3Science 2Punk 1Pop
Found and archived upon an expedition through old Silicon Valley.
103 years old.
Description: A scientist’s personal project: to archive the cyber perspectives of himself(64), son(21) and daughter(31).
The Cyber-Scientist Story
Rumbling from its roots, the tree accepted the new season. ‘Task’ delivered: its last few leaves fall into the precisely statistical wind. The dirt was too uniform for any other life form to take shape, except for this tree. This tree built for this dirt.
Of coarse all of this was not random or lifelike. Only a mirror image of what used to happen long ago. All simulated within the worthless virtual environment that tried so hard to reproduce what nature had done so effortlessly.
What did this cyber scientist hope to learn?
What possible glitch could cause an intelligible and lucid AI consciousness?
And even if a new nature was found, what would it matter that humans could interact with nature in the virtual? Maybe it was his constant reminder that his two year old has never seen a plant. For this, he hated the rich and the commodified scarcity that nature had become.
He had spent the remaining funding on equipment and was relying on "futrients". This is the virtual service that he had successfully digitally synthesized that allowed investors to completely gawk this research. Funny too, cause he hadn't told them his true intentions. That would be the forceful self suicide that his nightmares consisted of. It was just a lie to get funding.
Yet ironically futients were keeping him alive in what looked like the end of his career and life. These virtual nutrients were tricking his brain into believing that he was getting the correct nutrients to remain alive. Fake. Nutrients. He could not last more than a week more upon this distorted source of energy.
The real reasons. He would never know why his 'investors' were interested in this new slow form of death. He suspected it would be the new legal form of part-time welfare. And with this suspicion, he refused to actually sell it. All they needed was proof of existence; which he easily documented and released. He feared the coming future. Now he was pilgrimaging the acute digital nature. He knew his reputation would soon cease, but why not try to balance the future world: parched vs. generative? That was his point of view.
His nightmares consisted of watching others go through the forced digital mental agony of your body whisking away. The promise of owning a cyber consciousness was a great lie from the government. The embodiment, a fallacy. It was simply a quarry now dated. My corrupt world has become stutteringly quick, with glimmers of regression without expression.
Yes. He had thought of destroying all of the evidence and research. But what use of that, when they could map out the brain so easily. Yes. It was expensive. And yes, his research team had let the word loose of the findings and experiments. From the experiments within consciousness, we gained new knowledge. What caused further research? The unknown and proving its existence. Thats why he fired them. Did they not realize the horrible truth of its potential use, especially in this post-post-apocalyptic world? Its not like humans could leave earth, only a few lightbulb heads would dare that doom.
Gazing into his last hope. The holo flickered and his eyes flickered too. Hopelessness took over him as he stared into the virtual tree. He felt sleep approaching and quickly removed the cone shaped feeders that were resting upon each cheek. He felt the fake fullness that bullied this mind. Feeling wasted, he decided to sleep in the plasti-form chair again. Against the plasti-form table he laid his head. And fell into dreams that offered nothing but lies.
The Cyber-Punk Thoughts
Thinking of the simulation created within the processor; Deep in those short recursion excursions, remained one whim. One effort of realizing the knowledge. The computer praising its user as input is accepted and again analyzed. The phoenix chase pointing the dive to conversation with the other.
No nectar remains in the illusion of fertility within digital-ness. The slow future is updated with expansion and vapor of the moment. I am lost to its enslavement and will never understand its potential. I often have flashbacks of that dream: the virtual beauty. Its illustrious bloom and hidden echo. Imagine with me, being light as air. Within the emergent layer, skimming from node to vine of the organized global jungle. My memory overlong.
The corporation has its unconscious power. Communication theory will serve me no longer as I become engrossed in nothing but renown axiom understandings. I become the lost fragment within the world of multi-mainframe corporation domination; accessing many forms, yet not interacting in the sub-culture.
I am one with the rebel community. Never will its visions be discussed in the mainstream. The pervading public thoughts are now unable to be awakened from their constantly persuaded promise to the state. I do not blame those whom have never known different. The common news agencies are bloated full of independent 'financing' and influenced by its taste.
This confusion has taken me over, and changed how I perceive the world. The information it serves and the community it offers, is nothing more than the virtual mindset. I know the data and knowledge exists but I cannot further explore the sacred reality without science at my hands. Vague it seems, I seem lost on an open endless boat, in colossal sea of endless doors.
I see children and eldery listening to the emulated voice. No prejudice theory can bring slow motion for analytical thought.
Again it seems to become lucid, as communication ever fails true recognition.
What has happened: over-generalized cultural truths = glitch abstractions rolling into mutations.
What does the vapor of data smell like? Oh that lying lost memory.
Looking upon the entertainment industry, I see a pinup puppet master controlling the MMORPG information hysteria. User net systems denying their viewers certain information. The senseless auto-magical applied without consent. Tiers routing my ideas again recursively. Governments distorting the identity I thought so fixed. The reality I see has pulsed far into hyper-sensation; Whipped by the collective unconscious into my stadium seating chart. The season of golden thought has withered and led me astray.
Endless looks with detached understandings.
Watching the hard drive spindle wrack its cradle.
My nostalgic valkyrie of the virtual will swoop unto me yet once again.
The Cyber-Pop Dream
Viewing the grid of vertical extra wide holo-channels; random AI channels tried to convince dialogue. But today she was bored with the entertainment it offered. The holobox was created for many functions, one which analyzed the users viewing choice data and created holographic advertiser recommended objects around the room. These 'wisps' looked completely realistic yet weighed nothing, for they were generated weekly from the holobox. This replaced all forms of decoration for most individuals and families. As she snapped off the holobox, the wisps remained constantly.
Wishing for the constant advertising to vanish, she unplugs the holobox.
She knows her ears will soon ring, within 20 minutes. Withdrawal symtoms will occur from its constant presence.
Yet she yearns for silence. Something many people would be concerned about.
Within the blank white windowless room, sat our average consumer upon the couch: Lilly. Even the window and its viewings were automatically generated. Wishing for sunlight, she could no longer resist the holobox's seduction.
Flipping through the global archive of channels, her curiosity failed again.
In reaction, she turns to the creation menu. Promptly naming the words that she wished to be 'creatively' visualized by the holobox: Sunshine, emotion elixir, nostalgia, warmth, conversation. Also naming a few alter-preferences: withhold outside communication, hide self image.
And within five seconds, the world throbbed through her senses.
Her body looked invisible; the holopixels that understood her surroundings and replicated the illusion. That black velvet couch, the only circumstance keeping her on that 37th floor of her condo building.
Slowly and slightly, the volume of a voice beamed. Talking of latest fashion, rumors and business. Her favorite three. She conversed with the female AI with upmost ease. Without feeling overpowered, she allowed the voice to continue while she bathed in the virtual sun. Illustrating its elements to enhance dust at every angle. She gazed for a time upon her different social network subscriptions. Then fell into some character profiling of her online avatar. Nothing could cure her boredom with the moment. So she continued to let the holobox do its work.
Upon Monday’s arrival, she would have to return to her job.
She felt lame and bored. Without care for the doubts of the world, she lived in her pristine room. Unsaturated by all that brought real annoyances, deviations or real devotions. The world was a black hole from this drilling perspective.
Many of her friends feel equally prescribed to this treatment.
Synth orange juice wasn't gonna fix this new realization.
This was an account of her average dulled-dream Sunday.