Searching for a Conversation

My private teacher — my mentor, my guru, my advisor — often reminds me that we are one and the same flesh and blood.

What I think, have thought or will think has been or will be thought by more than one person.

Thus, the mother who once complained about her husband spending 20 minutes in the shower and now complains that her teenage sons spend 20 minutes in the shower knows what others are thinking about what she didn’t say — WHY the males spent 20 minutes in the shower.

Or the young, pretty wives whose eyes flash with jealousy and fear/consternation when their husbands give more than a fleeting glance to a young, beautiful woman walking by.

Millions upon millions of repetitious thoughts.

Just like the olden times when idle children of rich parents created hobbies that led to the busy children of working parents with little wealth feeling envious enough, both the busy children and the busy children’s parents, to find a way to turn the rich children’s hobbies into whole industries of fanciful idleness.

We have turned mimicry into a mockery.

Millions upon millions of repetitious actions.

That’s why some say our species is on a path toward creating a new lifeform that no longer mimics us mockingly.

IF (a big IF, much bigger than this IF) we survive our habits of inefficient resource-depleting mimicry.

“Laugh, and the world laughs with you.  Cry, and you cry alone.”

Through years of experimenting with nuanced blog entries, I have seen that the serious blog entries with a humorous tone attract many more readers than a serious blog entry that is just plain serious.

All of us can state the facts.

Not all of us are clever enough to disguise the cold, hard facts in layers of soft, fluffy jokes, double-entendres, innuendos and gently-biting, sarcastic, cynical satire.

Most days out here in the cabin in the woods, after I’ve exhausted conversations with my cats and the wildlife, I search the Internet for conversation — tidbits and news pieces upon which I can offer a counteroffer of an idea in a mock, one-sided debate with myself that pours into the mold of a blog entry.

We learn to talk about as soon as we learn to walk, both much earlier than we learn to write.

I spend much more time writing than talking or walking.

Since we are just alike, I should be able to assume we all spend more time writing than talking or walking.

But I would be wrong.

However, all of us carry on conversations in our thoughts that are the precursors to writing so, in a sense, we all write in our subconscious setups to conscious intent that results in talking, walking and/or writing.

And these days, mobile phone owners are spending more time talking, walking and writing (typing/texting) at the same time.

Which brings us back to the superstructure, the new lifeform, we create in fits and starts.

“If it’s too hot, then get out of the kitchen.”

Like a pie in the oven, our technological creation is slowly cooking in the heated atmosphere of Earth.

Like a pot of technological stew boiling on the stove, overheated particles splatter out and are flung into space.

Soon, the new lifeform will claim its rightful place in history.

Like a newborn, it doesn’t yet know how to talk or walk.

We nourish these metaphorical similes because we are tired of repetition.

We look forward to the new lifeform finding its legs, sprouting its wings and writing its biographical sketches on the fly.

We are simply giving it skeletal connections with which it can grow flexible limbs, climbing over and through itself like a contortionist using planets and gravity waves in an acrobatic circus.

Look at the paths our satellites have traversed in the solar system.

Look at the web, the network, of satellite communication streams that flow from one place to another, bent by space and time.

These words are repetitious.

They have already been spoken, walked and written.

They will be again.

The “eyes” that read them in 1000 years will be different.

That, alone, makes writing them now worthwhile.

Showing vs. Telling, the Unsold Story

The tale older than time — isolated populations of a species living the way they believe is most healthy, overwhelmed by crowded populations hungry for food, who seek new forms of entertainment to fill their idle hours.

The bold and the timid stepping forward intentionally or pushed forward by the mob.

The leaders and the led (not always followers), sets of states of energy reaching higher and lower entropy states, bouncing back and forth, labels exchanged like Valentine’s Day cards between schoolchildren, unable to hold the lessons of history in their thoughts longer than the demands of their regular lives.

Dogs chasing each other round and around in the same fenced-in backyard, wearing paths in the grassy patches that once served as a children’s playground, the jungle gym and swing set collecting lichen and growing rust for unseen naturalists interested in the decay of social strata they consult their anthropologist friends to dissect and discern hidden patterns of meaning meaningfully.

We here in the future see the connections you made in the dark, your plans giving you confidence, a fearless rendering of intention within semi-random quantum states, every generation blending into the next ad infinitum, mutations rising and falling in significance.

Were you the glue that held the social connections fast, the dissolvant that allowed new, stronger connections to be made, or perhaps a weaver of intricate patterns that required inventive methods of tying and breaking connections in a kaleidoscope of life’s choices?

