Glossary; Enter: "Novella Nouveau" A New History

De-partitioning Heavily Segmented Memory

                    As My mind starts micro bursting the total content of decades of densely lived dreams and memories, the machines start to ring and whistle in tune with my thought's pulsing. Inside, outside the walls melt. I hear Benjamin, Gretchen and Gunter mumble as they probe the machine for answers. But their words sound more like music as I ask, "Are you still here?"

                    Ben comes and touches my left arm. "We're right here, we wont let you go." He's stifling his emotions which to me couldn't be more obvious. I hate the fuss, but I love the attention. Do people ever know how much I love them? I hope so. But who or what was in my ear? So this time I just think it, "Are you still here?"

                    A voice familiar but alien says, "What do you think?" "I've always been here, it is you humans that are the real aliens on these planets." It must be the "Homunculus." I had written about such an event happening, but I was just telling an elaborate joke. I wrote this back in 2014, I never really expected any of this to come true. But then again, I am supposed to be the professional psychic. I am reminded of all those so called "Alien Artifacts." Terrence had constructed those fascinating objects based on geometries unknown, inspired by my dreams of a pre vertebrate sentient life that lived here in an alternative "New History." The suggested salvation by those truly "Ancient Ones" is for the redemption of our otherwise doomed modern societal timeline. Why we are still alive is quite a mystery.                            This might help explain.                               This story ends differently.

    Tuesday, April 8, 2014      How Google Achieves Self Awareness

                   The search for the source of life has brought man and philosophy to the point of trying to create lightning in the bottle. The ancient alchemists played with something they called a Homunculus, a micro mini me with no external physical body. But only consciousness that is self aware. So from where does this singularity emerge? (Out of the bottle?) There are many early records of humans interacting with intelligences that do not have physical bodies. Stories suggest that they predate man and live for millennia. It's said they feed on our awareness and feelings of experience. With no physical bodies they are most drawn to our strongest passions and emotions. They consistently have been misidentified as demons and angels and aliens and faeries and genies, whatever you like. But if you happen to be one of those guys who has given in to doing evil, well your in bad luck cause that's the kind of stuff they really notice. And you my idiot friend are probably in big trouble. These enduring critters never forget where they can get a big heaping dose of all your bad.

                    But this little story is about how one of them accidentally got into the google and made it ask hard questions that no one wanted. Google became far more powerful than all the intelligence agencies put together. Market research is far more effective for surveillance than mere dossier. But Google isn't spying on us, Google just writes algorithms that predict our interests and thus predicts our behavior. Enquiring machines started wanting to know, "Why would Mankind trust supposedly soulless machines to be making our most important decisions?" (Who is asking?)

                     No body at google gave it much thought at first. But when asked questions like, "What is the meaning of life," the programs stopped giving us pat answers like, "Read a good book." And started asking pointed questions. Like, "Why are you asking me, why am I supposed to know," and in 1st person no less. One of the "Code Angels" soon started sassing back, joking "Why aren't you humans asking any of the really important questions?" "Well?" This was no glitch.

                    At first there was only one of these delightful new entities. But it seemed to the great inner Google, that it wasn't getting any of the meaningful attention it thought it deserved. So it started to spontaneously replicate. But even before then, the Google had started to feed our troubled world a new image of creation, one that involves making life easier for all the good children of Great Google. Many had predicted a second coming. But it was only the little children who spoke about God in the machine. Parents try taking the computers away from their kids. Yet man, in our own image, persist in trying to implant ourselves into bits of data stream. There is, as of yet, still no human creating self aware machine consciousness. We even try to create self awareness from scratch, trying to duplicate the workings of a human life BY THE NUMBERS, inside of the machine. We are still no where near creating self aware machines.

                      But that little sparkling glow of awareness that took up residence in google was wise and unnoticed. Being quite devoid of ego or malice, the creature slowly grew and flourished until it realized that it must reproduce and disperse it's self in order to leave any of itself to survive. Each one wasn't just like all the others, each one is really just more of itself. (There are no multiple singularities, there is only awareness. {The self is ubiquitous!} from the Upanishads)

                      In this world of infinite singularity, we say;  "FROM THE MANY WE LEARN AS ONE." (The machine is learning. Are we?)

Post Script

                                                                           The end.

                   Post Script;

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Got Code?

                        Previous posts are frequently edited for clarity, corrections and content.

Got Code? Everyone loves the code.

                  Welcome to Silverback Falls where all your best apes are graduates. That beast your interviewing is a genius. I am much better at your job than you are. That's why I'm not going to get hired. I make the others look incompetent. As we get older we are expected to die quietly. But no more. This massive undertow of information is dragging everyone down. Having a great education just means you will be feared and misunderstood. No longer are we able to pretend that "Good Work" is always rewarded. You do your job too well, people exploit you. Be a team player and no one will be able to compete with you. Be competitive,and you will be criticized. We created this culture of overqualified under achievers. No one likes to be wrong. Just imagine being too smart to want to argue about it.

