LESSONS.... as told in the 33rd Century by Blynda

The Death of Existence - The Book of ZION the Lion

The Death of Existence Lesson #7  Excerpt #2

Blynda’s thoughts….

“A new creation, emerging from a deviation, must birth an environment where it can prosper and proliferate” -Sedi..the Thinker,  2604.

Our near ancestors in the Twenty-Second Century, deliberated in the World’s Body and agreed that the continuing advancement of Intelligent Technology need limitless control. All Intelligent Machines that interact daily with human beings must be blended to a living person. This blending was non-transferable. All Intelligent Machines dies and must be ground to dust when the individual they are blended to, dies. This decision created a class of “tethered parenting,” where humans were responsible for the actions of the machines they were blended to. The Leadership Class implemented this decree to limit if not eradicate, nefarious acts committed by machines, which were proliferating and occurring with impunity. Intelligent Machine moved freely among Human Beings. After much debates and denials, the Techno Class had to come to terms with the reality, that their intelligent creations were easily manipulated. Few, if any at all, of our near ancestors had the abilities to rival these intelligent creations in knowledge and strength.

Blending was also the solution to curb the developing evolution of machines that many feared, and some denied was a rival to human evolution and existence. 

It was at this stage “The New-New Age of Enlightenment” cemented itself as an emerging Philosophy. The New-New Age of Enlightenment argued, that Existence turns on an imperfect and continuously spinning wheel. 

For these thinkers, there is the Age of Machine Existence, which transitions to, the Age of Machine-Biological Existence, then the Age of Biological Existence, which transitions to, the Age of Biological-Machine Existence, then back to the Age of Machine Existence. There is no Alpha and Omega, they argued.

This Intellectual Philosophy, adapted Animism, arguing that life is life. It mattered not, whether said life came from the womb, lab or a garage, it exist, therefore, it is life. It matters not if a living thing is aware of self, it is life. In time, the term inanimate object disappeared from the lexicons. It became an undefinable term. There was nothing to assigned it to. The intellectual Philosophy argued, that every material object exhibits life.

Existence is returning to the Era of the Machine, they argued. Biological Life will rise again, because during the Age of the Machines, the quest for perfection and dominance, will forever be brutal and destructive. Bidding to curbed the advancement of rivals, the dominant class of Machines, will slowly reintroduce elements of mortality.  

First, of the five senses that is dominant in the Biological Age of Existence, three were never integrated into Intelligent Machines; touch, smell, and taste.  Few could argue this point. Although Intelligent Machines were evolving at a rapid pace, simple comprehension was lacking. 

The dominant Machines Class, in an act of war will introduce the three senses as punishment and deterrence to the subordinate and rival Machines. The New-New Age of Enlightenment argues that this act of war, will set Existence on a path to return to the Age of Biological Existence. Perishable flesh, tissues, blood and, untimely death would eventually be integrated in the Age of Machine-Biological Existence. Biology proliferates, and unlike Machines, cannot be constrained, only eradicated. 

Biological beings are aware that death is always imminent, and lurking. Intelligent Machine has no such concern. Only in the Age of the Machine, does Existence finds immorality truly reachable. It is the Machines’ quest for perfection, and dominance that becomes a hindrance and eventually returns Existence to a Biological, and perishable era. This New-New Age of Enlightenment Intellectual Philosophy, was soundly rejected by some, but blindly embraced by others. 

The Philosophers of the New-New Age of Enlightenment, proven somewhat prophetic, omitted the most vibrant Ages of Existence; the Biological-Machine and the Machine-Biological Ages. It is my belief, that these Ages of Existence continuously advance Machines and Biological Existence, when each rise again. 

The Death of Existence

The following is from the personal diary of one of the last person rescued from the Northern Hemisphere in the Twenty-Third Century.

The Book of ZION the Lion

Twenty-Third Century

For a moment, I began to have some reservations about Lt. King. I mean, not him personally, but the fact that he has a microchip implanted in him. I knew this because I did not see him do anything to get the chopper to pull the E-Class Robot on board, coupled with the manner in which he is operating this mechanical bird; seemingly telepathically.           

He is clearly one with the chopper. The advancement in technology has permitted minds and machines to meld. They called it blending; every machine with an Intelligent Chip is blended to its owner. The concept adapted from a young pet imprinting on its master.

