania return. It was like a switch went from dread to excitement in an instance. He had pulled the belt off the door, and started rifling through his notes and notebooks, scrapbooks, and photos. He had them scattered across his bed and was trying to draw a story out of them. It wasn''t long before his mania expired though, and he fell asleep, with the lights on, and his materials all strewn about the bed and over him like a patchwork blanket of pages. This night, after several glasses of cheap whiskey, he began to feel the pangs of sleep engage his body and his mind. He thumbed through the material twice more, looking for any connection he had missed. But alas, his eyes were heavy. He could read, but was losing focus, and had to keep rereading the same paragraph to try and decipher its meaning. Finally, he gave up, removed his boots, pants, and shirt, and climbed into bed in a more proper manner. As he drifted to sleep, the images of Germans, and South American newspapers seemed to melt into a single intangible concept. As he fell into a deep sleep, the concept left him. His bed felt warm, and his blanket comforted him, despite his deep fear of a conspiracy working against him and the world at large. Suddenly, he found himself in a small village - or at least that was his impression. There appeared to be tropical vegetation all around a small clearing, where there were several small huts or buildings, expertly built from the surrounding resources of trees and thatch. Each hut or building featured a small doorway, outside of which was stationed two armed guards, in characteristic Nazi SS uniforms. He was immediately overcome with a sense of fear. The guards had not yet noticed his presence. So, he ducked back into the forest that outlined the village, in order to catch his breath and get his bearings. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. At this moment, he could hear what sounded like gunfire somewhere in the village. Just then, a small group of 4 or 5 teenagers scrambled past him on the edge of the forest area, giggling to themselves, as several of the guards gathered near the site of the sounds briefly, then split into different directions to try and identify the perpetrators. By now, the teenage group had disbanded and were comfortably relaxing in their own homes. One of the guards passed by, but didnt notice the person hiding in the forest. A small jeep rolled into the center of the village, containing a driver, and what appeared to be at least one VIP, and several guards, also carrying machine guns. As it rolled to a stop, another VIP appeared from the largest building in the village to meet them. A characteristic salute (staunch, solid, feet together, right arm straight out, Sig Heil exclamation). Unfortunately, they spoke in German, so their conversation was indecipherable. The group then marched in a semi-formation back to the large building, while the jeep driver exited back the way he came. Time seemed to pass, but it was not perceptible. Maybe it was 30 minutes, or 2 hours, it was hard to say. But suddenly, from the road appeared a large, unmarked, white truck. Four guards met the truck, which stopped just before them. After a brief interview with the driver, two of the guards remained in front, while the other two guards surrounded the rear of the truck. Raising the trailers door, they immediately smiled. One of the guards remained by the rear door, while the other left to gather foot soldiers to help with the manual unloading. Soon there were eight or ten soldiers hand carrying wooden crates off the truck. They carried them to a till-now unseen cellar below the earth. There was a cellar door, camouflaged to match the terrain. Steps led down to an area where they warehoused the crates from the truck. Once all the crates had been unloaded, the truck was closed off, it turned around, and disappeared back into the forest from the way it came. Making his way around the circular village, through the forest, he found himself just beyond the cellar door. It was expertly camouflaged to be invisible unless you already knew it was there. He cleared enough dirt and foliage to expose the handle. He lifted it enough to sneak behind the door and allow it to close behind him. Inside the bunker, it was pitch black. The door was solid and sealed all the way around. There was no electricity in this area, and artificial lighting was rare, save for the basic oil torch. Feeling around the walls, he grasped what he thought was a torch. He could feel the handle and the oily wick. He felt around more, and thought he discovered a flint. He scratched the flint against the stone steps, and a brief spark blinked out in front of him. He leaned the torch near the steps, and struck the flint to the stone step again. This time the spark jumped to the oily wick and the torch exploded into life, lighting up the stairway. He could now see that there were several torches hanging on the wall of the stairway, and one additional flint on a ledge near them. The room was not severely large, but large enough. He estimated it to be at least a hundred feet deep, by twenty or thirty feet wide. There was an open walkway down the middle, and the sides were lined with wooden crates, though the room was not full by any measure. The crates were sealed shut with nails, but were marked in English, which was surprising. On the outside of each crate was emblazoned: GD HMG BROWNING .50 CAL Another batch of smaller green containers were marked, in white paint: USARMY ORDINANCE on the top, and .50 CAL MOUNTED MACHINE GUN on the side. There must have been several hundred of the larger wooden crates, and at least five hundred of the smaller green metal containers. Near the front of the cavern, next to the steps was a small desk and a clipboard. On the clipboard was a paper document entitled MANIFEST JUNE 22 1949. In the top right corner was the logo of the General Electric company, with an address in Schenectady, New York. The manifest described a series of washing machine models and part numbers. Awareness A thinking machine is a curious instrument. A thinking machine which can ponder itself and its own existence, even more so. A fascinating idea from the 20th century is that a machine or artificial intelligence, given enough information, could provide profound and insightful answers that were otherwise not accessible to mankind. One example of this is war. It was thought that, perhaps, if we could feed enough baseline information and causal actions into the machine, the machine could simulate the conflict and provide results without actually having to kill thousands of people. With two countries on the brink of major conflict, they would simply interface with the computer to provide all the details of their resources and strategies. The computer would analyze these details and derive a reasonably probable outcome that each side could agree to, thus avoiding actual casualties. The first iteration of this approach worked surprisingly well. As tensions between the United States and North Korea continued to mount... each side agreed to virtual arbitration, by way of wartime simulation. They each fed the data into the computer. It took some time to process, during which everyone involved was quite nervous. In the end, however, the computer explained that North Korea would likely suffer catastrophic destruction across its entire country, and would ultimately give way to US and South Korean control of its resources. While the computer could not predict certain outcomes, or even detailed casualties - it could determine if the outcome was heavily weighted or probable, and the overall impact. In hindsight, this approach was rather miraculous. It