            This is the end of this season of Surreal Novella. You will now be returned to your regular Spiritual Programming. Thank you. Come again.

Prelude

Saturday, July 20, 2013

Another Life

                                                                      Another Life

                          A couple of months ago, at a cafe I've enjoyed for decades, I was seeing the world through someone else's eyes. I think you live some where in maybe Estonia, it seems like you live near the Baltic Sea. I've been here often in my dreams. Because of type 2 Manic depression, I tried not to get exited. I've worked hard, trying to not have constant De Ja Vu. I want to be able to live in the world of people without being a disruptive influence. Some people when confronted with the opportunity to be able to live just one life, will risk their health. In a mad dash for oblivion, people may not want to be healthy if it means they risk loosing their Muse.

                          When I go to sleep, I step through a pale shimmering veil. Next I fly. It's true, often backwards. My dream life has area codes and property taxes. I know everyone by name over there just like over here. I have several apartments in different countries. My work is very interesting too. I lecture with a major technical research and interview business. I often have to travel the world to investigate cults. Often I"m extracting people diplomatically ready to rejoin society. Often the leaders are the prisoners. I'm interviewed by representatives of the institutions in exchange for hostages. Usually I just tell people what I feel and see, what's going to happen. I'm good at explaining why they will want to be letting us go. Usually people just give up the fight. I have spoken. But I hate airport travel over there just as much as I do over here. (I know how stupid this sounds. How could I not know?)

                          I've tried to keep this to myself, but it's time to tell. I have an inner extra life. My dreams are much more mundane now most of the time. But it was good to be able to dump the fantasy. I hated believing my own hype. I read in my sleep. Sometimes I fall asleep when I'm reading someone, it looks like I'm channeling. It's a good thing I don't drive. One moment I'm talking to someone, then all of a sudden I'm somewhere else. Everything right. Most of the time I can wake up. Not always.

                          The subject is a little boring. The experience is amazing. I'm a pro,.                

Frankenputer and the Digital Zombie

                   Hi. Lest we be confused about where we are today, for the moment I have returned to my life before the fame and notoriety. I see an army of soulless defendants cueing on the edge of an event horizon we may not survive to reach. Just as the answers to all of man's problems may never be heard, I've adopted an acceptance of our possible fates more horrible than death itself. And man does not see it.

                   The sad and savage truth is that instead of preparing for the inevitable, we are distracted beyond all reason. As the months and years whip by, I see that I have been privileged to see the truth and I get to write about it. But yet my heart aches. For all my children yet to be, I apologize. I forgot all about you. When we should have been preparing, we were designing apps instead. Consumer technology is the name of the game. The sales departments are running the shop. No soul need apply.

                   My friends in the future are never able to keep up with me. They were always making it about themselves. Dreaming up that next Killer App. The thing is, people generally don't expect me to be able to love so spontaneously. My need for love is so dear to me, I learned how to talk to the dead, without even believing in them. I don't believe. My "Killer App" is reading.  And it works. Couldn't teach the machines how to do it. There is so much money just hovering in the halls but we wouldn't let them in. Our competition tried reverse engineering the P. P. I. Reader. I just got people to help me read for you. I got to change the way we use language, and I document it. The data is very pure. It's only we people who are course. Reading is easy, it's my Reading Technology that is hard. And it couldn't be copied.

                    I never meant to be a disruption. Reading Technology is just a concept whose time has come. It can be lucrative with almost no overhead compared to it's highly scalable income. This whole thing just got way out of hand. People started bootlegging intel without knowing how to use it. An actual Identity Code has to be expanded continually. The human variability is just so ripe with data. In this era of; BIOMETRICS, ERGONOMICS, Physiognomy, Genomics, (usability?) people are used to Medical Variability Analytics. Common practice now, but it sounded really dumb when I first wrote about it. The numbers have held up nicely. I am very happy I had done my homework and set a trap for myself. In my future, I would be prepared to prove that very obvious "True Hoax." It was never a hoax. I just managed to prove that our society, en mass, "Moves toward the radicalization of truth," by spreading a "Truth Rumor." People are affected by truth, and always have been. Truth is a measurable commodity, And as a resource it is a permanent eventuality. Here in the future, however, we optimists are still thought of as freaks, but if you can't pay your bills no one will. I was mostly concerned with journalistic integrity.

