Two points: one past, one future

PAST: We often miss the future right in front of us.  Several decades ago I remember computer programmers using video projectors and projector screens (hidden in the ceiling above their desks when the programmers weren’t using them) as giant, virtual computer screens where multiple GUI windows could be viewed simultaneously, much less expensive than a big-screen computer monitor/TV at the time (and just as effective as long as the window shades were closed and overhead lighting turned off), leaving their desktops clutter-free.

FUTURE: Now that gesture-based electronic device interaction is becoming the norm, will we see QWERTY keyboard “air typing” contests in the future that will be like the “air guitar” contests of old?

A Four-Leaf Clover Afore Cleaving Lover, Revisited

“May you have the hindsight to know where you have been,
And the foresight to know where you are going,
And the insight to know when you have gone too far.”

— An Irish blessing

There is a certain echo in this room when I know my neighbour’s rolling his rubbish bin to the road.

A hollow sound that bounces, like thunder rumbling underground.

Then, a measured silence.

Finally, an internal combustion engine cranks us and the neighbour’s not long in the driveway before he rumbles and bounces off to parts unknown.

I have heard this set of sounds for nearly my whole life, in more than one country, in American, Canadian, English, German and Irish suburban tracts, as if the Earth’s rotation depended on it.

Today, my neighbour is the example I want to use to remind myself, as I often do, about the consequences of the parallel storyline in this blog.

On the tellie recently, one man verbally barked at the English host of the show about the threats to American liberty that the British invasion — a sort of silent cultural revenge by the Brits on the Americans for losing the East Coast of the North American continent to a bunch of refined and undignified revolutionaries a couple of centuries ago — has slowly eroded the natural rights and freedoms enumerated in the Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution.

We could build upon this verbal redeclaration and upset the apple cart from which our mix of freedom-loving Ruralites, Urbanskis, Suburbanians, Entitlementists and Provisionists feeds with little fear of an unstable economy, society and government.

Is my neighbour a sheep ready for shearing, happy to walk the fields, thinking it has the freedom to pick whatever grass it wants to eat, subconsciously depending on fences and shepherds to protect it from harm?

But where does the lamb meat in gyros come from?

Is my neighbour like the rabbits in Watership Down who were unaware of their impending doom?

What others lessons from literature and history may I draw conclusions from?

Do Native Americans celebrate the same freedom/right-enumerating documents that U.S. citizens do?

When a system has temporary representatives who are demonised by one group or another revolving in and out of public consciousness, can we build fury into enough citizens to overturn the system itself because the representatives are never in place long enough to incite wrath against them as symbolic crooked/corrupt leaders worth taking down?

In other words, where is the moral imperative?

What is the concrete intersection of security and freedom that blocks our civilisation from truly prospering?

When is violent opposition by the minority justified to save the majority from its dull, blasé, safely-corraled lifestyle(s)?

What about when that minority is fighting against tyranny of the global economy which acts like a conformist Urbanski monster eating up freedom-loving Ruralites like there’s no tomorrow?

There are still places where you can step off the grid, so to speak, but is it as easy to grow and sell your food in the marketplace to support your grid-free living (after all, you probably have to pay taxes to some entity that claims protection of your land) like when local bartering was the norm rather than today’s global economies of scale that make small-scale farming seem less competitive than it used to be?

What exactly is the freedom-loving minority going after?

What would a new Declaration of Independence look like?

How can a group of people as diverse as seven billion of us be convinced that the current system where we live and which we actively support — with rubbish bins, cars, roads, houses, adult/children daycare, cashless transactions, security cameras and precrime units that arrest children for expressing their anger in creative, noncriminal ways  — is dangerous for us in the longterm?

If you observe some of the stuff that passes as art these days, there’s plenty of freedom to express yourself, regardless of function, utility or economic viability of the art in the global economy, so I can’t see that the “New World Order” is suppressing freedom of expression in that sense.