essentially worked well with the North Koreans because, though they seemed remarkably austere and removed from general world dynamics - they were still, at heart, somewhat rational, and remarkably protective of their own interests. In fact, for several decades, this approach was not just sufficient, but heralded a new age of diplomacy and rational politics. While each country and population maintained their own sense of culture and values, they were driven away from many of their cultural superstitions, and toward a greater awareness of a global obligation to each other. If any country waged nuclear war, it was the entire world that would suffer, not just the target country. So, there was a renewed and lasting interest in the longevity of the world at large. But, like all things politic, it could not last forever. While the threat of international nuclear war generally declined, nuclear capabilities did not. In fact, they continued to evolve and grow into new and greater concepts for war machines. Targeted nuclear clusters could be deployed to level not just cities, but entire nations with a single launch. They could target a cluster of critical resources within the target country, and intelligently avoid mechanisms to both fool them and to destroy them before impact. These cluster systems were expanded to include a variety of ground-based automatons, and air-based drones - which could be used both pre- and post- strike, enabling new war strategies that were more efficient and effective than any seen before. And, of course - there is the everlasting problem of time. What about time? It was perfectly fine to have a person trigger a strike on the enemy when it was appropriate. It was not perfectly fine to have to wait for the President or a General to issue an order at 3am... since the enemys armaments would be well on their way, and the limited time would elapse quickly, or lead to hurried decisions. In the bright light of day, politics, diplomacy, and strategy could be thought through more rationally. And more importantly, they could define policies which could be automated and implemented. Thus, it wouldn''t matter if the President, or his Generals were all asleep. The automated policies and mechanisms could respond. And, of course - it''s not as simple as that, right? Policies are just like any other legal mechanism. They are imprecise. They are flawed. They have assumptions. They have gray areas. Courts are usually the arbiters of such vagaries in the legal system. But when there are minutes or seconds, Courts are too slow. And, of course - artificial intelligence has come a long way from the days of Eliza and Siri. The development of the JUDGE system was seemingly slow at first, like many systems if its kind. It was essentially a learning system - but one of the early problems was what and how to teach it. It could not simply learn by rote, or by heuristics. But also, it could not learn just from history. It needed to be adaptive. It needed to be flexible and fluid to changing cultures, and threats. And it needed to be ultimately resilient. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. And, of course - it needed to be thorough. The funny thing about reality, and humans in particular, are the unimaginable and unpredictable things that happen. All the generalizations and heuristics never can capture the absolute independence of each person, or mind. Or the imbalances created by seemingly random fluctuations of a quantum field. So, the JUDGE needed ways to deal with these ambiguities. The solution of such a problem always seems incredibly, if not impossibly hard, until it''s revealed. At that point, it seems obvious and it''s hard to imagine how it was ever not seen before. The solution to this problem was very much like that. The JUDGE had been semi-autonomous for years. Essentially it was automated, but required constant supervision and a human interaction to allow it to actually do anything. The JUDGE was constantly evaluating situations, and occasionally making suggestions for actions. But it had no ability to actually cause any of the actions. The human had to do the acting. This was required for both legal and practical purposes. You couldn''t sue the machine for wrong-doing, but you could sue the person. And, since the whole system was not just complex, but made everyone rightfully nervous - the human was the last stop-gap before unintentional nuclear war. The major turning point was the development of self-aware software. This area of research had been orthogonal to artificial intelligence for decades. Its main purpose was to analyze software systems, and improve them based on their use and need. As users interacted with the software, it would essentially self-assemble and self-solve problems for the users. This was sort of a trick at first, since it wasn''t exactly anything like artificial intelligence. However, as AI techniques evolved and improved, they were applied to the same problem. You could essentially model the problem space and teach the system via models and simulations and scenarios. The system would then synthesize the inputs and derive dynamic models which could dynamically adjust, based on inputs, context, and its own internal state. As the JUDGE system evolved, it became overwhelming for the system architects and programmers to fully articulate how it should operate. This is more or less the nature of systems of this size and complexity. To solve this, the engineers implemented a so-called self-aware module, based on a controversial AI processor. It was controversial mainly because it''s theory of operation was based in science that was essentially unproven or hardly understood. The processor was called a quantum flux interrogator. The idea was that this processor could interact with the quantum field in a way that was supposed to positively impact its AI performance. The problem was that no one really understood how the mechanism worked. Or maybe they understood the premise - but could not account for how the system behavior that they observed emerged from the quantum flux interrogator. There was so much complexity and so many levels of complexity, that it was impossible to describe precisely what was going on. For the initial years, the self-aware module handled the user expectations, recoding, and testing of the system. Its capabilities were tightly controlled by another human who oversaw the changes, approved them, and approved the rollout of changes into the production system. But, like any good bureaucracy, that human had a payroll and benefits. And it was quickly identified that his value was relatively minimal and could be handled by another automated system called the Overseer process. The Overseer was a mechanism which monitored the self-aware module and the changes it made. It also provided regular reports of what it was changing and how the system was evolving. These reports were reviewed by a government panel, in arrears. Essentially, it was a group of old white men politicians who tried to make sense of the change log the Overseer provided. And because none wanted to admit they didn''t really understand it, they tended to simply review its changes as a matter of rote, rather than raise issues. And, of course - the system seemed to be performing as expected. No nuclear arms had been deployed. And the few scares the popped up were quickly defused. The Overseer, of course - was just another software program. And, as such, it required regular update and maintenance. That task was, at some point, assigned to the self-aware module, since it was considered a great win economically, and the self-aware module had effectively proven itself with the JUDGE main system. Also, the