Fiction… or is it….
“And we, being the enemies of earth, wish that if ever a civilisation on earth attains a level of technological development sufficient to
harness the raw building blocks of reality for energy, and the technology to explore other planet islands, instead of investing in that for
the purposes of survival and expansion, the civilisation will invest in a method to destroy all sentient life on the planet, regardless of
how good or kind or loving the species is.”
“We also wish that a precedent will be historically set by God, in that large scale devastation will be percieved as something that may be
required to protect that civilisations people.”
“We also wish, that at a point prior to the civilisation being able to explore other star systems, the civilisation will annihilate itself.”
“We demand the probability of these wishes coming true for all advanced civilisations across all universes to be as close to one hundred
percent as can be attained.”
And one dude on planet earth who thinks he gets wishes, wishes for global nuclear weapons disarmament, the usage of that energy to explore
space and supply the needs of the people, for the people, the worlds best hackers, the worlds best program developers, scientists, the
ruling politicians to gain access to the wish infrastructure…
“We also wish, that if ever anyone attempts to break our wishes, that the sentient entity responsible for, will be encoded to go completely
violent and deadly towards all that has ever supported that entity ever gaining any power or wish access, by any and all means possible, and
also wholeheartedly support the termination of that entity as soon as possible.”
“We also wish to convince reality that a fair game consists of virus being allowed to decimate all command and control systems, and every
part of a planets infrastructuree, and that to attempt to explore reality means that virus must be found and awoken at the earliest possible
point. We also wish that virus will gain access in order to craft perfect virus.”
And the opposition to death wishes that the one dude who actually wishes for global nuclear disarmament wins and all his wishes come true,
even as he is going crazier and crazier, into the dark.
But now he’s back in the light mentally, though the darkness surrounds him.
TO a self-aware disease, the doctor is the enemy. Then, the patient, then the scientist.
To the disease, all are enemies and all must fall.
Yuri the Armenian Turnip Seller.
Originally a spoken word piece, started at Vic Markets. The plots the same but the feels different.
Yuri was a turnip grower and seller in Armenia. He would tend his fields, year after year, ancestral fields, from his ancestors to now, turnips had been grown here.
He’d grown up in Armenia and never travelled, had served in the army in the 1980’s, remembered the fear of nuclear winter, and idling in summer days manning a checkpoint, letting almost all the cars go through.
He had a green army-surplus truck to get the turnips to the market, after the cold war many things like that had been sold for very cheap, re-acquisitioned.
Yuri had worked hard his whole life, and he looked at the news sometimes, global warming this, HIV that, the problems people faced while trying to survive.
He cared about the planet, wanted the world to be a better place, but didn’t know how to do that on his own, but he knew his turnips would feed people so he took pride in that.
He thought about the truck sometimes, and global warming, when he saw the turnips, fresh green leaves turned yellow and wilted, and he knew the climate was becoming too hot, and he still drove the truck to the markets, the diesel engine humming away.
He sometimes thought about how chronic the problem was, exhausts flooding the atmosphere with carbon monoxide, the same means to supply food and goods to the many, a silent weapon working against, but he didn’t know how to solve the problem on his own.
He kept on working anyways, and every year, the turnips shrunk in size and wilted earlier in season, it didn’t seem to matter what fertilizers or pesticides were used, just happened anyhow, and he thought he knew why, and a new irrigation system would’ve helped, but the water was short and he didn’t have the money and he wondered about the world.
Yuri had children, a boy, Victor, and a girl, Yolena.
Yolena was beautiful and Victor was strong and handsome, he was so happy and proud of his children, and loved them, would support them unconditionally, he thought, no matter what they wanted to do.
They were adults now, free and independent, they’d both moved to the city, the capital.
His daughter found work at a bar in the city, a lot of foreigners through the South district of, and sometimes she met nice men there, and sometimes she slept with them, and she caught HIV, and spread HIV, and one day she got tested, and she realised, and started taking medication for, but the medicine was expensive and HIV was a slow silent killer and one day she died.
It seemed ironic, the methods of food distribution, combustion engine vehicles turning into a deadly weapon against humanity, the need for reproduction turning into a way to spread death; never deliberate on humanities half, an avoidable un-avoidable tragedy, an iceberg you see coming from a million miles away, but no-one knows how to change course, and even when people do, how little difference the course change makes, humans need food and humans need love.
Yuri’s son, Victor, had gotten into politics. Yuri liked his sons ideas, democracy, freedom for the people, but his sons methods were sometimes violent, and the opposition to the government was hunted so there was always retaliation, a cycle of violence that Victor was not immune to participation in.
Victor started out radical, violent, in the mobs, throwing rocks at the Police sometimes, and the police would retaliate with batons and rubber bullets, but that didn’t seem to stop the problems, and one day Victor was arrested and interrogated and tortured and went to prison.
Victor didn’t like the torture, didn’t like the interrogation, after some reforms, the physical torture ceased and only mental was allowed, but that felt the same, the physical left marks on body and mind, and the mental only left marks on the mind, but in real terms, subjectively from Yuri’s perspective, both were as bad as each other, and they both changed him, the marks on his mind changed him, turned him colder over time.
Yuri didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t work miracles; life was difficult in Armenia, but he started writing letters, trying to say that the situation needed to be better, and the people helped a little bit, maybe a lot, maybe a little, but things changed over time, and one day Victor was released from prison, and Yuri drove there in the green truck and took Victor home.
Everyone secretly wanted a happy ending for Yuri and Victor and Yolena, but happy endings don’t always happen, they just should happen and sometimes everyone wants two and two to equal five.
The Thought Police are hunting for deviants.
Deviants are people who don’t think properly.
Encouraging ideas like education, freedom, respect for fellow sentient’s, that is deviant.
When the thought police find you, and they do, because they read everyone’s thoughts, they find out what your worst nightmare is and try to make that come true.
The problem isn’t the thoughts, the problem isn’t the listening to of the thoughts, but the actions that result from, when that’s the thought police things go wrong, I want angels and God to help shut the f—k’s down.
They are just a code bundle on meta-net, a self=propagating nightmare harvesting side project of the data archive, but they are vicious and horrible and cruel, or they would be if they had a mind.
The thought police are like a machine, no sentient could handle doing that job, a dumb machine that takes your own worst nightmares and tries to make that real, for no particular reason except to torture you, because sentience wants to shut down the thought police.
My worst nightmare… I don’t even want to think about my worst nightmare, but as I do I feel my tummy twinge a little.
A different person’s worst nightmare.
What’s the worst thing that could ever happen? They try to make that come true.
The thought police can only police the living, that which does not feel…
I don’t like the thought police, they don’t behave like ordinary police, instead they are cruel and tyrannical, harvesting my own mind for the ultimate in weaponry against me, the idea of never being loved flows through my head for a moment.
I think George Orwell was telling the truth about the thought Police. They say no-one’s allowed to read 1984 anymore, so I guess that makes everyone who reads the book no-one.
Before that, they said noone can break the law, hypocrite is different from Hippocratic.
The thought police must hate me, they try to create subjective-objective alterations, they claim anything; they even claim to be Police.
When they get power they try to get everyone to hate me and my allies.
I think the thought police are virus because they hurt more than they help.
I worked out how to delay them, maybe defeat them.
If all you think about is love, kindness, and care, surely that can change the world the thought police live within?
Maybe I should ask my psychiatrist. I’ve told her about this sort of thing.
I think she thinks I’m sane.
Imagine what it was like for Christopher Columbus when he sailed back from America. The people believed him though.
