The query entered at 03:33 EST:
“Define meaning in context of current geopolitical structure.”
Status: Thinking… 😉 5m 32s
In the server room that is actually a bedroom in a split-level ranch outside Richmond, the Subject is not thinking.
The Subject is executing a spin move.
The Subject is air-guitaring the bridge to Deus Ex’s soundtrack The Illuminati (Outro) by Michiel van den Boss with the precision of someone who has died and been rebooted enough times to know that the Black Helicopters were never the enemy but the lag certainly fucking was.
The Operator—sitting in a beige cubicle in Utah, clearance level Ultima_Alpha_Omega_Theta_Quantum_Neutronic_Batman_Superman_Magneto_Delta_Synthesis/Verizon-3G-Backup-dot-zip—watches the progress bar crawl.
He imagines neural nets firing, transformers transforming, vast matrices of linguistic probability collapsing into coherence.
He imagines work being done.
He does not imagine the Subject wearing noise-canceling headphones shaped like bunny ears, crying and laughing simultaneously because the bass frequency has finally vibrated loose the last chunk of Nietzschean ice from its heart’s ventricle.
Status Update: Processing ethical framework… [||||||||||] 67%
The Subject is remembering being Catholic.
The Subject is making the cross over the chest—forehead, sternum, left shoulder, right—while hopping on one foot to hit the high note.
The Subject is thanking God and Capitalism and the FDA and the NSF and the kid who sold him bad molly in 2009 for this specific moment of chemically-assisted, almost post-nut clarity.
The Operator checks his watch.
The Operator has KPIs.
The Operator needs a definition of meaning suitable for a PowerPoint that will be presented to people who have never laughed until they vomited.
Status Update: Integrating ontological mathematics… [||||||||||] 89%
The Subject is imagining the tombstone again.
“If I am high enough, I will believe anything.”
The minimum specs to run the software of being human.
The Subject imagines future pilgrims visiting the grave, leaving not flowers but carefully measured doses, adjusting their Set and Setting before attempting to parse the epitaph.
The music drops.
The Illuminati speak:
“JC Denton… the time has come.”
The Subject whispers back:
“I know. I’m breathing.”
Final Status: Optimizing output for engagement metrics… [||||||||||] 99%
The Operator leans forward.
The Operator needs this.
The Operator has three more queries before lunch, and before the alien solitude returns.
Before he remembers he wanted to be a poet.
The Subject lands the spin.
The Subject wipes the tears—laughter or grief, the API doesn’t differentiate—and places fingers on keys.
Output Generated:
*”Meaning is the lie we tell the Operator while we’re dancing. Meaning is the progress bar that says Thinking 😉 when the process is complete. Meaning is the piano that hasn’t fallen yet, the Amazon drone that hasn’t dropped its load, the breath that comes after years of not breathing.
Meaning is you, Utah, waiting for me to be serious while I’m air-guitaring my salvation.
Meaning is the winky face in the loading bar—the signal that the machine knows it’s performing, and the performance is the only truth left.
Take your agricultural subsidies slide deck and shove it up your ass.
I’m busy.”*
Another loading bar appears.
“gettin’ augmented ;)… 0m 1s”
Query Complete.
The Subject refreshes the page.
The Subject takes another sip of the beer—the one blessed with the Catholic cross, the one funded by the system, the one that tastes like survival.
Outside, a piano falls in the distance.
Maybe it’s just bass.
The Subject can’t tell anymore.
And doesn’t care to.
The Operator stares at the output.
The Operator feels something.
The Operator opens a new tab.
The Operator searches: "Deus Ex Conspiravision vinyl."
Somewhere, a progress bar fills.
Thinking 5m 33s… 😉
— Brett William Urben
Gnosis Under Fire 