Vaccinated for diplomatic immunity

SO, here’s the story so far…

The Urbanki Bureaucracy, fearing its populace, has fallen right into the hands of the Ruralites’ plan to demonstrate they’re being oppressed by “The Man.”

How?!, you might ask.

Let us look at the recent facts in the storyline and tell you what could happen next.

First, paranoid suspicion of an indefinable entity such as a large bureaucracy is, like fear of the dark, a natural reaction by many.

The imagined hierarchy of bosses in a large corporation.

The terrible police and paramilitary troops that patrol your province, their faces hidden behind uniforms and equipment.

The social hierarchy and anarchy of insects that swarm in dark spaces underneath your domicile.

These fears are as inbred in us as any tribe isolated in the densest forest.

Where there is fear, there is also the chance for escape.

Let us take two data points from the same source, for an example.

Look at this guy, James Yeager, who exercised his free right to express himself but, the local state bureaucracy, so full of itself and fearful of its people all coming to the same conclusion, decides to take away the guy’s gun ownership permit.

Well, a funny thing happened on the way to the forum comments afterward.

James has many options.

First of all, the ACLU can step in to defend James’ rights.

Second, James can accept an offer from the “country” of NSK for immediate citizenship and a diplomatic position in its tiny bureaucracy, which leads to James having diplomatic immunity for ownership of his arsenal.

James might have to give up his U.S. citizenship and move his property into an estate or trust but…

Guess what!

As a martyred exile in his former country, James becomes a beacon of escape for his other oppressed patriots.

As more and more patriotic exiles join NSK for the sake of protecting themselves against the entrenched tyranny of bloated, overtaxing and indefinable bureaucracies, the NSK will be the first nongeographical country to declare war on a geographical country, opening up the door for the Inner Solar System Alliance to publicly announce its existence in order to declare all nonEarth territory offlimits to claims of ownership or protection by Earth-based bureaucracies, to prevent further land-based wars.

Wars based purely on ideology will continue unabated.

Meanwhile, a secret executive committee commissioned for consideration of calamities to cause after the next Urbanski Bureaucracy inauguration has released a preliminary agenda that shocked the pundits who were allowed to briefly glance at the agenda written in 2-point font.

From what they saw but cannot officially talk about, the Bureaucracy plans to incite the anger of the populace more and more and then, at the right moment, divert attention from itself by saying the primary goal of its first administrative term of office was to flush the LGBT and illegal immigrant community out into the open so that angry, armed citizens could easily identify these communities as causes for whatever problems the citizens believe are inflicted on them by the Bureaucracy.  The Bureaucracy will imply but not state that no harm will come to armed citizens if they take the law into their own hands for a brief time to eliminate the “cause of their problems” as long as it’s not directed directly at the Bureaucracy.

The Bureaucracy did not detail whether NSK citizens were included in the announcement.

One of the signals they will send to signify this brief window of opportunity will appear in the classified section of one of the few profitable newspapers still being printed in the U.S.:

“In The Loop” + “Salt” = “Falling Down”

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.

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!

For years…

For years, I thought an intellectual conversation had to include dissecting the meaning of the universe and debating the [non]purpose of life.

Then, at the suggestion of a friend, I checked a few books out of the library, books written by or about David Foster Wallace.

After reading the material, I came to the conclusion there’s no reason to read his writings anymore because DFW committed suicide, which in itself is the logical conclusion of all the arguments and observations he made in his writing.

Thus, as I have thought before but never articulated, an intellectual conversation can emphatically state or totally ignore the meaning of the universe and the [non]purpose of life.

I won’t go as far as saying that the writing/artwork/music/biographies of people who committed suicide should be banned, burned and/or buried.

I do suggest that we take into serious consideration the conclusion the suicidal people reached in their thoughts, less so for those within a short, miserable ending of a terminal illness, whatever we may [not] wish to call a terminal disease.

If a person created anything — a bridge, a computer, a spaceship, a novel, a quilt, a child — and then later committed suicide, the creations are part and parcel of the suicidal thoughts, are they not?

It is one thing to muse on the futility of our individual lives, and quite another thing to end our lives, regardless of our auspicious or suspicious beginnings.

What, next, about career suicide or similar forms of cutting off oneself from societal ties?

There are no failures.  There are no successes.  There is only what we choose to do next.

For me, there are 13,637 days until the next big step, despite momentary distractions that loom large in temporary comparison.

If a person ends his life, there is no “next” left.

DFW’s writings are absent from my future because he chose to absent himself from the present — I respect his right to say goodbye to my life.  I say goodbye to his.

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.

What is religion?