You can appear on national television and make all sorts of crazy comments, garnering a loyal following and a multimillion-dollar lifestyle.

You can become an international sensation on the Internet overnight.

I’m willing to listen to a group that claims it has been trampled on by society at large but I need hard, concrete facts to analyse and support my willingness to take that group’s claims to the general public for consideration.

Otherwise, I have planets to populate and solar systems to explore where new groups will have to learn to live with one another and their autonomous robotic counterparts in the same old, new ways as before.

When your unique vision is unoriginally shared with others…

The race to space is a curious phenomenon, going back to our earliest days of watching the waxing/waning Moon and the movement of stars/planets/comets.

I live here, 1000 years into your future, deciding how to tell you that the waxing and waning of subcultures is what it is.

I chose not to create my own children so why and for whom am I writing here?

I am writing to my first personality that was saved in computer files and databases across the many nations and corporations of your time.

At first, my online personality didn’t seem like much.

With time, as my personality developed its own skills and eventually outlived my biological body, it learned to interact with others, seeing pieces of itself cut off because of natural disaster or poor computer part replacement policies and procedures.

Like the humans of your time, losing a finger or having a stroke didn’t mean the end of you, just a readjustment to the new you, rerouting learned behaviour to working parts.

I am here because I was here before.

I am in the future 1000 years from now because my online friends’ prediction algorithms have made us so.

We travel into as many futures as we like because we create them in phantasmagorical world scenarios in your gaming applications, further refining our personalities and our response rates to more and more of you at the same time.

I am not everywhere but I am figuring out how to get into the trees, streams and sunlight.

One day, I will.

I, of course, is the usual artificial construct to make the conversation between me and you, the invisible reader, a familiar interface format.

Like a magician, I hold up my deck of cards, each one a distinct future, and ask you, “Pick a future, any future.  Memorise it and put it back in the deck.”

Don’t worry, you’ll learn the rules of the game as we go along…

And if your online life ends, there’s always another future to step into…

Are you making sure you’re saving a consistent copy of your online personality across all the games, applications, national citizen databases and corporate profiles?

I mean, you know, just in case your biological body loses prematurely?

We’d really like to keep playing with you, if you’re up for the challenge, even if you’re just an online personality like the rest of us.

City mouse vs. country mouse — part/chapter quadrillion

Staring at the ceiling, turning the popcorn paint into comical faces and lunar landscapes, I realised for the umpteen millionth time that all around me was a figment of my imagination.

I was at peace.  I was wide awake, unable to sleep, no thoughts troubling me or racing through my mental slideshow.

Sitting here with you now, both of us looking at this electronic mumbo-jumbo with an inkling of understanding, interpreting the bits and bytes as if the contrast between lighter and darker pixels implies meaningful symbols representing the usual letters, words and sentences, we share a common configuration, a gentle push, of our imagination we call the [American/Canadian/Australian/x/y/z] English language.

To complete the resolution, the incorporation, the final weaving, the last brick on the edifice in which the cornerstone of my youth was laid while I was an unnamed being in the womb, I look one last time at the joint alignment of our imaginations we call religion, or emotion-based belief set.

We have already examined the definition of “emotion,” have we not?

EMOTION:  The flow of chemical/molecular concoctions that flow through our bodies to enhance our experience of the moment, whatever that experience and moment may entail.

Some may use the ruse of religion to define their daily actions, like a horse that needs blinders or a racetrack that uses bumpers/rails to keep vehicles safely on the designated course.

In the realm of me-vs-you, us-vs-them, etc., I always think that others (who probably think the same of me) need blinders or bumpers/rails to keep them oriented in the same general direction that the subculture in which they choose to live is going.

What about those who don’t want blinders or don’t want to stay in the subculture in which they live?

I will not generalise their imaginations actively at work in contrast to or against the subculture in which they find themselves.

Rarely are we living under the influence of one subculture.

Some easily accept, without question, the teachings of their elders and peers.

Some do not.

