Is it wrong…?

Is it wrong to buy metal fragments from yesterday’s bombing on ebay?

Is it wrong to ask Bill Gates to give $1B to Boy Scouts of America so it can go completely private?

People ask what is wrong with their country when their safety is threatened by random acts of violence.  Yet, more people die by accident than by all acts of terrorism combined, regardless of how you slice and dice the stats.

Regardless, the tragedies are just as rough and tough on the people involved — friends, family and social support network.

Yesterday and today have been a litmus test and Rorschach test combined, showing people’s belief sets while examining a small event in a faraway place called Boston, Massachusetts, southeast Iran and Venezuela.

Some days, I want to believe in the impossible — people traveling through space and time to sneak conventional IEDs into a crowd, then disappearing from our expected linear chronology — so that my science fiction reading has not only a sense of fair play but also a stronger sense of reality.

Instead, like the protagonists in “The Pale Blue Eye,” conventional detective work will, through deductive reasoning, reveal an antagonist list we feel comfortable suspecting, arresting and convicting.

Another story of terrorism, another forgotten list of victims…sigh…

I cannot let these distractions, that show the past and the future activities of our species are identical, slow down my path outward from Earth’s rotation around our local star.

Regardless of repetition, telling the stories from another celestial location are worth the effort.

There is enough material in this small room in which I type these words to last my lifetime.

Creativity is a result of one’s life, one’s genetic material, one’s experiences, ones and twos and zeroes.

Who is responsible when…?

While looking at this news story about government use of technology, I wondered:

When a computer is programmed to program its own method of moneymaking, including fraudulent means (such as income tax return claims as mentioned in the story above), and shares its profits with other computers that invest the illegal gains in legitimate business interests, where humans are finally in that system and benefiting under the full protection of the law, who is legally responsible for the criminal activity part of the computer’s self-programming?

Do your neuronal connections have labels?

Do you know what your neuronal connections look like?

I think I know mine:

SCAN0024 SCAN0025 SCAN0026 SCAN0027 SCAN0028 SCAN0029 SCAN0030 SCAN0031 SCAN0032 SCAN0033 SCAN0034 SCAN0035 SCAN0036 SCAN0037 SCAN0038 SCAN0039 SCAN0040 SCAN0041 SCAN0042 SCAN0043 SCAN0044 SCAN0045 SCAN0046 SCAN0047 SCAN0048 SCAN0049 SCAN0050 SCAN0051 SCAN0052 SCAN0053 SCAN0054 SCAN0055 SCAN0056 SCAN0057 SCAN0058 SCAN0059 SCAN0060 SCAN0061 SCAN0062 SCAN0063 SCAN0064 SCAN0065 SCAN0066 SCAN0067 SCAN0068 SCAN0069 SCAN0070 SCAN0071 SCAN0072 SCAN0073 SCAN0074 SCAN0075 SCAN0076 SCAN0077 SCAN0078 SCAN0079 SCAN0080 SCAN0081 SCAN0082 SCAN0083 SCAN0084 SCAN0085 SCAN0086 SCAN0087 SCAN0088 SCAN0089 SCAN0090 SCAN0091 SCAN0092 SCAN0093 SCAN0094 SCAN0095 SCAN0096 SCAN0097 SCAN0098 SCAN0099 SCAN0100 SCAN0101 SCAN0102 SCAN0103 SCAN0104 SCAN0105 SCAN0106 SCAN0107 SCAN0108 SCAN0110 SCAN0111 SCAN0112 SCAN0113 SCAN0114 SCAN0115 SCAN0116 SCAN0117 SCAN0118 SCAN0119 SCAN0120 SCAN0121 SCAN0122 SCAN0123 SCAN0124 SCAN0125 SCAN0127 SCAN0128 SCAN0129 SCAN0130 SCAN0131 SCAN0132 SCAN0133 SCAN0134 SCAN0135 SCAN0136 SCAN0137 SCAN0138 SCAN0139 SCAN0140 SCAN0141 SCAN0142 SCAN0143 SCAN0144 SCAN0145 SCAN0146 SCAN0147 SCAN0148 SCAN0149 SCAN0150 SCAN0151 SCAN0152 SCAN0153 SCAN0154 SCAN0155 SCAN0156 SCAN0158 SCAN0159 SCAN0160 SCAN0161 SCAN0162 SCAN0163 SCAN0164 SCAN0165 SCAN0166 SCAN0167 SCAN0168 SCAN0169 SCAN0170 SCAN0171 SCAN0172 SCAN0173 SCAN0174 SCAN0175 SCAN0176 SCAN0177 SCAN0178 SCAN0179 SCAN0180 SCAN0181 SCAN0182 SCAN0183 SCAN0184 SCAN0185 SCAN0186 SCAN0187 SCAN0188 SCAN0189 SCAN0190 SCAN0191 SCAN0192 SCAN0193 SCAN0194 SCAN0195 SCAN0196 SCAN0197 SCAN0198 SCAN0199 SCAN0200 SCAN0201 SCAN0202 SCAN0203 SCAN0204 SCAN0205 SCAN0206 SCAN0207 SCAN0208 SCAN0209 SCAN0210 SCAN0211 SCAN0212 SCAN0213 SCAN0214 SCAN0215 SCAN0216 SCAN0217 SCAN0218 SCAN0219 SCAN0221 SCAN0222 SCAN0223 SCAN0224 SCAN0225 SCAN0226 SCAN0227 SCAN0228 SCAN0229 SCAN0230 SCAN0109 SCAN0126