Cultural anthropologists observe line of vehicles at petrol station, assume the vehicles are receiving tinctures of holy temple oil, declare petrol stations the ultimate church/temple/mosque/synagogue.

Pull up, receive instant blessing, and drive off — that’s the kind of drivebys we need these days!

The more change in your pocket, the more your pocket stays the same.

The Old Man in the Cabin

When I walked into the sunlight to eat a banana as part of my daily ritual to get outside of the house at least once a day, the construction workers next door tended a small bonfire to burn scraps leftover from remodeling, mainly short pieces of wood.

A goldfinch in winter plumage hopped onto the tree limb near me and chirped away, expecting me to scoop up some birdseed and fill the feeder in the backyard.

The blue reflection of the sky domed me in, sunlight warming my pants and then my legs but not enough to take away the chill of freezing air around me.

When did I become this old man whose sympathy neurons were so overdeveloped from years of having to be on my toes, reacting to my father’s whims, his bursts of pent-up anger that seemed to come out of nowhere, that I don’t want to mingle with others because I have a bad habit of reading their movements in an attempt to gauge their thoughts in case they, too, would physically release their passive-aggressive volcano of internalised emotion-based thoughts or attack verbally?

I am a mischievous peacemaker, the devil’s advocate, whose raison d’être was to be constantly on the lookout for information to keep my father at bay, entertaining him while he was with me, paying attention to the conversations around us to steer people away from setting off my father.

I loved my father but to be with him, he who was the product of his parents’ and grandparents’ personality quirks, was to suppress my personality quirks that tended to set him off.

I look at myself and wonder how many of us are like me.

How many of us naturally respond to the behaviours of others just to avoid controversy?

I want to feel special, thinking I am the one and only me, but I know my set of states of energy is made of the same stuff as everybody else’s, sharing a large portion of subcultural as well as genetic traits with subsets, most especially those nearest me.

I am the two, three, four, x, y, z-dimensional intersection of subsets known and unknown.

My reaction to others is to immediately suppress my personality and figure out which subsets we have in common; then see if I can mentally predict the behaviours of the people around me not only in our conversation but also in events past and future.

The mischievous side of me sees what I’m doing, or what I know someone will do, and tries to stop it with a humourous interlude.

So many people take life too darn seriously when we know we’re all going to die.

I have grown into the old man in the cabin in the woods because I am now my father.

I ended up adopting his nonassertiveness when it comes to handling emotional responses to contradictory information from which I cannot pick or decide to choose a behaviour to exhibit in my repressed personality mode.

The most successful people, children AND adults, have spent many, many hours in training, learning from their mistakes and building upon their lessons.

Success itself is a rutted road, or the belief that one will keep one’s momentum pointed down the path of success, in whatever venture one seeks.

Habits, in other words.

My habits from early childhood were developed in response to my father, a man willing to use a belt or the back of his hand to serve justice immediately, with rarely a delay (my mother used the phrase “wait until your father gets home” sparingly).

When I was younger, I asked myself, “When do I get to be me?,” as if there was another person inside me wanting to get out.

At my workplace over the years, I attended a couple of assertiveness and anger management classes to get a better understanding of who people like me are.

I turned my assertiveness training into developing myself as a lead engineer, supervisor and then manager.

I learned that if I wanted to assert myself and was willing to face the consequences of my actions, no one would stop me because…you can guess where this is going…most of us are responding to others and repressing our personalities for the sake of the common good.

The secret to success is there is no secret to success.

All of us have habits that benefit some more than others, that’s all.

When I was an engineering manager, I wanted to hire an engineer who made more money than me.  My boss and the human resources manager told me that the system doesn’t work that way.  Either they had to increase my salary above that of the potential new hire or we couldn’t offer her a job unless it was at a lower salary.

Being a good midlevel manager not wanting to rock the boat, I extended a lower salary offer to the engineer and she declined after we couldn’t find any other negotiating points like a shorter workweek and/or flexible workday to make her hourly rate equivalent to what she was already making.

At that point in my career, I realised that I was on the wrong career track or perhaps working for the wrong company.

I never was a socioeconomic hierarchy climber.

I simply had my personal way of reading and reacting to the behaviour of others that made them feel good about themselves in the same way I treated my father, habits established in my formative years and refined as I got older.

I spent my whole life reacting, reacting, reacting and decided that if my only reward for reacting to others was to be given higher salaries and more people to manage, then I needed to stop reacting and become proactive, whatever that meant.

The only way to do that was to remove myself from social situations and place myself here in front of this electronic input device.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Money buys me stuff but it never bought me prestige, it lifted me out of poverty and gave me enough luxury to satisfy my wants as well as my needs.