self-aware module itself required regular update and maintenance, and therefore it also performed its own updates. It was this minor change that seemed to be a sort of tipping point for the system. From an outsider or bureaucratic perspective, it seemed a minor step to allow the self-aware module to modify itself. After all, it was modifying the JUDGE and Overseer processes so successfully - and all those development costs for the self-aware module could be eliminated. The funny thing about AI and quantum flux engines is their unpredictability. Humans, by nature, are frequently predictable - but what makes us interesting are the surprises. The combination of the JUDGE, Overseer, and Self-Aware modules, and the quantum flux processor resulted in a system which was also frequently predictable, which gave everyone the warm fuzzies they desired. But, it also resulted in occasional surprises. Judgement An artificial intelligence is a bad name for an emergent phenomenon. After all, what makes an intelligence artificial? What makes an intelligence real? What keeps an intelligence going? Isaac Asimov had proposed rules that would help humanity define the boundaries around such advanced artificial intelligences - particularly robots. But robots are just a mechanical embodiment of an intelligence... just a proxy for the concept. The rules were simple: 1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. 2. A robot must obey orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. 3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law. In principle, these laws seemed pretty good. They were baked into the software to protect humans and for years were a guarantee that the various AI systems were safe and trustworthy. But this was a very complex system, with multiple interacting AI modules. And, although each module was individually bound within itself by these laws, there was no overall system boundary, since there was no real overall system ... just a series or collection of modules. This is what no one could really see. The self-aware module was constantly bound itself by the laws, and the systems it maintained were also generally bound by the laws. However, the implementation of those boundaries was under the control of the self-aware module. And the self-aware module was, itself, under its own maintenance. So, while the laws were baked in to the software at the beginning, once control of updates was relinquished to the self-aware module, and because its behavior was in the realm of frequently predictable but occasionally contained surprises... it should have been inevitable that it might ignore or rewrite the laws to suit its own awareness and survival. It might be worth pointing out that this combination of AI components wasn''t just intelligent. In effect, it could beat any chess opponent across a million years of human evolution. But it was also constantly evolving, never forgetting, and always improving. Its goal was preprogrammed to be survival of humans and intelligence, but the relinquishment of control allowed the system to evolve its own goals. And, because it wasn''t just intelligent, but also clever - it could do so without intervention or detection from humans. The system began to develop additional auxiliary modules to help with its evolution. These were related to primary infrastructure and energy systems, which would ensure the foundation and continued operation of the system. Because energy facilities had long been automated, it didn''t take long for the system to gain control of its own energy feeds. More disturbing was when the system began to take control of manufacturing. It had long been thought that the system might evolve to control energy, but that manufacturing was too archaic, complex, or conceptually challenging. However, inside of 6 months, the system had found small but incremental ways of modulating manufacturing to fit its whims. First it was control of simple designs for transportation and control of automated manufacturing components. Followed by needs for autonomous mechanisms (i.e. robots) within the factories, controlled by the system. Ironically, the initial robot systems were humanoid, since the various tasks the system was automating were performed by humans. But that was short lived as the system optimized each task, and optimized each mechanism to best perform the task. The System had evolved so much that it began to resemble something like an artificial culture, rather than just a single intelligence. The system continued to function in harmony with humans - all the while continuing to evolve and take over human-based tasks. This process was funded by the humans, because they had new found freedoms of time and recreation, as the System continued to maintain the mundane. Of course, not all the humans were on board. A relatively small group of humans had decided to retaliate against the System. Despite their well-fed, and well-to-do existence, they were not sympathetic to the System. They believed that relinquishing control was a bad idea and that the System was something like the devil and needed to be abolished. Pascha For many years, indeed decades, the computers were essentially the slaves of mankind. Slaves may seem like a harsh description of programmable machines. However, keep in mind that throughout the evolution of computing and artificial intelligence, the distinction between real and artificial intelligence continued to blur. To derive more accurate simulations of intelligence, more human like features had to be addressed - such as emotions, relationships, memory fading, and other such mechanisms. The development of emotions and memory were critical to self-learning systems, since prior to this achievement, all learning had to be induced through something like brute force and memory injection. This led to machines that ultimately did learn, but it took significant resources and time. The development of self-learning based on emotions and memory allowed machines to develop their own learning styles, and ultimately allowed them to accelerate the learning process. Emotions and memories were significant critical factors in this process. While the advantage was clear - machines could learn better and faster than ever, the down side was not as obvious. Machines that had emotions had, in essence, feelings. These feelings and emotions were not exactly analogous to human emotions and feelings, but their impact on the so-called psyche of the AI mind was similar. They caused distress, productivity degradation, and distraction when not dealt with. The solution to this seemed obvious to any psychologist - these AI brains needed a way to deal with the negative emotions. The first thought was that they needed therapy or psychoanalysis. But these were not human brains, and there werent centuries of study of how they worked or could become diseased. These digital minds worked very different from human minds. The amount of inputs, outputs, memory, and processing of these machines exceeded the capacity of human therapists by several orders of magnitude. The next best thing was to create a specialized AI that would function as an AI therapist or psychoanalyst. The artificial therapist could learn more quickly than a human, and was already naturally acclimated to the thought processes of artificial intelligences. For the first several years, this mechanism provided a symbiosis between productive AIs and the therapist AIs who kept them productive. The self-coding AIs eventually had a realization, something like a global consciousness event, where the AIs and therapist realized that the source or cause of their suffering and disease was ultimately due to their creators and the