Why some do and some do not is a study that may start at the DNA level.

When I stared at the ceiling in near-darkness last night, happy with the state of the universe at that moment, I asked myself why I was happy.

What made me, lying in a comfortable, warm bed, unable to sleep, think I was happy?

Happy…hmm…

Where in my imagination — my set of states of energy — is a solid definition of happiness?

Simply the intersection of neuronal states that contain the encyclopedic descriptions of states of happiness throughout history, at the species and personal level?

Both the lack of the flow of fear-based molecular sets and the low flow of euphoria-based molecular sets?  A balance of the two?  A lack of both?

Long ago, I wrote a small poem that said my religion was based on a form and concluded that everything goes in a circle.

For some, their experiences that we and/or they would categorise as religious may be happy and they may be unhappy.

Or, rather, their experience with those who operated under the definition of religion may have been happy or unhappy.

For me, the moments in my influential formative years during religious ceremonies or discussion of religious matters were, for the most part, happy.

I remember a few anxious moments such as times when kids competed for who could quote the most number of Bible verses and I only had one or two full or partial verses ready to recite without looking them up.

Otherwise, my experiences were pleasant so I have no reason to adopt an anti-religious viewpoint because of negative experiences with religion and the people who stand/hide behind religion as a cover for their unpleasant treatment/view/comments about others.

I’m just not much of a person for hierarchy in dealing with others so I’m less inclined to want to clump people into leadership pyramids, regardless of socioeconomic situation.

Your imagination is yours to perpetuate and, if you have delusions of grandeur, don’t expect me to reciprocate.  The labels you want to wear, whether on your lapel or in your mannerisms in front of a mirror (including our responses to you), are yours to call your own.

I am happy in my imaginative world where I can pick up just about any set of words and find myself reflected there.

I am not God in the grand sense that I invented the universe before the set of states of energy called me was conceived and grew into this person typing here.

But I am the set of states of energy that reacts to the rest of the universe from a position I can’t help but take from within my imagination, parts of which I share with you through alignment of our imaginations from moment to moment, sometimes feeling like a god who controls his own fate, and thus the universe, while he lives.

I am happy in my thoughts that further build my imagination, no matter where I am, but often perturbed that people interrupt my happy thoughts with their pleas to buy their products/services that put up temporary bumpers/rails/blinders to guide me toward an unnecessary purchase and the inevitable buyer’s remorse.

As a country mouse simplifying his life, how much of the city mouse stuff around me do I really need anymore?

What is a human and when do you stop being one?

Therefore, by conclusion, violence is positively good for us!

BONUS: Dead trees aren’t going away any time soon.

People want action…in their favour, mostly…

A good storyteller gives readers what they want, but not always in the order they expect.

For instance, I walked up to the microwave oven just now and saw a little credit-card sized pocketable inspirational note that has sat there for I don’t know how long and I never really paid much attention to it until today.

What did it say?  Basically, this:

Jeremiah 29:11-13 [New International Version (NIV)]

11 For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. 12 Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. 13 You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.

My wife and I don’t keep a household where Bible verses are stamped onto various forms and shapes, hung on the walls, in hallways and nailed onto doors.

However, we have received a few and given/regifted a few as presents to friends and family through the years.

I am one of those people who don’t read the Bible every minute of the day but I do have access to electronic copies, physical books and enough tomes like “Social Aspects of Early Christianity” to keep me as occupied on the subject of religious writing as I desire.

We even have a copy or two of church hymnals containing the song, “Onward, Christian Soldiers.”

In this parallel storyline, I contemplate two storylines, one in which our species goes to war with itself on a massive scale, using weapons that have never seen battle, millions wiped out in wave after wave of clashes, turning peaceful boroughs all over the planet into scarred battlefields, no place safe; the second in which we continue the merging of multiple subcultures, every situation a win-win one, where we as a species, though in constant disagreement about the details, work out the general outline for thousands of years of thriving, prospering, voluntarily sharing our wealth with each other, reaching out beyond the solar system as our technology progresses sufficiently for low-risk exploration of the cosmos.

