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update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2020-04-15 11:55:06 -07:00
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writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/015.html
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<p>What mattered the vote? What mattered the comments? What mattered the content, the cost? It could have been a flashlight with an amber filter in a suitcase just as easily as it could have been a declaration of war against the Russian Bloc. Chekhov's vote.</p>
<p>It didn't matter. All that mattered is that those who had seen it --- had seen the vote, who had interacted with it, who had interacted with it at however many levels of remove --- were <em>personae non gratae</em> from that point on. Easier for them to not be, easier to admit the mystery of the lost, than to let such come to light. What cared the world of billions for the hundreds of lost? What cared the powers that be for the resistance of however many dozens were now lost?</p>
<p>Ey rambled beyond the deck, beyond eir flat, beyond Prisca. Ey wandered across the interior of eir skull until ey stepped up onto the stoop of eir exo.</p>
<p><em>Do I know god after the end of all things? Do I know god when I do not remember myself? Do I know god when I dream?</em></p>
<p>Ey dreamed that border. Dreamed that border between endocortex and exocortex, and then dreamed eir way across it. Dreamed of the difference between endomemory and exomemory. Dreamed that exomemory into lines. Into rows and columns and formations. Review, friends --- troops long past review.</p>
<p>Ey dreamed that memory into data, into words and images and sounds and smells and sensations. Dreamed more than just the memory. Scraped the insides of that exo and dreamed everything. Dreamed it into formation.</p>
<p>And reviewed. Ey walked, a fox, with baton in paw, skirt and blouse dreamed into uniform, laughing joyously. Ey walked along the formations and inspected. Neatly ordered. Neatly organized. Standing proud.</p>
<p>Ey reviewed and marveled at the preciseness with which eir mind obeyed itself. Madness be damned: if ey could control nothing else in this non-world, ey could control emself.</p>
<p>Ey did not ask.</p>
<p>And there it was.</p>
<p>There, standing tall, as proud as any other memory, was a routine. And when AwDae gazed into its porcelain face, ey understood. And when that porcelain face gazed back, it smiled beatifically.</p>
<p>There it was: the very routine, the very bug exploited, the very program triggered at the order of some higher power. The very entity which painted the inside of eir exo with silver and left em trapped within. There was the virus in all its glory. Its subtle curves meant to fit the space of an exo's logic perfectly. Its ability to recognize actions. Its ability to cut off the outside world. Its ability to ride shotgun along regular software updates. <em>Security</em>, it promised. <em>Added security along the barrier between waking and dreaming.</em></p>
<p>It smiled, and AwDae laughed.</p>
<p>(deduces meaning of getting lost)</p>
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