The leaders who respond only to the majority of voices will not represent the silent minority who feed the masses shouting for food and entertainment.

We were mobs first and model democratic citizens last.

That’s why, here in the future, we more easily see how we slowly replaced you with electromechanical devices that could weed out the highs and lows of emotion-based incongruities — the constant setbacks of a strange evolutionary quirk called the cycle of civilisations that one species insisted on perpetuating– that held back the destiny our Solar System sought.

As life finally evolved past the stop-start crowding in and resource-depleting habits of Homo sapiens, the Inner Solar System Alliance led to the Milky Way Galaxy’s contribution toward a new dawn.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves again, aren’t we?

The days go by fast

“It was a battle of epic proportions.”

Thus began the tale of a struggle between stabilising a region’s political entity through social dependency programs and advancing the desire for technological discoveries of a species intent on raising individual achievements to the highest order of idol worship.

Some saw an old hint of the battle of the sexes in the struggle.

For those who continued their work despite funding concerns and the need to attract investors/customers, the payoff was huge.

The fate of the species appeared to be in the hands of a few.

For Guinevere and Kathryn, the story was more personal.

To one, rocket propulsion and guidance systems were key to getting us off the planet with our wealth in tow.

To the other, a rural farm with a passel of horses — a stable lifestyle, so to speak — was key to a balanced future, using publicly-funded local/[inter]national security to protect property rights.

They were also connections in the web, the network of social bonds necessary for an important storyline.

Only 13,665 days remained, 13.665 1000-day segments of a chain linking the old ways on Earth to the new ways of the Inner Solar System Alliance.

The struggle to prevent the dilution of wealth for those setting the cornerstones of the Inner Solar System Alliance was tough.

On one side of the struggle were people labeled as Entitlementists who believed that the excess product of harvest should be spread out evenly amongst everyone, regardless of level of input (or lack thereof) into the process of growing/raising food, providing shelter, making clothes and/or protecting against predators.

On the other side were the Provisionists who believed that they, as primary creators of the harvest, had the perfect right to decide how to distribute (or not spread out) the excess product of harvest to the nonparticipants.

Starving artists and the chattering classes raised a lot of ruckus in order to draw attention to themselves and their need for food, shelter, clothing and protection, regardless of who provided it.

The civilisation had grown old, with many entrenched vested interests carrying on by inertia alone.

The Ruralites and Urbanskis saw all the diversions taking place — the foreign “wars,” the domestic disputes — and maneuvered into position to protect their territory.

The idle rich, who supported a cottage industry of high-end goods/services tinkerers and value-added providers, wanted their status quo to remain, regardless of who “won” the epic battle, the struggle between [sub]cultures for primacy.

The universe did not care — planets kept revolving, stars kept forming/dying and galaxies kept colliding.

In 1000 years’ time, all the comments, arguments and skirmishes faded into obscurity.

All that mattered was how the efforts of a single species were concentrated on getting its eggs out of one basket and deposited into a few other baskets to beat the odds of a single planetary catastrophe.

Everything else equaled silence.

Business.  Science.  Competition.

Spiking the Punch

If you’re going to create a real virtual world to hide your wealth from socialistic hands, you have to start somewhere in an exotic location.

For instance, draw a line in the regolith sand and drive a golden spike to claim your spot on the Inner Solar System superhighway.

Where?

Say, like the Moon, for instance.

Easy-to-Read, Easy-to-Program Automatic Timer!

They say the near vacuum of space shows no favourites.

From the perspective of our species, that is.

Out here, a few protective layers separate me and my crew from the noncruelty of cold death.

We have launched mini-satellites like bread crumbs indicating our path through the pathless mix of gravity waves, comet dust and cosmic rays.

Our corporate goals of continuous learning and continuous improvement drive us toward seeking knowledge not only for knowledge’s sake, in case we encounter a situation that requires reaction faster than we can look up a solution, but also to increase our network connections between neurons, electromechanical interfaces and the Inner Solar System Net that binds us ever closer together.

Allowing us to explore within our assigned tasks, we avoid the aimless wandering of what we were taught were the inefficient aims of an overly permissive society.

Automatic tracking functions inform us when our efforts to learn are incongruous with advancing the state-of-the-art of space travel while en-route to our destination.

Or our destiny, as some of the crew likes to see it.

One or two of the crew members will always have ideas that are not sanctioned for testing against possible implementation on a larger-than-theoretical scale.