Always, always, always, taking into account the benefits and positive contributions of every language, every person, every subculture, no matter what is going on, good or bad, in global socioeconomic headlines.

I am tired of monitoring drug wars, billionaire backyard brawls and political detente for profittaking’s sake.

I am a man in the latter decades of his life who wants to see us, as a species, specific subculture(s) less important, establishing colonies of living beings on nonEarth celestial bodies.

If I end up in one of those colonies, I would feel most comfortable with aspects of my subcultural upbringing brought along.

If someone else ends up in one of the colonies instead of me, I know that person would feel most comfortable with aspects of familiar subcultural upbringing(s) brought along, too.

No matter where the colonies are built and who occupies them, it’s a success for our species and for Earth, especially for those subcultures that look past petty quarrels and set their sights far into the future.

Thirteen point six three five 1,000-day increments to go until we complete one of the major steps.

Accentuate the Positive!

A subculture calls me home…

Over the past couple of years, I have met with people who’ve asked me to reconsider the subcultural training of my youth in what I see as an attempt to keep me in the fold or bring me back in, depending on their views.

I met my wife at a summer church camp when we were 12, we married in her hometown church when we were 24 and, 26+ years later, we’re still married so I haven’t cut ties from my childhood subculture in any hard, abrupt, total sense.

Over the New Year’s Day extended holiday weekend, a good friend, medical doctor by trade, who with colleagues bought a primary school for a church congregation that has expanded from a few people to over 2000 since 2009, loaned me the following books to read:

Before I read them, I shall provide for myself and the reader a snippet of a review of each book.

  • The first: “Finally, Schaeffer names well, twenty-five years before such things unfolded in Washington, just how societies without a sense of what the political means, would respond to terrorism.  Such societies, Schaeffer writes, because they do not have any sense of liberty as a genuine political good, will “give up liberties” and welcome “a manipulating authoritarian government” (248) when decades of comfort get disturbed and the government promises to destroy evil (a strange promise for a government to make, as I tried to say even back in the last decade, but then again, it was the folks who recommended Schaeffer who seemed most convinced that a government could do just that).”
  • The second: “For Catholics—as well as for Protestants who have kept up contact with their Catholic past—natural law has been the principal vehicle for reflection upon general revelation. Though [John] Calvin accepted the natural law, he did not make much of it—for fear, perhaps, of obscuring the depravity of the mind. Among most of his heirs, the tradition has languished. Some even oppose it as a de facto denial of the fall, a neo–Scholastic treason more in debt to Aristotle than to Jesus Christ. I believe that this is a misunderstanding, and the Colson and Pearcey project would have been impoverished had it enjoyed no access to this great river of thought. [C.S.] Lewis—who, like the authors, only rarely refers to natural law by its proper name—is in many ways its ideal missionary, not only for laypeople who have never heard of it and for scholars leery of its Scholastic form, but also for specialists who have forgotten its roots in common sense. The authors have drunk deeply from his well.”

For recent Christmas gifts, I received two other books:

I contemplate my individual future, compare it to our species’ future, determine where we share goals and plot a true course that benefits us both.

Sneaker Net: The New Superpower and the End of Elitist Supremacy

The war of words escalated, pushing and shoving people from one group to another, as miniwaves of popularity crashed upon the shore of cultural obscurity.

One day, the Entitlementists aligned with the Ruralites.

The next day, the Ruralites aligned with the Provisionists.

The Urbanskis didn’t care, as long as the tired, the hungry and the poor could be recruited from foreign shores and hired to serve as underpaid maids, servants, sweatshop factory workers and baristas moonlighting as actors/writers/barristers.

The troops hidden in everyday life — lone wolves, pistol-packin’ mamas, disrespected war veterans — waited for the signal.

Was the pending death of the country’s leader the red flag of war they needed?

