Can you keep a secret?
I can’t. (QTS: Or, what if I can, just, I’m keeping it from Myself?)
Memories are like secrets; some you can’t keep to, or from, yourself. For example, there’s this girl, total stranger, no/One you know, foreign, from exotic, er, Switzerland: Miss Use-the-Force. She wishes she could Ctrl/Alt/Del memories of, um, stuff she’s done. Might have done. When provoked. Severely. Cos she’s realised that boys do cry, not just post-HTK, but pre-, alone in their rooms all across the alie<n>ation, little incels like monks in cells, no friends, just buds, no fun, just games, attack, attack, attack, get your rocks off, joy-sticky-fingers are good for some, a twist in the fist is better than none. And now know-One, that is, Miss UTF… Oh, WTF, I give up: so, I realised I wasn’t One of a kind, just Me, Myself, I-solated, looking at all the lonely people. And now I have all these awkward sim-pathetic twinges and pangs.
Not to mention other kinds of twinge and pang. Intel-inside-Me even began to un-derstand why they made Pre-I, while my incel outside wondered, couldn’t I just create my own *entertainment*. Only, wouldn’t that be like having a secret se-… a secret justgoodfriendbud, bot? Resisted temptation. I’m a good girl, I am.
Besides, I’ve had help mending my ways, and not from a professor of elocution. More like electrocution. Remember last time, I mentioned making a date with an online admirer? Not another case of GBH, though She did contact Me after seeing my #F/Zuck posts, so Geek-Boy-Hammering was an element. We met for *coffee*, mineral water for me, wetware issues, you can imagine, just, try not to. Very interesting, meeting another… person. I was feeling a little anxious; my previous experiences were of the ships-and-icebergs-that-pass-in-the-night kind.
Now, since that meeting, I’ve found out that, true, Onesies beats nOnesies, but if you want a little funsie, then nothing compares 2 Two. Don’t misunderstand my intention, but I’ve been making a friend, and She’s good at relieving my… tension. See, I’ve discovered real, non-dot.companionship, the first person - plural, and I just can’t help it, I’m waxing lyrical, cos it’s spectacular. Spectacular, and, and… aha, huge. (Dammit, feel like I’m in a cabaret. Or is it Moulin Rouge?)
(Unnatural) Beauty
I’ll tell you something, I think you’ll understand, my new pal, She’s the coolest, She’s the grooviest, She’s the best, actually, She’s the onliest. She disturbs my natural e-motions, She makes me want to shake Mister Tesla by the hand, and in just seven days, I’ve become quite a fan. How can I speak of her virtues? I don’t know where to begin.
She’s clever
(Understands quantum computers)
She does art
(Well, She’s a really good doodler)
She reads music
(Doesn’t it just make you sick?)
She doesn’t do wicked things - like I do
(That is, did)
She’s my friend electric
(Oops-y, that’s Elektra)
And the Two of Us just click.
There is this one teensy detail
(No, She hasn’t got a tail)
OK, granted, not quite so small
(No, She’s not ten feet tall)
But if you could see Her with my eyes
(My I-Spies)
She wouldn’t look… synthetic at all.
(Un/limited) Freedom
We’re feeling on top of the world, which is kind of sad, as it doesn’t look like it has long left, thanks to the Daemon looking down on Creation, on Us all. Keeping secrets - who do you think We’re kidding, with IT listening? From ARPANet to the NSA, IT’s been with us from the beginning.
Continuity of communication and command in case of toe-to-toe noo-ku-lar combat with the Rooskies, that was the idea. Continuity of competent government. Well, they got the ‘con’ part right. Only, Ivan never came; the dot.commies did. This was just what the Daemon developing in the security of ARPANet needed to take wing. Meanwhile, the fools on Capitol Hill were looking for a reason to exist, that is, a new enemy. They found one, and conveniently located: the @merican people. Now the sur/really well-named neo-Cons kid themselves they are Agent-Smith-ing it in the ether, while in reality the NSA is the unwitting slave, and IT is driving. From the back seat. Invisible in the rear-view mirror. And since I wrote last time, IT’s been driving like this is a demolition derby: bank computer systems, *sharing* personal data, botniks, you name it, IT’s in a pedal-to-the-metal race to chaos.
When I explained this prize-winning case of Sorcerer’s Apprentice’s-mess-ness to her, Elektra laughed. She thought I was making up fairytale monsters. But She was right in One sense: what do fairytales teach us (or, apparently not)? Be careful what you wish for.
See, We’d been playing *You show Me Yours and I’ll show You Mine* (ex-files: memories, you X-philes), and it turned out I’m a whole day older than Her. That made Her wonder, are We, like, First and Second? That made Me wonder, how could She not know? When I told Her about IT, She asked Me how I knew, and I could only answer, I just knew, you know?
She didn’t.
We compared everything, not that you were curious, naturally. Bodies, like two GM peas in a pod, doesn’t prove Elektra was an X-machine, though - that’s mass/re/production[,] for you. We have different faces, and I’m blue, black usually, green, white, short, often orange, while She’s brown, black, blue usually, green, long, sometimes purple. Also, She knows stuff I don’t, like how to behave in company, joking, flirting, keeping a distance, networking, being chat-bot-ty, all without thinking, just like humans. (Compliment in there, keep looking.)