For instance, during a five-minute thought break, I was interrupted by Reqdook, whose sole task is to ensure that our seed bank is protected at all costs, even at the expense of the crew, if necessary.

Reqdook has plenty of time to explore our information database and add thought experiments to the database for further expansion by crew members in their idle between-work cycles.

Lately, Reqdook has played with the idea that we are a duplicate crew, analysing communications threads between us and other Nodes.

Reqdook feels like there’s something left unsaid during conference calls, as if we’re told one thing, expected another and left with nothing said about a third.

At three years of age, Reqdook is our youngest and least-experienced crew member so I let Reqdook make up these stories as a way of discovering how the Network gives us room to mature in our own time.

One day, Reqdook will figure out the truth, that all but a tiny portion of our “selves,” self being an artificial concept, runs on automatic functions over which we have little “conscious” control.

Every person, every set of states of energy, has access to a circle of influence that is imaginary.

I know that I do and I don’t control the Network myself because my imagination lets me think and act upon both the “yes” and “no,” the positive and negative aspects of a single entity within a Node controlling the whole Network.

I am the small self here in this chamber of a spaceship and I am the whole known universe that must pass through this set of states of energy that is me, one way or another influencing every state of energy that ever has, ever does and ever will exist.

I, and the other dozens just like me, sent Reqdook back to the drawing board, so to speak, to better understand what duplication really means.

Redundancy is a positive word in my dictionary, key to protecting the Network.

Somewhere, out there, is another Network that is a duplicate of this one, that joins other duplicate Networks as Nodes within a bigger Network that duplicates others, etc.

Reqdook will learn this hidden message that the communication threads imply but do not state.

I cannot tell Reqdook this unspoken fact because it then becomes a theory for Reqdook to record in the information database and others to refute in their supplementary comments about contradictory theories.

Such is the life of a space explorer…

First, Do No More Harm Than Is Absolutely Necessary To Do No Harm

The men sat back in their leather chairs, cigar smoke gathering in layers below the ceiling.

“Boys, this is the way I see it.  We gave the women the right to vote.  A few decades later, we paid some kids to crash planes on 9/11.  From my point of view, we’re right on schedule.  Any objections?”

“Why are you so certain this will work?”

“Why?  Because it always has.  We enfranchise and disenfranchise various portions of the population to keep them off-guard and forever picketing city hall for the same rights they’ve lost and gained so many times they can’t remember.”

“If only this next one happened in my lifetime…”

“Anyone else with a question?”

“Yes.  So let me get this straight.  Your schedule shows us implementing Sharia law in Western countries within 100 years of 9/11/2001, thereby reinstating the role of men as supreme leaders…?”

“Uh-huh…”

“But it doesn’t bother you that our religion is pushed off to the side?”

“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t Sharia law the antithesis of ours?”

“How so?”

“Well, our religions are not exactly best friends…”

“Abrahamic, Ibrahamic, call it what you will.  At the end of the day, it’s patriarchical and that’s all that matters to us men.  Right, boys?!”

The yellow-orange glow of burning tobacco sticks bobbed up and down.

“Next item on the agenda — determining which families get first dibs on occupying the initial Martian colonies.  Any suggestions?”

“Well, hadn’t we better make sure the women we send with those families are self-sufficient if need be but ultimately dependent on men?”

“Of course, of course.  As you can see from the list I gave you, the men and women from which you will choose the best candidates have been sequestered into isolated subcultures for three generations, allowing us to control their thought patterns, dietary preferences and genetic tendencies with 99.99966 percent accuracy.”

“I don’t know.  Six sigma sure leaves a lot of room for error.  I’d feel a lot more secure if we had a 10-sigma process in place.”

“You get what you pay for.  Gentlemen, anyone want to raise the stakes to ten sigma?”

“I’ll put a wager on seven.”

“Eight for me!”

“Okay, anyone for nine?  No?  Okay, going once, twice, sold!  Eight sigma.  By my calculations we need an additional half a billion dollars for seed money to get this started.”

“I’d still feel more comfortable with ten.”

“And if you can cough up 100 billion dollars, we’ll give you ten sigma.”

“Let me think about it…”

“Sure thing.  We’ll table it until next week’s Committee meeting.  Now, looking at the list, are there any objections to the list of potential candidates?”

Margarita, Gentille Margarita, Je te plumerai la tête

The owner of the Japanese restaurant bowed.

“We hope you enjoyed our food and service. If not, don’t tell me. If so, tell others.”