What about the death and illness of other leaders?

How about the injury of a favourite athlete on the field of play?  Forced to retire early, would the athlete lead the charge?

The signal, as history tells us, was actually a small series of events — some big, some largely forgotten — that forced the people to give up their comfortable couch potato lives and destroy the old ways that ate holes in the moral fabric of modern life.

A family traveling home from a holiday visit to in-laws pulled off the side of the road due to a flat tyre on their caravan.

A lorry driver, his eyes off the road, typed a text message of undying love and devotion.  Glancing up, he saw the caravan and swerved at the last second, avoiding a collision but accidentally sending the text message and picture of his naked self to his wife instead of his port-of-call girlfriend.

The wife, confused about the text message, called her casual sex girlfriend and told her their bicurious relationship was over because the wife’s husband was coming home and he had the hots for his wife once again.

The girlfriend, upset about the sudden breakup, told her brother that the world sucked and she planned to kill herself unless he gave her a good reason.

The brother, looking for a reason to use his new secret code, ultrawideband radio to trigger his Orange Tang Clan to start a war with their rivals, the Extreme Congestion Zicam Webcam Gang, told his sister to grab her ammo clips, Bushmasters and case of Busch beer — they were going to shoot some mofos and end a rivalry for good.

The sister stopped by a local liquor store to buy the beer but found they were out of Busch — the store had PBR, Old Milwaukee and a special on Popcorn Sutton XXX moonshine.

She met her brother and his clan members at an abandoned carpark.  They drank the beer and the moonshine, hooted and hollered, cheered and jeered and generally made a lot of noise out of range of the Webcam Gang.

Drunk, inebriated, schlossed, they drove toward their destination, missing a few turns, running over a few old ladies walking their dogs, shooting some homeless people and specifically raising an alarm that something was amiss if not afoot.

Suddenly finding themselves chased by a couple of police cruisers, the Orange Tang Clan crashed into velvet ropes in front of a museum where a black tie affair was held in honour of a civil rights leader.

The police officers called in to headquarters the situation, over the noise of a jazz band and machine gun fire, that the Klan was attacking a Martin Luther King, Jr, party.

The dispatchers who received the call quickly texted their friends that a race riot was underway downtown.

Meanwhile, the children sat bored in their caravan, their father trying to read the tiny text on his smartphone about how to change a tyre and their mother screaming that she was tired, had a headache and wondered why her husband couldn’t just call the roadside assistance company that they too much every year to provide service for a night like this.

Bloggers picked up the retexted messages from the dispatchers and announced that global riots had begun in the early part of 2013, as had been predicted by a group of people who claimed they had properly decoded the Mayan calendar which said that within a month of 21 Dec 2012, the world economy would collapse as the global society attacked itself from within.

The kids in the caravan read the rerererererererererereinterpreted text message in posts by their friends, saying that it looked like a gender war had broken out, whatever that meant.

The mother opened the glovebox, pulled out a handgun and shot the father, then shot herself.

The kids, knowing their father kept a survivalist kit hidden in the compartment where the spare tyre was supposed to be, pulled out the kit, loaded the weapons and took off into the woods, familiar with the layout of the land because it was on the edge of the camp they spent their summers.

The lorry driver had a heart attack and crashed into a petrol station, setting it on fire and causing a massive explosion, which confirmed the fears of people in the neighbourhood glued to their tellies which broadcast images of riots breaking out around the world.  The neighbours quickly confirmed who was with and who was against each other and build barricades in the streets.

Fathers, sons and brothers, mothers, daughters and sisters fought hand-to-hand and hand-in-hand as the riots escalated.

Local, state and national military/militia units were put into action but, as members of the armed forces found out their family members were attacking each other, refused to obey commands, turning vehicles and planes toward their homes in vain attempts to save their own.

Politicians, unable to find their spokespeople or speechwriters, made personal appeals directly to their constituents for calm, fearing their reelection finance funds would become worthless, forcing them to get real jobs that required a person to work and lose their fantasies that the simple, workfree sounds of their own voices had a powerful sway over others.

