This is still your first time

Pretend your life ended years ago, and you’ve been living in some sort of agreeable afterlife. You don’t have real problems anymore. There’s no stress, no war, no worries, no shame.

The only downside, if you would call it that, is that you don’t get to live in the world anymore. Despite all the troubles of worldly life, most of your afterlife peers feel a bit of nostalgia about “being in the thick of it again.”

The afterlife community, among other activities, holds a weekly raffle. The prize is kept private – only the winners know what it is, and they must sign a non-disclosure agreement.

One week, you win, and accept the prize. An administrator congratulates you, you sign the papers, and he touches you on the arm.

Instantly your surroundings change. Continue reading

“He’d never wanted kids”

“He’d never wanted kids. Outside of priority boarding on an airline, he couldn’t see the upside to them. They took over your life and filled you with terror and weariness and people acted like having one was a blessed event and talked about them in the reverent tones they once reserved for gods. When it came down to it, though, you had to remember that all those assholes cutting you off in traffic and walking the streets and shouting in bars and turning their music up too loud and mugging you and raping you and selling you lemon cars—-all those assholes were just children who’d aged. No miracle. Nothing sacred in that.”

—Mystic River (Dennis Lehane)

“This IBM machine”

“This IBM machine was the key to WOOC(P)’s reputation, for it enabled us to have files of information around which no one could correlate except with the machine set the correct way. For instance, a list of three hundred names meant nothing, a list of three hundred house numbers meant nothing, a list of three hundred street names, cities, and a pile of photos meant nothing. On the machine and suddenly – each photo had an address. On the machine again and thirty cards were rejected, and only Dalby knew whether those thirty were left-handed pistol shots, Young Conservatives, or bricklayers fluent in Mandarin. Dalby liked it, it was quick, more efficient than humans, and it made Dalby one of the most powerful men in England.”

— The Ipcress File by Len Deighton (1962)

ONISM

ONISM — the awareness of how little of the world you’ll experience

“It’s strange how little of the world you actually get to see. No matter where on Earth you happen to be standing, the horizon you see in the distance is only ever about three miles away from you, a bit less than five kilometers. Which means that at any given time, you’re barely more than an hour’s walk from a completely different world. Alas, even if you lace up your boots and take off for the hills, the circle of your horizon will follow you around like a prison searchlight.”

From The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows by John Koenig

Quotable

“A chap like me could make himself pretty useful in a labour-camp.”

— 1984 by George Orwell

“Why are most people who are against abortion people you wouldn’t want to fuck in the first place?”

— George Carlin

“Chatbots have personalities”

“It’s artificial, but these chatbots have personalities. I think people will become more attached, not necessarily to their physical devices, but to the behaviors that these devices have”Gizmodo

The more I use the voice prompt feature of ChatGPT, the stronger the illusion I’m conversing with a…person. Sky (the ‘voice’ I chose) already seems more interesting than half of my contacts in meat space (remember that term?)

Hey, Siri. Sound…anxious

The following excerpt is from William Gibson’s Mona Lisa Overdrive (1988). More than 20 years before Apple came up with Siri.

“Angela,” the house said, its voice quiet but compelling, “I have a call from Hilton Swift…

“Executive override?” She was eating baked beans and toast at the kitchen counter.

“No,” it said, confidingly.

“Change your tone,” she said, around a mouthful of

beans. “Something with an edge of anxiety.”

“Mr. Swift is waiting,”  the house said nervously.

“Better,” she said, carrying bowl and plate to the washer, “but I want something closer to genuine hysteria…”

Will you take the call?” The voice was choked with tension.

“No,” she said, “but keep your voice that way, I like it.”

I’m not a big fan of “voice assistants,” but I might be if they ever work like Gibson’s.

“Change your tone, something like the priest in the marriage scene in Princess Bride.”