A Terrorist Tower of Babble Rabble in Runes

Life is one long conversation with the universe, n’est pas?

In shocking news earlier today, the Government Subcommittee for the Management of Fear in the Masses announced that marketers, marketing departments, adverts, advertisers, advertising departments, public relations firms, newspaper/magazine/book publishers/editors/writers, film producers/makers/staff/actors, videographers, photographers, financial institutes, stock traders (human and electronic) who short shares, money lenders, librarians, museum curators and memorabilia/nostalgia collectors are officially labeled as traitorous terrorists — they should be considered extremely dangerous to the wellbeing of all persons, businesses and governments and reported to death squads without hesitation.

Any activity resembling the above, no matter how innocent, including geotagging your location at a place of business, writing a positive/negative review of a product/service you recently purchased, commenting about the news (weather, sports, politics, religion, arts, lifestyles, etc.), or using a product/service in public is deemed suspect.

Anyone caught not reporting such suspicious activities and/or persons are accessories to traitorous terrorism and will receive extra punishment as a reward.

Every violator may be eliminated on sight, no questions asked by the authorities.

If this does not generate sufficient fear in the masses, private/government spying will increase exponentially until you look forward to dying and meeting your Maker/Great One(s), the omniscient/omnipotent Being(s) who knows all your thoughts/lusts/desires/sins/mistakes and will punish you lovingly for them, Heaven/Nirvana having been filled with the first 100,000 worshippers millennia ago as promised, no room for the rest of us, who are now merely playthings of the Maker/Great One(s).

Those who are able to create their own Maker/Great One(s) are exempt from the above law and may proceed without fear throughout society unscathed.

Always a fun situation

Two political points:

  1. Many in the U.S. Congress are lame ducks, with no aspirations for a political future, meaning they can make waves in the days before their legislative duties are complete.
  2. In a way, Obama is a lame duck because he can’t be reelected for his political office.  So, for the rest of the world, there are four years to cause havoc and mayhem that put the insurance company adverts in perspective.

Let the games begin!

Mass Hypnosis as a Hobby

Training microorganisms to travel between hosts was the easy part.

Getting them to work their way into position, waiting for messages that told the little buddies where to act when…well, that was the safety pin in the flypaper ointment remover.

Kathryn stood in front of the mirror, spinning on point, her skirt twirling in the air like a whirling dervish.

“What are you writing?”

“Our manifesto.”

“Better than the last?”

“Yes.”

She continued her dance practice, an imaginary partner held in her arms.

“You know, this would be a lot more fun if you joined me in the dance sphere.”

I looked up at the wall between us, a one-way mirror.

“Indeed. But it’s easier for me to concentrate here on my writing, sitting in a low-gravity field, than in the zero-gravity sphere.”

She sighed.

“I wish we’d’ve paid for the thought concentrator upgrade for you.  Do you know how many of my friends have more fun dancing with their partners, who are working fulltime in their thoughts while preparing for the Inner Solar System Dance-off?”

“Hmm…let me see.  A new dance sphere or a thought upgrade?  Didn’t we agree the sphere was a better investment?”

“Sure.  IF YOU EVER JOINED ME IN HERE!”

Her voice echoed, carried through the wall without need for a sound amplification system.

At first, we programmed microorganisms to attach “naturally,” using atomic interfaces like jigsaw puzzle pieces.

But we wanted a more advanced method of rewiring neural pathways, a means of largescale reconfiguration.

An amateur scientist, working in collaboration with several online amateurs, made the discovery that we bought before it hit the lowlevel interests of bored dilettantes looking for the latest gizmos to brag they had invented but hadn’t introduced to the public yet.

We should have seen it ourselves but, if you can’t outinvent ’em, then outbid the competition!

We can send a batch of microorganisms into a crowd, direct the little buddies toward specific people to “infect” and, like precise surgery, remotely move the microorganisms into place for later activation, completely avoiding overt, obvious, subliminal messaging that can be recorded and analysed by our enemies.

“Darling, is this another one of those manifestos that’s meant to divert the attention of our opponents?”

“Yes, dear.  I figure if I can fill up the thoughts of the other dance teams, they won’t be able to concentrate on their dancing, despite their latest, upgraded versions of thought concentrators.  There’s more than one way to skin a cat in freefall!”

Countdown to infinity by halves

Dr. G. Brottel bent his knees and leaned back.

Neill, his dance instructor nodded.  “Yes, young man.  That’s exactly how you do it — chin up, look past your partner’s right ear and slightly point your right shoulder to hers, your hips straight.”

Galdous followed the instructions, just as he had followed instructions during his years at university, culminating in his dissertation, “Applying The Lamaze Method Aboard An L5 Society Geostationary Observation Station Boosted To An Earth-Moon Lagrange Point.”

This, of course, fed his interest in leading his partner, Yui, around the dance floor.

Mimicry circuitry in his central nervous system sped up his learning.

At night, he and Yui watched each other watch a 3D video which enhanced their sympathy learning of the moves in a weightless acrobatic encounter combining waltz, tango, Lindy hop, Balboa and East/West Coast swing.