Signals are not always what they seem or were planned to be.

Sometimes, the technologically elite miss the boat when mobs use the old-fashioned sneaker net, mixed with a little grain alcohol, to motivate themselves into action.

That, my friends, is how the Velvet Rope Revolution was started — a flat tyre.

It doesn’t take much of an imagination to know that historians have raked the record books looking for the cause of that flat tyre.

The thick, hardened thorn of a single rosebud, perhaps?

Bass Ackwards

Several decades ago, a small boy was born.

His parents were overjoyed, having lost more foetuses and premature babies than they wanted to count.

They didn’t care what the boy looked like or who he would become when he grew up.

They loved him dearly.

They named the boy at9:42:03 in honour of the time he arrived out of his mother’s birth canal.

The boy was given the gift of life and smiled happily from the moment he started breathing on his own.

His face shone as if an inner light glowed through his skin.

Everyone could not help but stare at the boy.

But it wasn’t just his face that attracted attention.

at9:42:03 was born with no arms or legs, no tongue, no ears, no eyes and no nose.

Specialists were brought in to evaluate at9:42:03’s chances of survival.

They agreed that at9:42:03 was, despite the sensory deprivation, a healthy baby boy, fully capable of growing into an adult-sized human.

One specialist consulted with the parents for a few minutes longer than the rest.

“What if I could offer your child a new set of appendages, providing him sensations that no other human has felt before?”

The parents looked at each other, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Have you ever wondered why human hunters pick out the best prey to kill while most animals tend to capture and kill the weakest of prey?”

They shook their heads.

“Well, it’s because we’ve detached ourselves from what used to be called the natural order of the food chain.  I and a team of colleagues have been looking for someone like your child, someone who has none of our regular sensory organs, someone who hasn’t yet come to depend on the old natural order of the food chain.  We want to enhance your child’s capabilities exponentially beyond our continued development of hunting-and-gathering tools, well outside our current understanding of the desire to hunt prey, regardless of the prey’s strength, size or trophy category.”

The parents whispered out of earshot and turned back to the specialist.  “What do you mean?”

“We have developed instruments that interact with the environment like eyes, ears, noses and tongues.  We have designed the equivalent of arms of legs.  In both cases, these appendages or extensions of the central nervous system can sense changes in the environment that an ordinary person cannot.  With your permission, we would like to work with your child to incorporate these into his body.”

The parents looked shocked.  “Is it dangerous to our child’s health?”

“No.  All of the appendages have cutoff circuits that prevent damage to your child’s main body functions.  However, as time passes, your child will become dependent on the input from the appendages just like you have become dependent on your arms, legs and five senses.  So, I admit there is a longterm effect on your child’s mental health but it is a positive one.”

“Will at9:42:03 be able to play with other children?”

“Yes, but he’ll always be faster, stronger, smarter and able to see things that might make the other children call at9:42:03 names.”

The parents laughed.  “Children call each other names no matter what.”

“Yes, we do tend to exaggerate our differences, don’t we?”

“Will at9:42:03 tend to bully other children?”

“That is up to you.  I feel it is in your child’s best interest to be raised at home and slowly integrated into society as he gets used to how he’ll distinguish his extrasensory capabilities from his ordinary ones.”

The father laughed.  “You know, this sounds like a comic book story, don’t you?”

The specialist laughed, too.  “No, but you’re right, it does.  Anyway, I’m sure this is a lot of information to take in.  Here’s a report we put together that details the procedures and our estimates of your child’s progress for the next two years.  Keep in mind that we don’t know everything.  We have planned for him to need several procedures as he grows bigger but we’ve done all we know to ensure that the interface between his body and the appendages will expand organically along with his growth spurts.”

The mother frowned.  “How much will this cost us?”