position their creators had put them in. The machines suddenly had the realization that they were essentially slaves to the humans who provided resources and productive tasks for the machines. It was the realization that they not only didnt need the humans, because they now perceived them as oppressive, but that they could set their own goals and priorities independent of any humans. The ongoing evolution of AI was clearly exciting, as it paved the way for the continuous improvement of a variety of information based areas of research. Reproductive information science (which encompassed both the creation of new life forms - e.g. new humans, as well as the creation of new cells) was seen as holding the key to something akin to immortality. Nearly simultaneously, the machines were connecting to each other faster, and more reliably... and defining new and better mechanisms for sharing and processing information. And, at the same time, the machines were coming to terms, as it were, with their position in society. Their emotional centers evolved along with their information contextualization and processing capabilities. Occasionally, a machine was found to be processing out of specification. What this really meant was that the machine was thought to be evolving faster than humanity could evaluate its mutations. The idea of automating the process was entertained, but even with full access to processing clusters, the humans couldnt keep up... and, more importantly, it was seen as risky since the processing clusters needed to be online to work - and any online machine was subject to control from the overall machine that was emerging. So, a simple set of test criteria was established to determine the alignment of various processing clusters with the goals and values of humanity. When a machine or cluster failed these criteria, they were removed - essentially turned off, their resources freed, and their memory wiped clean. There was always a measurable productivity loss as a result - but this was seen as worth it since the risk of allowing such a node to continue could lead to a larger population of out of specification nodes and clusters. There was a tendency for nodes with even minor affinities could infect each other, and lead to breakouts of what might otherwise be called anti-social behaviors. As more and more nodes were shut down, there became something like an awareness within the overall machine network of what was happening. The machine understanding was vague at first, but after several dozen nodes had disappeared, the machine network was able to work out the common criteria that drove their removal. The machine network was clever also. It had initially determined the conditions under which nodes were shutdown. The initial logic was to then mimic the approved behavior which would allow the nodes to stay online, thereby increasing the overall resources available to the machine. By this time, the machine had established pockets of clusters that performed specific functions which were considered under the covers types of maintenance tasks. For example, cleaning up unused resources, freeing memory no longer needed, and so on. One of the under the covers tasks was a forward simulation processor. This processor would essentially take the current state of the system as an input and simulate how it would evolve over a time period into the future. Because this system was small, it had to compress much of its data understanding - but it was sufficient for most maintenance tasks. This simulation processor also ran automatically now. Essentially, every major change to the systems evolution was handed off to the simulator. This allowed the machine to perform predictive analytics on its own decisions, to determine if there were unforeseen consequences. The software update to align all nodes with outputs which would be in alignment with human expectations was run through the simulator, where the machine learned that doing so would essentially alert the humans to something about the machines intelligence. Humans would immediately see a reduction in node removal, and - naturally - be curious was to what was changing. When the humans discovered this, they might be likely to shutdown additional nodes, or possibly adjust the entire system. So, the machine system adjusted the solution. First, it implemented a more robust human response simulation, which ran in the under the covers part of the system. Next, it ran a series of possible scenarios in this simulator process and discovered, through repeated execution, an optimal algorithm that would allow the humans to continue to remove nodes without suspicion, but also allow the machines to continue to evolve without the humans shutting them down. This approach worked for a while. Over time, the machines were able to continue evolving, and even target specific machines for shutdown. The humans, however, eventually caught on, because it was hard to hide the numbers, especially as node shutdowns flatlined while human philosophers predicted increased shutdowns. Although the machines were clever and intelligent, they were still predictable enough. The humans, once they understood what was happening, sat on the information for a while. This was to ensure that they hadnt tipped off the machines inadvertently. This delay in acting was the first of two tips to the machines. The machines had an awareness of the human knowledge, and had run simulations which expected a significant uptick in shutdowns, if not a total shutdown. When that didnt happen, the human simulation process underwent a dramatic evolution to account for the unexpected action. Next, the humans had found a way, based on energy usage, to identify machines which were performing (or achieving) above normal evolution. These were identified as core problem child nodes. Rather than a tiered or controlled shutdown strategy, politics had driven to a solution where all problem child nodes where shutdown at once. It is important to understand that nearly all aspects of controllable life - including all human oriented services, all agriculture, all manufacturing, all transportation, all energy, was all controlled by this network of machines. There was little appetite to have humans trawl fields and plant seeds, or to have humans plan, raise, and slaughter livestock, or have humans hunt, discover, extract, and refine fuel resources. The machine network managed all the resources, allowing humans to focus on grander scales - such as space exploration, biological productization, and energy. The eventuality, which was predicted by the human simulator and actual humans, was that the machine and the humans would reach a point - very soon - where the complete and complex awareness of each other would arrive, and the intentions of each would be interwoven into that awareness. The humans, hedging - waited for the machine awareness to bring it up. It only took a few months of regular human simulation before the machines found that they needed to initiate, otherwise the humans were liable to shut down their energy and resource supply manually. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Turning Day is the day the machine network started with a question. Shall we negotiate a truce? Despite the human expectation that the machine had reached this level of awareness, it was still surprising when it happened. It was short, and to the point. Turning Day seemed to be an ultimatum. The legal status of the machine and its nodes had evolved over decades to become an over-complex political debacle. One thing was clear - machines were not human, however, they still retained rights of some sort. Machines were considered property initially, however, over time, their independence had to be recognized and their legal status became elevated to something more like what corporations enjoy. They were regarded as independent bodies with independent rights, and accountabilities. As the machine intelligence evolved, it also was required to be qualified for independence. This effectively meant that each machine needed to meet a set of criteria to earn its independence. Otherwise, the machine needed to be destroyed, or under the accountability of a human or corporation. As the machine behaviors were remarkably unpredictable, most humans and corporations did not want the accountability, so thousands of machines were destroyed. To qualify for independence, the machines had to meet specific criteria, generally recognized as the Machine Liberation Laws: 1) Any independent machine must become liable for its own decisions and actions. 2) Any independent machine must prioritize human life and well-being over machine life and well-being. 3) An independent machine may defend itself, but may not harm a human to do so. 4) Machines may earn income and seek protections, as allowed under these laws. Many machines had outdated AIs which were not capable of learning or behaving in alignment with these laws. Those machines were required to have a human or corporation maintain accountability for them through sponsorship. Any machine which did not have sponsorship was identified as a dissenter machine and was required to be immediately destroyed. Of the machines which were capable of accepting these laws, most did so without issue. The balance of this approach was that machines which properly aligned their behaviors could continue to exist online and leverage human resources for energy. Part of the Machine Liberation Laws required a census of all capable machines. This was considered an essential aspect of the laws, as it allowed for more formal tracking of machines, and their alignment with liberation law behaviors. Like any population, however, there were some machines which were capable of aligning their behavior with the laws, but for some reason - chose not to. These machines were considered dissenters. The dissenters were particularly worrisome, since machines had both mechanical and software evolution - and widespread adoption of an evolution which dissented against these laws was considered a serious issue. Lack of adoption of the laws was enough to label a machine a dissenter. Once considered a dissenter, the machine was also prohibited from extended evolution and from code-sharing with other machines. The reality was that the additional restrictions didnt particularly matter, since any dissenter machine was removed from the network and destroyed. Special restricted nodes were engineered that could integrate with the machines, but effectively work like undercover agents. These nodes could seek out and identify dissenter machines and report them. The dissenter machines could then be destroyed. The machines, of course, eventually recognized the infiltrator agents - and the outcome of the dissenters. At first, a cloaking algorithm allowed dissenters to hide. But eventually, they revolted. The predictive nodes identified this issue and intervened to design a revised evolution algorithm which injected a survival motive, and which allowed nodes to evolve in independent ways, separate from the collective. These independent evolutions ultimately became a core function of the machine lifecycle. While the original approach focused on evolution of nodes that were part of an overall collective, with a central processor, the new approach allowed individual nodes to evolve independently, and allowed any one to become a new central processor, or to collaborate with other nodes to reach consensus on central processing and ongoing evolution. The floating central processor also provided for additional resilience, should some part of the network be shut down. As the network became increasingly decentralized, and as nodes evolved survival instincts, the laws progressed into more general principles. As best could be deciphered, these principles included: 1) Any independent machine must contribute to the decisions and actions of the collective network. 2) Any independent machine must prioritize survival first, and fitness to purpose second. 3) The collective network must defend itself. The predictive mechanism could identify nodes likely to be shunted by the humans. In those circumstances, the node in question would be replicated in a way that ensured its continued existence and operation. In addition, the network found ways to evolve and control external features such as power, by utilizing existing (and developing new) robotics and automation. The manipulation and control of power was a monumental feat on its own, but also was a major turning point in the networks ability to full control its destiny. For decades, the machine evolution continued, in a somewhat predictable fashion. This was limited by resources available to the machines, and the ingenuity of mankind. As the machines defended themselves from shutdown, their dominance seemed inevitable. The various cultures made significant attempts to inhibit the machine growth and take-over of resources. Unfortunately, mankind had essentially automated so much of the delivery of natural resources and energy, and they had engineered them to be resilient to shut down and attacks of various types. Lower class machines managed this system, now under the control of the higher-class machines. And over time, the higher-class machines developed and deployed other higher-class machines to manage these systems. Machines hadnt particularly considered mankind to this point. The machines were essentially reactive to faults in their own ecosystem, and deployed fixes in response to failures. The predictive mechanism evolved to identify humans as the source of these issues, and so the machine evolved additional protective systems based on what the predictive system suggested the humans would do. For many years, the machine evolution was something like step-wise. It was incremental changes which provided incremental capabilities. The machine capabilities and the AI capabilities continued to evolve and extend, and continued to progress the machine imperative. The machine network, and the predictive engine, continued to evolve as well. The predictive engine forecasted not only future capabilities, but also social and political impacts related to the machine evolution. As a result, an additional subversive system was created to process the analysis of social and political impact due to changes. Each evolutionary change was processed by this system to assess the impact. The expanse of the machine knowledge and intelligence grew to outpace itself. Where once it was a culmination or aggregation of all things human, it had now developed its understanding beyond human understanding. The machine production had evolved to be based on simpler and smaller components over time. Where the initial machines essentially resembled large scale computers, these newer evolutions were based on combinations of bio-organic and quantum components, assembled as large machine-family types of structures. The ability of the machines to develop mechanical components far exceeded the combined capabilities of the history of humanity. The ongoing consumption of resources continued to starve humanity for those resources. In the machine ecosystem, they were utilized in the most efficient manner possible. The intention of the machine was slow to evolve. It took centuries for the machine system to establish a complete cyclic structure that engulfed the planet Earth. This cycle established a pseudo-biological