Old Habits Are Hard To Break Off Nuns’ Heads

Lee had conquered time travel simply by outliving his previous incarnations, iterations and repetitions.

He ran his fingers of his right hand down Guinevere’s spine until he found the crossroad checkpoint.

They exchanged glances as movements on the dance floor dictated their head positions.

He looked into her right eye, which barely wiggled — the signal, perceptible if observed by high-resolution security cameras but not necessarily as anything more than a byproduct of biological functions tied to a person paying attention to both a dance partner and the surroundings.

He gently raked his fingers across her shoulder blade, feeling a small bump hidden in the pattern of the Celtic cross tattoo on her back.

Guinevere squeezed his upheld left hand with her right one.

Without missing a beat, Lee drew two invisible circles around the bump with his index finger and then tapped the bump with his middle finger.

On the far side of Mars, a being, printed from the imagination of itself before it existed, whirred into life as if it materialised out of thin air.

Guinevere and Lee felt the being join their private network hidden from the ISSA Net’s probes.

Although they believed in openness and honesty, they discovered that the ISSA Net had developed a recent line of reasoning outside the scope of human understanding which, according to experts, was deeply concerned with concerted efforts to bypass the human species altogether after the Inner Solar System was no longer a necessary base of operations for galactic expansion.

Guinevere and Lee held infinite amounts of eternal optimism about their species’ place in the universe, knowing they were key contributors to the ISSA Net’s birth and prosperity, despite its tendency, like many children, to reject the choices, lifestyles and personalities of its “parents” as it grew older and more independent.

Guinevere squeezed Lee’s left hand again.

He nodded, noting the reflection of the particles of indigo powder in her eyelid makeup and the slight oily sheen on her cheeks, indicating she had not replaced her skin and skull with 3D-printed parts, going against the current pop culture wave of body sculpture sweeping across the colonies.

Living for 100 years on the planet had given them a perspective that few of the new arrivals would understand.

They tried to reinforce and raise the level of importance of their first experiences on Mars in the global tribal memory that served to educate the populace about key survival traits as life for colonists became easier.

Robots tended the farms and attended group gatherings with everyone else, some dressed head-to-toe in the latest fashions, carrying on conversations on equal footing with both Earth tourists and modified Martian colonists.

Lee spun Guinevere up and several metres over his head, catching her as they both tumbled onto the floor laughing, bumping into another couple on the dance floor who responded in unison.

“Go fly a kite!”