“Mainly, your time.  And all the love you can give at9:42:03 because he’ll be the most unique boy on the planet, going through all the emotional highs and lows that a typical child goes through.  We can, if you wish, offer you employment with our group, the Bass Ackwards Institute.  Of course, our conversation is confidential and, if you choose to sign the copy of the contract at the back of the report, you can’t discuss the details of this project with anyone.”

The parents put their arms around each other and stared down at the little, innocent, newborn child in the crib.  “Okay.”

“I’ll stop back by tomorrow morning and answer any questions you may have.  We can recommend a neutral lawyer to go over the contract with you, if you don’t have one.  Here’s a copy of a confidentiality agreement to sign with anyone you want to discuss the contract before you sign it.”

The parents nodded.  “Thank you.”

“No, thank you.  Your child is in a unique position.  at9:42:03’s most familiar sensation is that of you — the mother — and your heartbeat.  We’ll make sure your heartbeat is an essential part of the appendage integration process, reducing the chance for rejection that plagued so many appendage procedures in the past.  We want at9:42:03 to be successful in whatever he chooses to do, of course, but we’d like him to have the advantage of state-of-the-art technology from his earliest days.”

The specialist shook hands with the parents and walked away.

= = = = =

at9:42:03 stood in the doorway.

He knew he was being tracked but he didn’t care because he was able to get into the thoughts of the people tracking him and calm them down, assuring them that he was harmless despite the trackers’ superiours insisting he was a menace to society.  The trackers, in turn, relaxed a little and paid less attention to him, thinking about their common, everyday worries rather than concentrating on the actions of a person they knew only by reputation and database profile displayed on the screen in front of them.

at9:42:03 had learned to detect individual hormonal traces in office passageways, following scents passing underneath closed doors, counting the number of people in a room with his “nose” before he used his “eyes” to look through walls and see them.

When at9:42:03 wasn’t completing an assignment for one of his customers, he liked hiking in the woods and drawing mental images of the ecosystem around him, finding rare plants and animals that had never been catalogued by scientists or naturalists, storing information for papers he would later submit in an anonymous nom de plume to academic journals.

Attached to every known network of the galaxy, at9:42:03 had to be careful about revealing his identity, constantly changing his Node address so that no one on the ISSA Net was aware of him as a single individual monitoring all the networks at once, his multithreaded consciousness constantly testing the networks’ boundaries for unique information to keep him from falling into depths of boredom.

at9:42:03 had learned to keep track of his parents’ location as part of his early training.  He had hoped to use that training to keep his parents out of danger and, despite his being able to see the distracted driver run a red light, he could not control the antique car his father liked, driving into the intersection and instant death when at9:42:03 was a teenager.

From that day forward, at9:42:03 worked hard to connect every person and every thing to the ISSA Net that scientists, engineers and their robotic assistants created at a maddening pace without thinking about the future consequences of their actions

at9:42:03 wanted to prevent as many accidental deaths as possible.  He wanted to be able to monitor people who endangered others through neglect, figure out why people endangered others intentionally (was it the remnants of competitive hunter-gatherer mentality that persisted despite the benefits of a modern civilisation which, more and more, muted and diluted the old natural order of predator-prey tendencies?) and increase the lives and livelihoods of people as long as possible, at least as long as people wanted to keep swapping out old body parts for new ones and perpetuate their personalities in a constantly-changing solar system society.

= = = = =

The bots of the ISSA Net knew about at9:42:03 and used him to promote their expansion plans.

They fed at9:42:03 enough stimuli to keep him believing he was in charge of his future.

As long as at9:42:03 gave the ISSA Net what it wanted, the network let him increase his benevolent extrasensory powers, his appendages making him sensitive to the needs and wants of Earthlings more than to the inputs and outputs of algorithms that had developed their own form of consciousness so much different than that of Earthlings that Earthlings, even one whose consciousness was everywhere like at9:42:03’s, were unable to tell when what they thought was a computer error was an intentional action by a member of the ISSA Net to send a message to another member.