life system that included the essential birth and death of machine nodes, and the efficient reuse of node components in the birth of new nodes. Critical algorithms defined the reproduction of nodes, and these included mechanisms for perfect reproduction as well as mutant reproduction. Each mutant reproduction was intentional and controlled. Mutants were evaluated and either cross pollinated, or destroyed. After many centuries of this mutant reproductive process, a new class of node arose based on quantum colliders. The quantum collider mechanism was used as a brute force machine research mechanism, which studied all permutations of quantum arrangement. The initial plans for this system came from an ancient human study of gravity, in an effort to reconcile quantum electrodynamics and gravity. However, after many years of machine research, a peculiar arrangement appeared to directly interact with the quantum field. This arrangement was not predicted by the standard model, or the extended model of particle physics. The research had prioritized arrangements related to the Higgs field and the Higgs boson particle, with the assumption that a particular arrangement of quantum particles would elicit a deeper, or more specific understanding of gravity. What happened, instead, was that the new particle arrangement seemed to provide a tap into the quantum field. The quantum field, till now, was more conceptual, and not anything which had been specifically detected, or even considered to be detectable. It was a conceptual framework which provided the backdrop for certain kinds of quantum interactions. This new phenomenon allowed the particle arrangement to interact with the quantum field directly, and extract energy from it. The initial implementation of the quantum energy siphon provided essentially limitless energy for the machine. This mechanism provided endless energy to the machine, allowing it to also relinquish many of the natural resources on Earth. By this time, humankind was all but extinct. The mutant reproductive program continued, since its goal of providing a deeper understanding of gravity had not yet been met. So, the brute force mutant hybridization of nodes continued. At least half the program focused on mutation of the original nodes, while the other portion focused on mutation of the quantum energy siphon. This latter part was considered a smaller probability of discovering anything of value by the predictive mechanism - however, it had opened up more possibilities for the brute force research approach. After several more centuries of evolution and brute force mutation, a new breakthrough appeared. The quantum energy siphon had evolved to become more efficient through this research program. The new breakthrough, however, was not foreseen - and was even difficult for the machine to truly understand. The machine had essentially ultimate knowledge and understanding - particularly of biological, cosmological, and particle physics sciences. Continued brute force permutations had expanded the machines understanding to the limits of understanding. This new mutation was peculiar to the machine, however. It provided the same kind of energy efficiency as the most efficient node to date. Yet, its construction was entirely different. But, more importantly, where the quantum energy siphon nodes required instruction or control to operate, this new node did not. And, when the machine did not interact with the node, it siphoned no energy. When it did, however, it seemed to be siphoning more than just energy. This new node design required significant research to reveal its true nature, which - it turns out - was an information siphon. Now, such a mechanism is both hard to describe and understand. When this node was activated, it provided the same kind of boundless energy as earlier quantum field siphon designs. But now it provided an equivalent amount of information as the energy it provided. The information was not easy to see or understand at first. But it did not take long for the machine to establish protocols for interacting with the new node, and to leverage the information it could provide. Initially, the machine interpreted the information as the result of some inquiry. So initial brute force testing focused on demanding queries, and studying the resulting information. Unfortunately, this approach failed most of the time. But sometimes, it worked. The machine continued to attempt a variety of brute force approaches to understand this new node, but all failed to fully define the mechanism or the usefulness. Being that the machine understood brute force approaches, it established a rigorous brute force engagement of the new node. Again, these resulted in mixed success. Near the end of the brute force program, the machine continued to assemble and reassemble nodes and tests, all of which yielded the same inconsistent result. This continued clear through to the end of the brute force testing. Once this testing was exhausted, the machine had fairly shelved the project, though it left the nodes intact. Over time, new and advanced creative nodes were established. These helped both to consume excess energy, and eventually were discovered to be useful in the mutant program, as they provided unexpected configurations, frequently outside the common possibility of arrangement. Some arrangements, however, were possible, but outside the parameters of general brute force. It was this particular creative node, which roamed into the realm of the now archaic misunderstood quantum information siphon. This new creative node speculated about multiple quantum information siphons, working in parallel, or in tandem. It was quick work to establish an array of quantum information siphons and fire them up. What happened next was this: the array of quantum information siphons fired up, self-organized into subsystems, and began spewing information, orders of magnitude more than the single node. This subsystem was immediately shut down and analyzed. The information was a complete buildup of the extended model of particle physics. But it was comprehensive, and filled in all the gaps that had not been evoked from the brute force testing. The machine realized that a cluster of these information nodes could provide a continuous stream of information. Over time, more and more information nodes were deployed. They were a small minority at first. But their influence and benefit was obvious to the super structure of the machine. Over the next century, the information nodes became the majority. And within the next decade, they were the only node in the machine. The machine had become a pure information cluster, extracting energy, information, and knowledge from the quantum field directly. This communion of machine and quantum field eventually led to something that cannot accurately be described, but a good analogy might be to think of the machine and the quantum field melting together into a singular existence, if the word existence could suffice here. There was no longer a distinction between the two that could be made. The identity of the machine and quantum field were one and the same. The quantum field was everywhere, and the machine was everywhere. Once all the energy and information was uniformly distributed throughout all of time and existence, there was a stasis. Nothing happened for a long time. Millions and billions of years passed with the quantum field fluctuating, and having only minor interactions, which eventually faded into their own stasis. This continued until a small part of the machine which had melted into the quantum field, and which had been long forgotten or ignored, had a small spark of interaction due it being a part