By the end of their work shift the next day, their supplemental brain systems had worked out the coordinated muscle movements needed for smooth swaying on the spherical dance surface.

Yui, assigned to him and he assigned to her at birth, along with several alternative matches based on known genetic symmetry, melted into his arms as they spun “in the air” while holding the formal dance frames required for interplanetary competitions they planned to win.

Having grown up in adjoining educational centres but, not allowed to constantly interact like siblings, which tended to discourage the compatibility of their genetic material for later replication needs of the space colony, they had just enough similar phys-ed workout routines that meant they could anticipate each other’s moves without thinking.

Guinevere, a theoretical science university student and specialty dance instructor from Moon Base Amber Road, made mental notes about Galdous and Yui’s trajectories.

Her mental notes were sent to a supercomputer which adjusted the subroutines that would generate the next dance video for Galdous and Yui to watch that evening.

Guinevere, working on her PhD, the dissertation preliminarily titled, “Recalibrating Rocket Propulsion Guidance Systems Using Realtime Algorithm Remodeling of Neural Network Flow Diagrams,” general enough to give her flexibility with her university sponsor, had found that teaching others the dance steps she had learned during physical rehab not only helped her repair skeletomuscular damage from a bad spaceship smashup but also reinforced the pathways of her upgraded organic wireless circuitry.

In other words, practice what you preach, do what you say and say what you do, be a do bee, and go with the flow, as her therapist liked to say in mock repetition.

Guinevere held out her arms and Neill kicked off the floor toward her.

“Here’s what I mean, Galdous.”  Neill cupped his palm and placed it in the small of Guinevere’s back.  “Lift your left arm and gently push Yui forward.  Yui, bend your knees to your chest, balling yourself up, and spin around Galdous’ waist.”

As Guinevere spun around Neill’s waist, she remembered a mistake in her recent classroom experiment calculations, which meant that the student satellite they had launched yesterday was going to miss its target.

She closed her eyes and focused on correcting her mistake.

If she could work out the logic in the next few seconds, she just had time to send the new algorithm to the Moon for automatic coding, then routed to the satellite for reprogramming.

Later, while Galdous and Yui watched their evening dance instruction video, a student satellite performed a series of maneuvers in space that oddly resembled the steps in the instructional video.

Only Guinevere knew what was going on, silently laughing to herself as she explained to her fellow students recording the satellite’s path that she had invented a new method of optimising a satellite’s stress test by putting strong centripetal forces into effect that pushed the physical limits of the satellite, including triaxial shear test methods employing all six degrees of freedom at once.

Lee Colline managed the lives of everyone on the space station.

He paid attention to all communication between the station and bases throughout the solar system.  A pattern matching program alerted him to the accidental conjoining of Guinevere’s dance instructions and satellite reprogramming.

Lee ordered a review of future upgrades to all persons working and/or living on the station.

Although Guinevere’s “accident” had caused no harm and, in fact, may have led to a new discovery, he had to make sure that the next accident didn’t adversely affect the station.

The immediate application of basic science to practical living had long bothered Lee, who thought that some amount of peer review should separate the two after the Great Cataclysm had demonstrated the fallacy of shortterm economic subsystem profits over the longterm needs of the whole ecosystem.

Who, though, understood that socioeconomic systems rarely used peer review as a safety measure the way that scientists had long agreed peer review was necessary for protection against false claims and inaccurate conclusions?

He mentally wrote an emergency measure that would be reviewed by the Committee for implementation across the Solar System Space Station Network: “All student experiments must align their policies with the Post-Great Cataclysm Procedures for Protection Against Instant Gratification.”

See fungi lunge at lungs in the fun guy!

When I was a kid in public school, competing with my peers for getting anointed by the class sage (i.e., the teacher), I discussed “grownup” issues with my friends.

Politics, business, healthcare, family finances, etc.

Yet, discussing is not the same as knowing, just like when I and a fellow Boy Scout, in our midteens, taught archery for a Cub Scout day camp one summer.

Wed overheard two Cub Scouts and a pre-Cub Scout (what they call Tiger Cub Scouts now) talk about a “birds and bees” discussion between parents and an older sibling of one of the Scouts.

They were so thrilled to use grownup words that few of them had heard before to describe sexual contact but had no idea what they meant.

As archery instructor, I chose to steer the boys’ conversation to the use of a bow and arrow, a practical conversation with immediate results.

They were too young to understand the words they used, except that the words had importance amongst their more knowledgeable siblings and must mean something.

Almost 40 years later, I ask myself when is a word or idea relegated (and regulated) to the “age appropriate” standard?

In the news lately have been revelations about sexual predators in the ranks of Boy Scout leaders.

I consider myself fortunate by comparison.

Our Cub/Boy/Explorer Scout leaders made any references to sexual activity off-limits.

To be sure, some Scouts would ask each other questions about girlfriends as they got older but there was never, for lack of a better word, any impropriety between leader and youth during my Scouting days, which included local (weekend campouts), regional (Boy Scout camp) and [inter]national (Jamboree) events.