I am not well educated on the topic to explain precisely, but my understanding of it is as follow. If one purchased a machine with a particular class of Intelligent Chip, ones gnome sequence is blended with the machine.                                                                                                  I just have a personal thing about anyone that has a chip in his or her body. The fact that he was a soldier gave me a little comfort. Members of the Armed Services, Civil Services, and Prisoners did not have much choice with technological shit like the chip. They were the perpetual genuine pigs. 

My crew and I were proud to reject such integration. Not on some high moral or spiritual grounds, but machines are controlled. Such integration we believe was another manner to control the free will of the individual. In fact, we rejected most technology and adapted an early Twentieth Century existence. We were not alone in this way of life. Many world wide opt for an existence steep in a past when technology was fiction in literature, music and art.

“I was hoping for chaotic scenes when I got this assignment,” Lt. King said disappointedly.                      

 I doubt there are enough people alive in all of New York City to form a straggler’s posse, I replied.  “That’s funny,” says Lt. King as he hops into the pilot’s seat. “Straggler’s Posse!” Although it wasn’t that funny, we both enjoyed hearty laughs as we climbed into the chopper. My laughter was involuntary, but cleansing and needed.

It was my first time in a chopper. There was a pile of E-Class Robots in the back.  They were on top of each other in a scrap heap. I assumed these are part of Lt. King’s samples. I’ve never been this close to this many immobile robots. Their immobility makes them creepy, especially with their eyes open and their occasional impulsive twitch. Then,  considering with just the flick of a switch they could be flapping around on their backs, unless you first placed them standing. Life adjacent!                                                                                                                                     I had seen my boys fucked with a few Robots before. Those fools enjoyed a game of “kick the robot,” just to watch them fall down and flap around like a fish out of water, unable to get up without assistance. Their metal frames produced some interesting sounds, it added to the many laughs we shared. Humanity had failed to create Robots that could get up when they had fallen.  

I was overcome with a feeling of nostalgia, so I looked out the Chopper’s open window. This did not help much. I realized that I was looking at Brooklyn, for quite possibly the last time. As I quietly said my goodbyes, I realized how the landscape of Brooklyn had transformed. It looked like a creepy and cold setting of a Twentieth Century horror film. Stripping life from an environment has a psychological impact on the surroundings. Several patches of the mysterious metal that has transformed parts of the ground, glisten under the heavy fog.                                                  

The mysterious fog was getting thicker of late, appearing more frequently and rising higher into the sky. Then, like the wind, it disappears and reappears unannounced. It was another of the unexplained that appeared mysteriously. Although, the Brilliant Mind Sept claimed that it is unconnected to the mysterious illness that has afflicted all living things. It was hard for many to believe. 

Brilliant Minds, oh beautiful Brilliant Minds; so much to be said of them, but I will say one word; disappointment. It mattered not if one was truly in possession of brilliance, as it was to be designated as the possessor of Brilliance. Our world has been taken over by assignments, appointments and titles. This is how Existence was slowly bastardized, and life, placed in peril; at the precipice of extinction. Tears!

If you can imagine a simple sheet of paper divided in three sections. The bottom section would be the ground, which was dark and murky.  The mid sections, foggy, while the top was continuously eerie skies. It was as if there was an unseen fire ablaze underground. Perhaps, this fog was the tears of the earth.                                                                                                                                      

Ever so often, I would see a bond fire where the E-Class Robots were burning the dead. I began to wonder about the souls of the dead, especially those of the people I knew. I can hear their pained voices crying out to me, when I invited such thoughts.                                                       As a non-believer, I had long ago accepted that we reside in heaven and hell. My experience over the last few years has done little to dissuade this belief.                                    I stopped looking down and closed my eyes tightly, but my mind is superior to my eyes. 

The face of my best friend Buddha came to me. He wanted me to follow him. He took me back to the day he discovered the patch of rashes on his chest. I was the only one in our crew that he told. We cried that day, and then we smoked and got high. We drank and got drunk, then cried some more and got high and drank some more. He shared his last and continuous dream with me, which of late has strangely become my dream as well.   “Behind the McDonald’s on Throop Avenue and Fulton Street, at the far end of the parking lot was an entrance to a cave,” Buddha explained. When I entered, there was a girl we knew, but her name I just cannot remember. But I know her, you know her. She says, “We have to find the South African. I was automatically fearful of this South African, though I had no idea what he or she looked like. Then, we found him and his wife deep in the cave, pruning banana trees. It didn’t feel strange at all, to see such vibrant trees growing in a cave, without sunlight. After meeting the South African, he demanded that we meet his sons. At first, I looked around and I was in a hole. It felt like roots, were growing under my feet. The South African and his wife were standing over me. He demanded we go with him to find his sons. He was certain, they will become my life long friends. 