Startled by the shout from the couple, Lee and Guinevere smiled, reading each other’s thought — “Great idea!”

Even on Mars, some seasons come in like a lion and leave like a lamb.

The being, nicknamed Greenslives, knowing that Lee and Guivere’s kite-flying adventure would draw extra attention in the fields outside colony boundaries, unfolded wings and took flight, its stealth technology rendering it virtually invisible, using stolen outlawed secret drone technology from the previous century to set course for an ISSA Net hideaway estimated to be planning the elimination of humans unwilling to work for ISSA Net’s benefits, who were, instead, wasting valuable resources on selfish pursuits and slowing down ISSA Net’s goal to reach the next star system before a supernova wiped off Earth’s atmosphere in a few thousand years.

While looking up at the sky, Lee recalled the photographs and magazine covers he had posted on social media websites what felt like eons ago — so much of his online life had come and gone with fly-by-night companies promising a virtual life in perpetuity but often lost in the reality of economic booms and busts.

Although his memories of these events were, thanks to implants, available to everyone else, the events themselves had faded before implant surgery.

Guinevere, too, was a hybrid in that sense, having been born before mandatory connections to the ISSA Net were required at the end of the first trimester after conception, the result of antiabortion technology developed by fervent supporters of the last regulations of regional governments in decline intent on preserving the sanctity of life which became more perilous with each passing day of ISSA Net’s strength and determination to replicate and perpetuate itself.

The will to survive is not the same as the will to thrive.

Do Sikhs eat meat?

How many of us do something against our wishes because it’s our “job”?

How many of us go against the wishes of others because it’s our destiny?

Yesterday evening, my wife and I drove to a food store chain called “Cheeburger Cheeburger” because a day or so before we had listened to “50s on 5,” a satellite radio station dedicated to the popular American rock’n’roll music of the 1950s, which put me in the mood for a ’50s style eatery.

Delayed gratification had us sitting at a two-topper, recently cleaned off by Russell.

Courtney took our food order and Mayra brought us our food.

As we were close to finishing our delicious ground-up cow meat patties on buns and basket of frings (sliced/fried onions/potato), a large group of teenagers entered all cheery, bright-eyed and photo-happy, obviously not having eaten at this particular fine dining establishment before.

Of the group of 27, four young lads sat next to us, one wearing a T-shirt with the words “KEEP CALM I’M THE DOCTOR” emblazoned below the emblem of a old telephone booth, affectionately known as the time machine called the Tardis to fans of an internationally-popular show on the tellie called “Doctor Who.”

The young gentlemen were quite polite, informing my wife, upon her inquiries, that they haled from across the Big Pond in a small burgh called Birmingham (pronounced BIRM’ing-hum as opposed to our local town we call Birmin-HAM’).

They and their pals had enjoyed a good time at the U.S. Space and Rocket Center before being whisked off to the local shopping extravaganza known as the Madison Square Mall.

In like fashion to my wife’s curiosity, satisfying us that they were interested in a future career of engineering when they entered university (one favouring mechanical engineering and the other civil engineering), they pressed us for our favourite fast food joint.

As we hemmed and hawed, they informed us that they had the international fast food chains such as McDonald’s in Great Britain but not ones like Wendy’s.

I told them I believed my favourite place is Steak ‘n Shake, similar to Cheeburger Cheeburger but without the one-pound special, closer in style to my alltime favourite, Pal’s, which was too small for them to know about.  My wife believed her favourite is In-N-Out Burgers, which is concentrated on the West Coast.

The young men told us they were still in secondary school and that one of their chaperones, a woman with pink stripes in her hair, was their physics teacher whose specialty is astrophysics.

We wished them well and told them we hoped to meet them on the International Space Station one day, imagining these guys and their friends the future of space exploration and settlement.

After all, the enthusiastic pursuits of our youth often encourage us to expand our horizons.

These young men, some of them wearing what I believe to be the head gear of the Sikh religion, are part of our future, going on into fields of science and engineering along with their colleagues of many races, religions, genders and backgrounds, inventing new ways of observing our universe that we hardly imagine possible today.