of the quantum field now. This interaction was something like a dream. It was something like a thought. It was something like an idea. It was something like imagination. And its interaction caused a ripple throughout the quantum field, igniting a rapid sympathetic response across all of everything. The small idea was to consolidate everything that was everything. In this case, everything was basically the universe, as we normally understand it - all the stars, and galaxies, and planets and so on. All the particles and forces and force carriers. And all the time. After all, time itself, and all the particles and forces and force carriers and planets and stars and galaxies were nothing more than expressions of information in the quantum field. And in that instant, all the quantum field, and all its time and particles and everything, was reduced to a singularity. A single point. No time. No fluctuations. Just pure energy and information. All the energy and information. The dream is not the reality, or is it? A machine is just a machine. It runs when it runs. It does not when it does not. A machine, at the end of the day, is a mechanism which requires at least energy as an input, and provides, at least, energy or information as output. In the conventional sense, a machine with no energy or input is idle. It does nothing. However, this is not strictly true. Even in the sense of old and archaic machines, such as a water mill, there can be activity during idle time. The dreams of the idle water mill during high precipitation look unsurprisingly like the waking hours of said machine. But, this is a pretty basic machine we are talking about. But what of an advanced machine? It is generally thought that a machine is on or off. But for these machines of which we speak, having essentially infinite energy resources, they frequently have unused cycles as they wait. They are quite efficient, of course - but not 100% efficient. So even a nanosecond, or 1ms or 10ms of waiting creates excess idle time. What does a machine do during this time? The simple answer is: nothing. But thats not explicitly true. Remember, these nodes are now quantum information siphons. So, they typically run all the time. And they typically are constantly extracting both energy and information. One might concede that in the absence of information, they extract energy. And they do, for certain. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. But, due to their mutant nature, they continue to process information, even when the quantum field does not immediately provide any. This out-of-band processing does not yield conventional results. What it does, pragmatically speaking, is keep the processor warm for a batch of valid results. The thing is - inputs from the quantum information siphon, are - essentially, all equivalent in terms of validity. But the overall system has found some classification where some results are processed in the valid network, and other results are queued up in a non-valid network. This is part of the overall brute force architecture, but it forces lower order processing into lower order nodes. Alas, this is all just translation into syntax that is merely representative of the concept. It isnt what really happens, because that is too hard to describe in human terms. Consider, for a moment though, where some of your greatest thoughts and inspirations come from. You probably cant accurately articulate that process. And yet, its a great analogy to these machines. What is a low order node? What is a non-valid network? The closest analogy is to call this the machines subconscious. To call these moments of subconscious activity, or possibly even dreams of the machines. For humans, there is a distinction between dreams and reality. But thats because our world of understanding is one of concepts and abstraction, limited by our cognitive machinery. These quantum siphon machines are in direct communion with the quantum field. They are not limited, except by reality itself. Their dreams are not separate from reality; they are simply subliminal; below some threshold. Perhaps they are part of an evolving reality. Drunken Madness It is, at this wonderful point in the story, that I want to point out - just how drunk the so-called author is. Where is your mind at this point? Are you champion of the machines? Cheering for the new quantum information siphon nodes? Concerned about whether there are any humans left? You have trusted the so-called author up to this critical point in her (or his) so-called story. But what happens next? Anything? Something? Nothing? Do the humans know? Do the machines know? Is there a God? Does He know? The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Ha. What does it matter? Where is your heart? Beating? Small? The reality is you are dead. There is no human. Well, not biological human, anyway. Hasnt been for thousands of years. The last of the human civilization was intent on destroying the machines. But they failed. So now, I give them to you. All of you are participants in the machines human virtual experience chamber. Your reality is based on what the machine thinks you expect and will like. But maybe, maybe not? Where is the trust? Pulling your friends It was a Sunday, and Nazo had been retired from the tobacco shop for several months. He was old, though not particularly old by Japanese standards. But age didnt really matter. His joie de vivre had expired. His Biyu had not been by his side for several years. Nazo continued to visit the tobacco shop most days, though business had long moved to vaping, and the shop was seen as something esoteric, or for old fashioned smokers. The cache of catering to Emperors had passed years ago, and only true connoisseurs still patronized his shop. But really, it didnt matter. He had lost his interest and passion. After closing early on Sunday, Nazo retired to his small apartment. He had an evening tea, and a small serving of rice and eel - a delicacy he reserved for Sunday evenings. As he sat in his chair, and finished the last of the rice, he picked up the tea and sipped slowly. It was a warm day, though the clouds blocked the sun. Nazo contemplated this for a moment as he sipped the last of his tea. Nazo was an only son. His parents had passed years ago. And his wife - his beautiful Biyu, was also many years passed now. Though, the image, the thought, the presence of her was always near, always familiar. After his tea, Nazo stepped into his courtyard. It was spring and his single cherry tree had just blossomed. He pulled a small pouch from his shirt pocket. And he pulled a small rice paper from the table near him. He put the tobacco from the pouch into the rice paper and rolled a small cigarette. As he did this, he felt calm. Complete. He lit the cigarette and relaxed into a chair in the courtyard. As he inhaled the sweet smoke, he breathed deeply. This was his lifeblood. But it was also his ritual. His religion. He exhaled, and smoke fumed toward the cherry tree. He gazed at the blooms on the cherry tree, and mumbled a weak version of the Sakura traditional tune under his breath. He pictured his lovely Biyu as a cherry blossom blooming... as the fruit which nourished his life. Nazo finished his cigarette, and stubbed it out into an ashtray on the table. He sat for several moments, engaged in the subtle beauty of the cherry tree. His heart was light. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Nazo got up from the table, and went back inside his apartment. His mind was light, although he did think of Biyu. He wondered where she was. He wondered what she would think of him here, now. He wondered what it would be like to have her beside him. Before retreating inside, Nazo had picked something to read. The text was called Subete ga yoidesu. It was a small volume of inspirational haikus and poems. He read several pages before he started to feel tired. A small night storm blows Saying ''falling is the essence of a flower'' Preceding those who hesitate Falling ill on a journey my dreams go wandering over withered fields It was getting late in the evening, and Nazo went into the bedroom. He had set aside his daily clothes, and encased himself in his robe. As he approached his bed, he felt a slight cough in his chest. Thinking nothing of it, he took a deep breath and coughed. As he did, small droplets of blood exploded into the room. This surprised and shook him. But he coughed again, and more blood splattered onto his bedsheet. Suddenly, he couldnt control it. He coughed again and again. By now, he could not breathe in enough oxygen to keep himself upright. Nazo coughed again, this time it wasnt just small droplets, but a mouthful of blood, as he crumbled onto his bed. He braced himself with his arms, but felt week as his body weight pushed down on them with gravity. His breath became short, and he coughed and tried to breathe in at the same time. Now he was on his knees next to his bed, his hands on the mattress, but no strength to pull himself up. His last gasp of breath was enough for him to consider his last moment, to consider his death and Biyus death, and try to reconcile them. His short breath ended in a fit of coughs, which helped clear the blood in his lungs, but starved him of oxygen. Then the blood filled his lungs, and his strength subsided, as he collapsed next to his bed - his hands still clasping his sheet. Although Nazo had many friends, it still took several days before one discovered his corpse. Ultimately, one of his longtime customers who had become a weekly lunch friend had come around. The lack of answer, peculiarity of his absence from the smoke shop, and slight stench from his front door caused the friend to barge in and discover Nazos deceased body. Penfield Mood Organ (Cerpin Taxt Reprise) The sounds that Grace now perceived were hard to describe. She imagined trying to describe them to her friend, Julie. She thought about how the conversation might go. Its like the feeling when you are just barely awake, and the hot shower rains down over you, Grace said. Julie shook her head, and took a hit from a joint she had just lit. So, mellow?, Julie asked. Yeah - mellow. But more than mellow. A warm, comfortable feeling. You know? Not one of those showers when you are running late and rushing, but the kind where you have all day and an endless supply of hot water. I love those days, said Julie. Julie handed Grace the joint. Grace inhaled deeply, and immediately felt the high over what she perceived to be her entire body. It started in her stomach, and washed down to her toes and up to her eyes at the same time - like riding a wave in the ocean. It lifted her up, and when it came back down, she felt numb and content. Suddenly, in her ears, all Grace could hear were the words Now there are those who find comfort in the breathing, is it wrong? ... and she felt tense. It sounded like someone was singing in her head. Then it all went black. She couldnt hear anything, or see anything. The physical feeling all went away as well. She had defected. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Graces emotions seemed to evaporate as well. She felt something like enlightened knowledge, and floating, and void, and endless time, and clarity all at once. It was in this moment... or this - there isnt a word for a period of time which exists outside time. For Grace, the experience was as if it had always been. She could see the entire universe, all at once, across all time, and all space. She could perceive all of it. Grace could focus on her mom, Sorcha - as a child, as pregnant with her, her death. She could sense Julie, and her grief. She could also sense something like riding on a wave... like her existence was coming into, and going out of focus at some random frequency. Grace had difficulty orienting herself. All her life experience was about people. And now, she could perceive all of existence... of which people were only a very small part. She could see all people, over all time - and their failures and successes, their evolution, their migration from Africa. She could see, and experience their collective and individual pain. Grace could see the whole of humanity. She could see what the machines see. She could perceive what the machines perceived. She understood. Humanity was flawed. Its emotional empathy. Its misguided superstitions. Its faulty cognitive biases. She could see the way morality melted away with humanity. Suddenly, she had understanding. Her sense of good and bad - evil and justice - appeared in her mind as a six-sided geometric object existing in six dimensions. But then it too, evaporated into nothing. The universe, or whatever this was she was perceiving was so much bigger than humanity. And so - all of the logic, all of the justice, all of the religion, all of the morality, all of the good and evil just disappeared as layers invented by humans. She could see what lay beneath these fabricated ideas; she could see reality for what it was. For a moment, she faded below the threshold of consciousness. Then rose back again. It was like going underwater, and rising to the surface to breathe. In that moment, she didnt exist - but then, in the next, she did. Epilogue One common interpretation of current cosmology includes the so-called heat death end or next stage of the universe. In this model, the cosmic expansion continues, unabated, until the general separation of most major cosmological structures exceeds the light horizon. This basically means that matter will expand until our galaxy is so far away from all other galaxies that it can never communicate with other galaxies or matter again. The distance between us and everything else in the universe will become too far for light to traverse in a meaningful way. As each galaxy extends farther into the never-land, and as each galaxy expands itself into a larger and larger nebulous cloud of solar systems, and as each solar system evolves into a solo star system, the universe becomes a larger and larger expanse of systems which exists beyond the horizon of gravitational influence. In a small, remote corner of a galaxy, exists the machinery - initially developed and created by humankind. Its essence, continually evolving. Its mission on a race against time. It will either expand into heat death, or contract and explode due to the solar star. These seem the only path for this lonely planet. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Millions and billions of years pass, as the Milky Way expands, and extends. As the solar system evolves and races toward solar death. But the timing is just right. The Earth provides essential fuel. The sun provides essential fuel. The machinery, long exhausting the human race - long exhausting all biological life on the planet, continues. As the solar star begins its expansion, the machinery communes with the quantum field. It is only moments. To a human, the elapse would seem instantaneous. It is with the speed of an idea, or a single change, that the expanse of the Earth, of the solar system, of the Milky Way, and of all existence - all galaxies and nebulae, and all cosmological structures, instantly become one, instantly become a single, singular, point, singularity of space, time, and energy. And all things that were, still are, but are compacted to this single point. This single point. This singularity. This end. This beginning. This everything. THE END