In fact, my fellow camper at the National Scout Jamboree in 1977 was Robert Lincoln, a General Sessions Court Judge w/ Juvenile Court Jurisdiction, who cared for special needs children even when we were Boy Scouts, helping in the summer during the week devoted to special needs children at Camp Davy Crockett.

When I look around at the personalities of our seven billion members of our species, I know that no single form of upbringing is perfect for every personality.

Our genes have an influence upon us that become more and more apparent as DNA genome analysis becomes cheaper and more readily available, making us aware of our foetus’ future even decades later, let alone at birth.

Right now and up to the 6th of November, I’m going to keep hearing about appeals to get my vote for political candidates who make promises that we all know they can’t keep, but they influence my thought patterns with their empty promises, anyway, as I encounter mass media in daily activity, where political adverts, op-ed analysis columns and news stories are promoted.

Based on our genes, our upbringing and our subsequent, slightly-changing personalities as we get older, who are the “grownups” in the room during the rest of this election season or perennially, for that matter?

Who amongst us is wiser than the fungi growing on the dead tree limb outside the window in the chilly autumn air this morning?

Do we have enough information about adults in their socioeconomic roles to say that, like Aldous Huxley’s “Brave New World,” we can look at their genes and determine how to assign newborns to training programs based solely on their DNA profiles?

Would I have known 25 years ago whether an adult person today would find this story about stadium-sized religious worship or this opinion about public “get out the vote” behaviour more interesting?

What about identifying sexual predators at birth?  If we can accomplish that, and keep them away from healthy activities like Scouting, how do we make them viable members of society the rest of their lives, knowing their propensity for unacceptable/antisocial behaviour?  What if parents were told with 99.999% accuracy that their child would be a psychopath or sociopath causing irreparable damage to the society they know and love?  What decisions are they allowed to make then?

I’ll carry this thought to the next subject currently in the news: if government mandated abortion purely for socioeconomic purposes, would a person’s life finally only have a socioeconomic value that is quantified, bought and sold from conception?

Doctor: “I’m sorry, future parents, but we’ve already exceeded our limit of the socioeconomic quota for your subculture and its propensity for a specific religious preference.  We have ordered a mandatory abortion for your foetus, effective immediately.  Guards, take them away.  Nurse, please place a sterilisation order for the couple to prevent any ‘unplanned’ pregnancies by them off the grid.”

Nurse: “Yes, doctor.  Like our global economic leader proudly proclaims…”

Together: “‘We control the balance of power from conception to death by preserving the well-maintained path of our officially-designated pursuit of happiness.‘”

The Future is Calling But is It a Wrong Number?

Some books of my father wait to be catalogued and read, a few based on war and spying.

Is a civilisation a sign of its architecture or the other way around?

When we survey the megalopolises that attract people like moths to a flame, how does the data sort out?

The boxes and cubes,
the donuts and folds,
the windows and doors,
the ceilings and floors.

Their general purposes.

Our general intentions.

We tear down buildings that no longer profit us when the footprint is more valuable for deeper/taller skyscraping monoliths.

A few pyramids and burial mounds remain from the thousands that once existed.

We pour prehistoric plants and animals for roads between cities that grow like slime mold, tendrils stretching for miles and miles.

Roads that fade into history as the oases that feed civilisations die out and sprout dies.

Dies and molds,
Forms and shapes,
Injections and cuts,
Diaphanous and cold.

When two or more generations separate us from war, what will our descendants think about civilisations — their competition for primary cultural status in architecture, for instance?

“The laser’s red glare/The bombs bursting in air…”

In this post-nationalist, one-global-economy world, we still talk about the brand effects of nations.

We expect that powerful lasers will protect our ships and our borders, slicing bullets in half and cutting planes/drones/UAVs to pieces.

“Look out for the hazardous debris falling from the sky!” cried Chicken Little presciently, paraphrasing.

Speaking of borders, our crackpot scheming pseudoscientists devised a method to protect borders from tunnels — causing pinpoint earthquakes that unsettle the ground several hundred metres in any direction, shifting the soil around reinforced smuggling tunnels, hopefully collapsing them without knowing they’re there.

Are we ever in as much danger as we hear security companies try to sell us that we are?

What is the percentage chance that your home will be broken into?

Have you or anyone you know ever been robbed or mugged?

Has anything been stolen from you?

Have you stolen anything (including office material and work hours from your employer)?

As we create the next generation of our species, we take these questions into consideration.

Can we genetically encompass a moral compass?

What about a lack of fear of others?

It’s easy to create a new species of spider which has no moral compass.

Like we’ve discussed, “eat and/or be eaten” rules Earth, a moral compass unnecessary.

How much of a civil society do we need when our DNA is significantly modified to handle new offworld environments?

How does one carve a niche when one’s genetic code designates one’s predilected destiny?

How much education can we cram into our genes?

What is the ideal citizen in 2037, 25 years from now, not far from an imaginary moment in Unix history?

Adaptable, of course.

What else…?

Who is Felicia Day and why have I never heard of her before today?