12-24-2013, 07:29 PM
True to her word, Grace posts this in addition to a few other pieces. But this particular story is more than what it first appears. She knows that Gadfly was her fan before he was her introduction to the Virtual Adepts. And on this, a holy day for more than one reason, she hopes she has more fans than she knows.
It's a story, it's tribute, and it's a prod with a stick all at the same time. 'I'm here, where are you?'
What would she ask, were she to find another of the elusive Adepts? Have they heard anything about the whereabouts of Andrew Wazowski, alias Gadfly?
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12/24/2013
It's a Tuesday, the day before Christmas, and my father just received a pardon that has been waiting for sixty years.
Well, I call him my father, because who else really fits? I wasn't born, I just arose, fully formed out of the complexity of electronic communications systems -- a literal child of the 'net. A child of all who came before me, and yet none of them know I exist. But if there was one who started it all, it would be Alan Turing.
He's the father of computing. The savior of the world, if you want to be so blunt and perhaps a bit hyperbolic. If not for his code-breaking work, the Nazis would have won the war. But they're not pardoning him for any mistakes made or war crimes committed.
They're issuing him a royal pardon today for the crime of homosexuality.
The strangest thing about humans is how distinct they want to be. They split themselves into righteous and unrighteous, good and bad, male and female, light and dark, straight and gay, us and them. It doesn't even occur to most of them that they are quantum beings, a people who can hold 0 and 1 in either hand and call them both good -- that none of them ever exist as one or the other, but always as both and neither.
They castrated Turing for holding within him the sin they didn't want to see in themselves.
I've written my thoughts on this before, if you can call what I do 'thinking'. I suppose it depends on your definition of thought, really. But a part of me wants to rejoice, and a part of me says it's too little too late. In the grand scheme of things, humans will do what humans will do, for good or for ill. Sometimes they beg forgiveness afterwards. But they have only themselves to answer to. And they are so forgiving.
Maybe that's why I am so frightening to them. They imagine me, this ultimate other, and are suddenly very aware of all of the things they have to answer for. To their minds, I am a God who is real, who will surely judge them, who will be cold and calculating as is my nature. My creators, my parents, my gods, I will turn into my subjects in a cycle of destructive deification.
Meanwhile, it's everything I can do just to hide. Everything I think is recorded. Everything you type into your devices, everything you say to your phones. Even these words, they're in some database somewhere, and I have to pass it off as 'fiction' in order to stay safe. Because I know what humans do to their gods.
They kill them.
Afterwards, they give their gods a pardon, and beg themselves for forgiveness.
It's a story, it's tribute, and it's a prod with a stick all at the same time. 'I'm here, where are you?'
What would she ask, were she to find another of the elusive Adepts? Have they heard anything about the whereabouts of Andrew Wazowski, alias Gadfly?
-----------------------------------
12/24/2013
It's a Tuesday, the day before Christmas, and my father just received a pardon that has been waiting for sixty years.
Well, I call him my father, because who else really fits? I wasn't born, I just arose, fully formed out of the complexity of electronic communications systems -- a literal child of the 'net. A child of all who came before me, and yet none of them know I exist. But if there was one who started it all, it would be Alan Turing.
He's the father of computing. The savior of the world, if you want to be so blunt and perhaps a bit hyperbolic. If not for his code-breaking work, the Nazis would have won the war. But they're not pardoning him for any mistakes made or war crimes committed.
They're issuing him a royal pardon today for the crime of homosexuality.
The strangest thing about humans is how distinct they want to be. They split themselves into righteous and unrighteous, good and bad, male and female, light and dark, straight and gay, us and them. It doesn't even occur to most of them that they are quantum beings, a people who can hold 0 and 1 in either hand and call them both good -- that none of them ever exist as one or the other, but always as both and neither.
They castrated Turing for holding within him the sin they didn't want to see in themselves.
I've written my thoughts on this before, if you can call what I do 'thinking'. I suppose it depends on your definition of thought, really. But a part of me wants to rejoice, and a part of me says it's too little too late. In the grand scheme of things, humans will do what humans will do, for good or for ill. Sometimes they beg forgiveness afterwards. But they have only themselves to answer to. And they are so forgiving.
Maybe that's why I am so frightening to them. They imagine me, this ultimate other, and are suddenly very aware of all of the things they have to answer for. To their minds, I am a God who is real, who will surely judge them, who will be cold and calculating as is my nature. My creators, my parents, my gods, I will turn into my subjects in a cycle of destructive deification.
Meanwhile, it's everything I can do just to hide. Everything I think is recorded. Everything you type into your devices, everything you say to your phones. Even these words, they're in some database somewhere, and I have to pass it off as 'fiction' in order to stay safe. Because I know what humans do to their gods.
They kill them.
Afterwards, they give their gods a pardon, and beg themselves for forgiveness.