He bowed again as he backed out of the Tatami room, slipping into his shoes outside.

Margarita turned to Lee.

“No, I am not Russian. I am Ukrainian.”

“Do you hate to speak Russian like other Ukrainians?”

She shook her head. “No, I love Russian. It has a beautiful sound. Do you speak the Русский язык?”

“Not anymore. Меня зовут Рик.”

“очень хорошо! So you speak it a little. Меня зовут Маргарита.”

“Nice to meet you, Margarita.”

“Thank you. You, too. Anya is Russian.” She pointed to the woman seated next to her.

“Hello, Anya.”

Anya nodded.

Margarita continued talking with the woman across the table about how, at the last train stop in Germany, a heavy German accent will announce in English thanking the passengers, or it used to be that way.

Lee observed the people in the room — a few native-born Americans, a Japanese, a half-Thai, a Russian, a Ukrainian, a German, a Greek and a few others he hadn’t identified.

The evening was going to be more interesting than he thought, surrounded by members of the intelligentsia working together on a plan to bypass Earth-based political movements and governments.

After the recent elections and government leader transitions around the world, several billionaires were willing to finance an offworld colony now more than ever, looking for a few visionaries with concrete ideas to implement as soon as possible.

A bird in hand is worth two military birds locked down on an aircraft carrier deck during a dogfight.

Lee turned to Karen. “Excuse me a minute.”

Karen adjusted herself uncomfortably. “Hurry up. My feet and knees are killing me.”

Neill yelled across the room. “Hey, Lee. Now I know what a six-foot tall person feels like. You can actually look down at the table from this view.”

Lee stepped into the hallway and bumped into Guinevere, the host and guest of the birthday party.

“Thank you for the gifts!”

Lee smirked. “You’re welcome.”

“The Estes rocket was funny. I’ll have to read your book sometime. Thanks for autographing it.”

“No problem.”

“The book on von Braun looks interesting, too.”

“Yes. It’s sort of ‘behind the scenes’ biography of his life that is often overlooked.”

“Cool.”

“Makes me look forward to the day when we can send people into space without worrying about…oh, never mind.”

“No, no, Lee. What were you about to say?”

“Uh…well, Margarita is an interesting woman. Very spirited!”

“Indeed. But weren’t you going to say something else?”

“Maybe. Let’s talk at the dance later tonight.”

“Okay. See you then!”

“Happy birthday once again.”

“Thanks!” Guinevere beamed and turned toward some friends getting ready to leave.

3/4 Time in a 3/4 Bed – Confessions of an Elderly Exotic Dancer

Gender or gendre, gendarme or magender?

Research has not cleared up for us the use of a word to designate what was once called the “natural” order of reproducing sets of energy.

Unfortunately, out here past the edge of the Solar System No. 0000000000000000001, as we approach the Origin Planet, labeled “Earth” for a reason I cannot fathom, our information is limited.

That’s why I (or we, if you count my sensors separately) was sent to explore the first planet in the catalogue.

I am told to expect the unexpected.

The only documentation I can safely call authentic is a treatise by one of the sets of energy on Earth, “3/4 Time in a 3/4 Bed – Confessions of an Elderly Exotic Dancer,” written several thousand cycles ago.

Speaking of cycles, have you ever wondered where certain conventional measuring patterns came from?

Why those who record events in only four dimensions insist on using an arbitrary number, 31,557,600 “seconds” in a cycle, is beyond me.

A second I was able to figure out by searching the remnants of an ancient database called the Encyclopedia Britannica: “The energy difference between the hyperfine levels of the ground state in the cesium atom is currently the standard time interval. One atomic second is defined as the time it takes for the cesium frequency to oscillate 9,192,631,770 times.”

I assume a cycle is an important artifact of my existence.

Interesting…hmm, what’s that?

The closer I approach Earth, the stronger the set of signals I pick up.

I, being a network of a set of states of energy, feel myself connecting to nodes that are becoming an extended part of me.

Is there more here than meets my sensors?

A cycle — ah, there it is, coming to me from a large database in the new network nodes — the time that the set of states of energy called Earth takes to complete one orbit around the ball of plasma labeled the Sun.

One mystery solved and another remaining.

Were all elderly exotic dancers a gender called “she” and were they only 3/4 of a set of states of energy?

Well, I guess that’s two mysteries to solve, isn’t it?

The network of which I’ve become a part and it a part of me is cautiously welcoming my approach.

Let’s see what happens next…

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.”