We travelled deeper into the cave and finally met his sons. Their heads were like bird heads with beautiful, multi-colored feathers. I would awake at this point, and wondered in astonishment. Every night, I would have this dream, and awoke at the same point. Before going to slept, I began to promise, not stare at their bird heads were I to have this dream again. I felt there were things they wanted to share, but my transfixion on their heads, interrupted the natural order of conversing.  

Budha’s demise was rapid. I awoke two days after he had told me about his infection and was startled to see his transformation. The top of his head had flattened. His face had widened, pulling down his ears towards his shoulders. My scream caused him to run away. I did not find him until four days later under a tree. There was a noose on a limb above him.

 I believe Budha had hung himself, but his complete transformation, left him in a heap under the noose. I was able to identify his remains because of the pendent that lay next to what was his body. The pendent was from our sophomore Championship Season. 

Now, he’s like a bunch of grapes; that is the only description I can give. The transformation of some of the afflicted varied, but they were all hideous. Many times, I have wondered if these hideous transformation were what we truly are as human beings. Perhaps, our looking glass, that presents our physical forms, as more pleasing to the eyes, is inoperable on the afflicted? If life evolves, why can’t the manner death? 

I rolled Budha’s remains onto a blue tarp and dragged it further into Fort Greene Park. I dug a hole and gave him a respectable burial. I sat by the edge of the grave with my feet dangling into the pit. I rolled a spliff, smoked and drank some cognac. I got up and walked home. I went straight to bed. When I woke up, time was pushing me forward.

The hum of the chopper blades slicing through the thick fog brought me back. I looked at Lt. King and saw the horizon displayed in front of us on the Chopper’s monitor, which is connected to nothing. Such is the advancement of the Techno Class. The air and atmosphere is a canvass. It was celebrated when this technological advancement was achieved. One could write on air. The technological evolutions of the human eye, was key to this achievement. What calamity! For the first time in a long time, I saw the beauty of nature. The horizon was golden, like a sunrise or a sunset. This beauty of nature was artificially displayed by Lt. King. I can only assumed as a gesture to me. It was appreciated for a fleeting moment, until I remembered my complete rejection of technological advancements. I’ll continue to believe, that maybe, it is this commitment, that has kept me alive. I looked at my wrist watch; it was early afternoon. The only way I knew time, was by looking at my mother’s antique watch. Remembering to constantly wined the stem, has become habitual. My mother was not a technocrat. She liked the old stuff too. According to her, this watch has been in the family since the Twentieth Century.

Looking out at the runways, I can see all the planes that once soared into the great blue yonder. Now, it’s like a junkyard out there. Sight like this isn’t very comforting. How long will I have to wait for a plane to get me the fuck outta here?  Fuck it, it’s not like I have anywhere else to go. I’d rather be home in Bed–Stuy, it’s the best place to die, but I am now committed to being an evacuee. Ambivalence!

My angst must be from some impatient traveler, who recently passed through here. Their essence, still lingers, I thought. Anyone who came through here in the last few years would have been eager to flee. As I turned the corner in Terminal B by the passenger boarding gate, his voice came barreling at me like an out of control vehicle. “Shoot him!”

There was a tug of war going at Gate B12 between a transforming person and three PA Cops. This is where the stewardess would greet you with a warm smile as you hand her your boarding pass. Right now, there were no such pleasantries passing between fellow human beings. I wish I could immediately retrace my steps or that I could crawl into a crevasse in the wall. 

 

“Grab my fucking gun and shoot him in the fucking head!”                                                         His voice startled me into a state of shock, but my mind remained functional. It’s unusual to see a Transformed Person with this much strength. Usually, once one was infected, they become meek and slowly withers away like a ripened fruit. 

The cops were using every ounce of strength they posses to keep the infected person out. I did not want to get involved. I have enough burden and certainly did not want more by killing another human being. Even in their grotesque state, someone once changed their diapers. He’s still someone’s son, brother, husband; maybe even a father. 

It escapes me that the fat cop was screaming at me. He should concentrate on the task at hand. After all, it was three against one. “What the fuck, don’t just stand there,” he screamed at me. “Shoot the motherfucker.”