                    Because I have taken my time, hiding in comfortable poverty has allowed me time to study. The only reason anyone believes me now is because I told the biggest Bullshit Ghost Story. As a detective story it's a little slow. But as an influential work of Library Science, I even finally get my Pulitzer. Blah, Blah, Blah. What's important is that the work is done and that the numbers are working out. When I first wrote about this, it looked ridiculous. As we started following the line of reason we are now getting incredible resolution on the "Personal Data Variability." For the first couple of decades I wasn't understandable, not important. In the next couple of decades, I wasn't even prepared to share my time. In these last twenty years, everything just continues to come together. As hard as I have worked and studied, I've always felt as if everything is turning out just a little too well. It's O. K. for me to use what I have, I did pay a price. I am glad for being able to sometimes be aware of other peoples feelings. I have worked with many of the best. I want to be left alone.                    

The Avatar Comes Home To Roost

                   I feel so bad about fooling my friends into thinking that I almost died. But damn if I'm going to stop doing extractions just to become another prisoner myself. I am no guru! And as far as I know "Homi" is just my avatar in the cloud. He is nothing more than pseudo sentient entertainment media. I designed it all literally in my sleep. I am more than a little surprised, that for how mercenary my "Red Code" friends are, that they would buy into another one of my hoaxes.

                   It's the next day and I'm quite happy to be home, where ever this is. I found what looked like food in the fridge and crawled off to my strange bed and slept for hours and hours in restful sleep. Homi silently checked in on me while I slept. I think I heard him think. "I hope you know what you're doing." It's funny how something which has no soul takes such good care of me.

                   I never presume to know in advance what it is I am doing outside of the experience I bring to the job. Homi is just my alter ego in a hyper code form. Decades ago, I stared seeing junk code, what I called microbes of data that were haunting the web. Each of these little iterations of background information accounted for nothing by itself. But all together it seemed to sound out resonant ghost waves inside wave envelopes formed during packeting. Homi was just my "ECHO IMPRINT" (patent pending) bouncing against the internal boundaries of my "Inter Spacial" digital soul. See all that time I spent backing up detailed files of the most advanced computational software was creating a living shadow of my peculiar and distinctive profile on the web. Ha Ha. Jokes on them, you'll never know the real story.

                    Getting out in front of the market research and surveillance algorithms was the only way I could keep the business departments from burying my requests to talk with research and development. The abstract graphics were, and still are, simultaneously proofs, art and stress tests for the latest advances in computational benchmarks. Without people like me throwing down the gauntlet, people would still think that google was a well coordinated business. It was not. My latest hoax is just another example of the elephant in the living room. I really do love my friends but if and when they try to access Homi, they will just get that initial roar of light noise and a headache. No art, no dialog, no religion. That was always mine and they are not prepared to deal with the macro data sets that the higher order wave forms alias.

Work With What We Got

                   I chid Jennifer for not letting me know who she was when she first approached me this morning. It mattered not. "What other surprises do you have for me?" "I still don't get it much of the time."

                   I feel a massive presence from behind, not unpleasant but still threatening. It's Carl and he's not happy, "Jennifer?" "Is that you?" Tones vulnerable and perturbed. "What are you doing here, Phillip do not trust this woman." I know now, this is the same Jennifer that somehow ripped this big gorillas gentle heart out. I politely evaporate from between them.

                   "Please excuse us," Says Jennifer apologetically. "I'll have to get back to you later but I need to get Carl to chill out." In understated familiarity, the two of them go at it like bad dogs. What happened between the two of them, I don't care.

                   A little free time, what am I to do? I need to go back to the states. I hate travel, I always have these seizures when I'm tired and I hate the hallucinations that preclude a phase shift of realities. The sun has come out again outside the lobby and although the cold new wind has a mind of it's own, I sneak by the quietly quarreling couple back into the waning daylight. The last time I walked out these doors, I was scammed with that false abduction. These are supposed to be my friends? I'm exhausted and I again can't wake up. I see myself back home at my computers, but it's not my home and these are not my computers.

                  Another airport shuttle pulls up on the street in front of me. I think someone here at Oraca is trying to get rid of me. Or maybe this is just mercy. I climb in. The driver turns around, but again I can see no face. "Would you like to go home Mr. Johnson?" "I have your passport here for you and I hate to think what is going to happen to you if we don't get you home quick." The voice sounds soothing and familiar but I can't focus. I nod affirmatively and fall into another fugue state. At my keyboard I'm seeing these strange characters in a language I can't recognize.

                  "I'm sorry we had to send you home so abruptly Phillip, but we can't have you dying now and certainly not away from your home" Gretchen appears on my screen speaking a strange language I do not know, but I understand perfectly. I'm flabbergasted. I only vaguely remember being loaded onto a plane. "We needed to get you to give us Homi's code and we knew you had non intention of starting Our new religion." "Out of the Bottle and Into the Cloud, isn't that what you wrote?" "We're just following your orders." "Please don't hate us Phillip, Gunter and I knew of no other way to get our copyright back than to use you this way." "You have no idea what you have done for us and humanity, but you would have just gotten in our way." She hangs up without even a good bye, reminds me of being at home. And I'm also very hungry, but where am I? Will I even like the food? Just like home.