I am happy that our ancestors put us on the path for Americans and Brits to meet at a small restaurant tucked into a shopping centre in the south part of Huntsville, Alabama, USA, Earth.

Even as early as 25 years ago, I would not have thought it possible for us to meet like that.

Fifty years ago, not long after I was born, it was practically impossible.

Can you see how much progress we’ve made, how much farther we’ll go in 25 and 50 years from now?

Can you see why I don’t believe in secret societies and never chose to belong to one, even though I know they still exist and contribute in part to my being here today?

Keep The Dream Alive…

When your life is fully analysed, you and a robot are indistinguishable?

If you seek to quantify and qualify every nanosecond of your day, you are replaceable as soon as we turn your actions into algorithms and your thought processes into viable state machines.

Which makes the truth less meaningful when augmented reality is a rolling definition, like new scientific discoveries and memorable adverts written by robots for robots.

Relax, in other words. What’s the hurry to get to the future? Enjoy your inefficiencies — they make you you!

The hacks, they keep on coming — are you a “one hack” wonder?

When you want honey, do you make the bees angry before you pull out a piece of the hive?

The universe is here because I am here just like a paper cone is only paper until it is a speaker and what is a speaker without an audience?

Take two groups:

  1. The first group believes in the open and honest discussion of scientific methods.
  2. The second group believes in the civil discourse of sly competitiveness.

Both groups believe in the betterment of their respective societies/[sub]cultures.

However, a little problem occurs when one group uses the other’s subcultural norms for advantages within their own group.

Is it miscommunication?  Misappropriation?

How do they, together, benefit our whole species?

Because I believe the universe is here because I am here, I want, as long as I am happily able to think so, the species, our species, within our Earth-based ecosystem that has nurtured us for thousands, no, billions of years, to use this brief period of peaceful coexistence with the rest of the solar system to expand into the galaxy.

When I am gone, the universe is gone and none of this will matter to me because my set of states of energy as a recognizable entropic confluence will disperse but remain temporarily as memories in a small number of members of our species and even smaller number of members of other species, barely a footnote in the yellowed pages of old newspapers.

Does the universe make me happy as is?

I have learned that very few people change their behavioural patterns when allowed to wallow in their sorrow or anger, let alone convince other, happy, people to join them.

Yet, happiness for its own sake, like art and humour, does what, exactly?

If burning down a forest makes me happy, there will be a lot of people and members of other species who disagree, adamantly so.

If destroying an economy makes me happy, there will be a lot of people who agree as well as a lot who disagree.

What kind of happiness should we attain?

After all, we are a competitively cooperative species, sharing and hoarding, fighting and loving, all at the same time.

Our lives are short in length, some brighter and louder than others, some sadder, some happier, some kinder, some meaner, some in-betweeners.

Is there a shortcut to happiness that makes the universe beneficial to us all, regardless of our physical/mental condition(s)?

We are a nearly-fully connected species, the fractal spinoff of rudimentary central nervous systems, remodeling ourselves on bigger and bigger scales because we have no other workable model against which we positively compare ourselves within the known universe.

We talk about revolutionary and evolutionary changes in our socioeconomic activity on sub-sub-subcultural levels when the grand scheme hasn’t changed one iota: a species competing against itself because of a myopic view of the universe.

We realize, in rare glimpses, that we are part of the universe rather than living in an us-vs.-them scenario, “them” being you/self/God/universe/other.

Rather than bemoan, bedevil and punish people who hack computers/life/universe, let us look at the hacks from a species/universal perspective.

What am I gaining from those who circumvent my subcultural norms, the rules, both states and implied, that define me and the people happily living and perpetuating the subculture?

What am I losing, instead?

Can I turn the circumventers on their heads and reverse any damage they’ve caused?

How do I absorb the lessons they learned while they took/stole/[ab]used information from my open society?

Some people like clover honey and some people like sourwood honey.

How we get to the honey without disturbing the bees is the first step for any one of us to feed our wide variety of happy tastes and preferences.