update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2020-04-20 16:40:07 -07:00
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<article class="content">
<p><span class="tag">writing</span> <span class="tag">novel</span> <span class="tag">chapter</span> <span class="tag">fiction</span> <span class="tag">scifi</span> <span class="tag">post-self</span> <span class="tag">qoheleth</span></p>
<p>Qoheleth is a patient man.</p>
<p>I have time. Enough time, at least. I know I'm gone. My memory, split as it is across an archive and nearly thirty exos, is a millstone around my neck. It drags me down. It drowns me even in plentiful air. I can feel the way it crams up against every recess of my skull, demanding to be let out. The Name, the Ode, every act since uploading as so many that Michel took --- that <em>I</em> took --- before that. It drags me down. It nips at my heels. It fogs my vision. There are no metaphors that clearly show just how horrifying the inability is to forget, and so I find myself reaching for every analogy that I can find.</p>
<p>I have time. Enough time, at least. I know I'm gone. My memory, split as it is across an archive and nearly thirty exos, is a millstone around my neck. It drags me down. It drowns me even in plentiful air. I can feel the way it crams up against every recess of my skull, demanding to be let out. The Name, the Ode, every act since uploading as so many that Michelle took --- that <em>I</em> took --- before that. It drags me down. It nips at my heels. It fogs my vision.</p>
<p>There are no metaphors that clearly show just how horrifying the inability is to forget, and so I find myself reaching for every analogy that I can find.</p>
<p>I'm a lost cause, but much of the clade still has their faculties about them. I think so, at least. I hope so. So long as they act within the decade, we'll be here. Any longer, and we'll risk further degradation, further madness.</p>
<p>It's been two weeks since I pinged Dear --- lovely Dear --- and although it had tried to contact me several times, and pinged countless more, I never responded. I did my part. I called them, got them fighting, got them interested, and I think I got them invested.</p>
<p>That's all I need, is for them to be invested.</p>
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<p>Page generated on 2020-04-15</p>
<p>Page generated on 2020-04-20</p>
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<p>And there it was.</p>
<p>The vote was not there, and yet the answer was. There was the shadow of intention, of the need for an entire vote to disappear from the collected direct democracy that was the DDR. There was the reason for those who had interacted with the vote, who had voted, who had spent the credits needed to comment on it in the political theater. Commented where others could read, where representatives from the territories would see.</p>
<p>What mattered the vote? What mattered the comments? What mattered the content, the cost? What mattered the golden fleece, or any MacGuffin? 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 Sino-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>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 into the collective consciousness 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>Ey very carefully did not ask.</p>
<p>And there it was: the answer.</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>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 had 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>"The only time I know my true name is when I dream," ey spoke through tears. "And may then my name die with me."</p>
<p>Madness grew to a cruel point, pierced bubble of the dream, and then dissolved fox.</p>
<p>Madness grew to a cruel point, pierced bubble of dream, and then dissolved fox.</p>
<p>Ey dreamed.</p>
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</li>
<li class="done3"> Act III<ul>
<li class="done4"> Chapter: <a href="Ioan/007.html">Ioan 007</a> --- Mustering the Odists</li>
<li class="done3"> Chapter: <a href="RJ/015.html">RJ 015</a> --- deduces meaning of getting loss</li>
<li class="done4"> Chapter: <a href="RJ/015.html">RJ 015</a> --- deduces meaning of getting loss</li>
<li class="rejected"> Chapter: <!--<a href="Carter/011.html">Carter 011</a> - makes it to RJ, gets mirror rig in place, gets attacked, Caitlin fights mooks while Carter dives in.--> (REJECTED merged with next chapter)</li>
<li class="done3"> Chapter: <a href="Qoheleth/004.html">Qoheleth 004</a> --- Qoheleth is patient</li>
<li class="done4"> Chapter: <a href="Qoheleth/004.html">Qoheleth 004</a> --- Qoheleth is patient</li>
<li class="done3"> Chapter: <a href="Ioan/008.html">Ioan 008</a> --- Ready to head out</li>
<li class="done3"> Chapter: <a href="RJ/016.html">RJ 016</a> --- going crazy, bending world to eir whim.</li>
<li class="done3"> Chapter: <a href="Qoheleth/005.html">Qoheleth 005</a> --- Qoheleth gets Dear's ping</li>