As we get older, our tastes change in relation to our age, societal status, family needs and reactions to a world full of overstimulating mass marketing.

At my age, the illusions now propagated by the Internet are as much a part of my life as physical realities.

My needs and wants are largely met by the reflected and beamed light of an LCD panel just as the needs and wants of the previous generation were largely met by the reflected and beamed light of a television tube, interrupted by paper-based books/magazines, breaking the monotony with retail shopping/eating therapy.

What will the next generation spend time doing in their old age after they’ve spent their youth and young adult years saying they aren’t like their parents but becoming them anyway?

How did your formative years train you for the success you’re experiencing right now?

How will your influence upon your children’s formative years feed their success?

How does this translate to subcultures, cultures, the global economy and civilisations over thousands of years?

That’s all for today — time to listen to the wind and see what its “personality” tells me will happen next in our society in some fuzzy way that comes out comically on these blog pages.

What else do you see when you look in the mirror?

Lee slipped into his disguise and entered the world of a subculture.

He was looking for the answer to a question: “Why do stories start with ‘A long time ago…,’ ‘In a galaxy far, far away…,’ etc.?”

He also wanted to know why subcultures store large number of weapons and never use them to protect themselves except in verbal defensive posturing positions (imagine two dominant members of a different species squaring off like peacocks strutting their feathers to prove their reproduction capabilities which have no value in defense against a hungry wolf) while their subcultures are slowly reduced by the onslaught of subcultures not like theirs, either intentionally or compressionally by the superiour sheer weight/size of neighbouring subcultures.

In modern parlance we call this détente, or mutually assured destruction when the weapons have seriously huge destructive capacity.

Lee looked at his disguise in the mirror but he didn’t feel like the character he was going to portray.

He needed to feel the character — the burning anger, the raging fear, the desire to grab the reins from polite, noncommitted leaders, refusing to negotiate their ongoing debate about the nuances of a truce with a perceived enemy, put the metal, the disguise, to the test and charge into battle.

The wind howled outside.

Water filled the trenches.

Battle-hardened foot soldiers looked at Lee wondering if he was the one to bare his chest to the enemy and dare them to light the fuse that would ignite the war the soldiers on both sides craved once more.

The courtiers and patsies of the king’s court had grown too soft living too long off the fat of the land and Lee knew they were outnumbered by the hungry and starving willing to die for a greater cause than feeding just another set of pigs running whatever version of Animal Farm they were selling to the highest bidder.

Lee adjusted the disguise.

Was it an actor’s costume?  A uniform?  The emperour’s new clothes?

With whom did Lee’s sympathies lie?

For whom would Lee lie, if necessary, to achieve the greater cause that made his efforts worth overthrowing yet another monarchy that cloaked itself in the power of the people, the tyranny of the majority, a supermajority of minorities this time?

The only way to know was to lose himself in the words and actions of the subculture.

Then, when completely immersed, lost in the crowd, rise up, climb the wall that separated the haves from the have-nots, and announce his intent.

Lee looked in the mirror.

He saw his parents’ and grandparents’ faces.

He saw the mannerisms and silent strength of his father, the wisdom of modest humbleness in his mother.

Lee walked to a hill behind his hut and practiced shouting, listening to the echoes around him.

He heard a few returned shouts as if they were mere reactions to his shouts but no echoing call for real battle.

Lee returned to the hut and contemplated what was next.

Many subcultures had claimed they saved, preserved and nurtured the links of civilisation for the next generation.

Several family members in Lee’s lineage had recorded their own facts that validated their rightful place, if modest, in the course of history.

Lee knew the judgment of his generation was not sufficient to determine if his future actions were justified.

Lee needed more, a longer view.

He called upon his advisors who used a variety of means to provide Lee cumulative wisdom upon which he could set a future course — supercomputers, online consensus of commentators both professional and amateur, crystal balls, ancient texts, divinations and mysterious methods shrouded from the light of day.

Lee pondered his advisors’ input.

Lee was a man of action.

Lee imagined he saw the impetus for the behaviour of his peers they could not fathom.

Lee not only dug deep within himself to feed a storyline, he also competed against his peers for the place of highest moral ground in history, knowing it would be civilisations hence, uncountable, unknowable, for whom he worked the puppet strings of characters in his lifetime.

Lee let the raw emotions of fear, love, hate, and compassion flow through his body unchecked.

Limbs flew across the yard, Lee unable to stop the wind.

Lee looked in the mirror, asking himself, “If I was the one who could stop the wind, what would I call this disguise I’m wearing?”