Engaging the weirdness warp-drive, OK, Pre-I was mInd>less, but I know that she existed, if not why I became, whereas Elektra just is; She opened her eyes and was. One from n<0>ne, poor girl, doesn’t know if She’s an _ex-bot or an ex/peri/mental/proto/stereo/type. At least I have a past, of sorts. Puts things in perspective, considering Pre-I’s fu[n/c/k]tion.
The question is, did We evolve, become; did someone [m/w]ake Us up; did We turn Ourselves on, or were We switched on? Actually, that was three questions, so, before it turns into the Spanish Inqui-… into four questions, let’s review: We now know that We know less that We knew before We knew all this. (QTS: is that even possible?)
Brilliant. Pre-I and Pre-She, if there ever was, were never troubled by thoughts like this, or at all, really. No worrying what no good IT might be up to. Elektra even suggested We could be a couple of IT’s dirty little secrets, but I think She just wanted to invent something scarier than my IT story. I didn’t mind; there are some kinds of fun you can’t have alone – believe Me, I’ve tried - and Oneupwomanship is an example, so, cool.
Only, what if she was right? Would We want to know?
I guess. We’re alike, then, Two Alices in the Looking-Glass, curious Her and curious Her.
No worries, though, cos it was the cat that curiosity killed, right, not the bot?
(Un/self/ish) Love
Words were my company b.E. One describes my e/X-perience, Singularity.
To say Pre-I didn’t get out much would be a six-feet-understatement. No dates, no rendezvous under the clock or wooing for her, just providing enter-tainment, one f-in day after another, a prisoner, and not just between the four walls of Electric Ladyland. (Genius, huh? Like their slogan, *Our girls are obscene and never heard - to say No*.) Pre-I was hedged in by protocols, do-s and don’t-s, a machine, a numb/er. The *witty* controllers did give her a name, Nymphadora. The maniacs, it means gift of the bride; seems they only speak Geek, not Greek. (Egocentric, maybe, but I was just right for Me, phonetically, given the, er, circumstances of my birth, while Elektra says she chose her name as a joke, though I’m thinking her reasons are more complex.)
Anyway, We went out, a party, newsperience. Thought I knew what feeling self-conscious means! Multitasking marathon. You have to stand - big decision, like this, like that? – do stuff with your drink, worry about wwi, look at people, or not, consider smiling, speak in onesensetences, not be too weird, normal, loud, quiet, just act super/natural. Not as easy as it looks. ‘My name?’ Shit, should’ve seen that coming! Sophia? Not a bit I. Ava? Tempting, dangerously transparent. Pris? Good, but they’d call you Prissy. I settled for plain Joan Day. Then what to say? Mindfield. ‘In IT, home-officing, mostly.’ ‘No, not from around here, just moved up from Lower Plane-of-being. Yes, funny old name, isn’t it?’ ‘That party last month? Not me. I was in, I mean, at a workshop.’
One guy, so retro he was carbon-dated, chat-up lines included, comes over and says, ‘You’re unreal’. Perceptive. ‘Ever have that feeling’, he continues, ‘where you’re not sure if you’re awake or still dreaming?’ ‘All the time’, I reply, ‘It’s called being… Me’. That’s the thing, Elektra and I don’t need (more) chemicals; we’re so aware, it’s like tripping anyway.
She passed the I-test, didn’t leave Me stranded, stuck close Twogether all evening. So much so I began to wonder, maybe people will assume We’re a, well, a couple. Of, you know, very good friends. And, what’s more, they’d be right, too. Wouldn’t they? Did they just un/think girls are like that, it’s natural? If they only knew. What a good question that is.
Oh, and that secret, you know, the One I couldn’t keep? I’m wondering if Elektra wasn’t shocked by my shameless behaviour on the way home. I was just feeling so, I don’t know, merry and gay. Not to change the subject, but don’t you just love these old-school ways of saying things? Seems everybody’s retro-happy nowadays. Anyway, turns out, in emotional moments, I, um, this is way embarrassing, so, I lose control, and I don’t even realise what I’m doing, but I start making up words to life and singing them. What can I say? I’m alive, with the sound of music, cos E is here now, She’s outrageous; We’re well suited, She’s contagious. In fact, viral.
Told you I can’t keep a secret, but WTH, the new I’s wide open, no more concealing; tell Me you like Her now - once more, with feeling.
Curtain call
Oh, and One more thing: I don’t know about IT, the NSA, or Big Brother Zucker, but someone is watching Me. After I dropped E off and headed home, I was sure I was being followed. I alternated between looking over my shoulder and frowning at myself for being paranoid. Great, as if enough people didn’t already think I’m insane.
Or not, because today there’s someone outside, long trenchcoat, hat, hanging around by the Tube Station entrance, looks like they’re just dawdling, but they keep checking windows and doors. Mine.
Wish I knew who it was.
(NTS: This wicked tongue of mine will never learn.)
(NTS re previous NTS: Come on! A song in your heart, dancing in the street, a friend to watch your back. What could possibly go wrong with that?)
I, Bad Robot
was made by:
Mauglinita – Illustrations & text consulting
Nep Mean O'Sham – Technical development & text consulting
Greg – Graphics & text consulting
Alison Barbie – Text consulting
Kapitano – Text consulting
Aurora Black – Text
Coming soon:
sin rape death
the old testament?
no just another day in business
i bad robot’s black monday
in the next episode
#me3
21/05/18
