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Chapter 17
“I brought it, like you asked...Really didn't think you watched everything”. Galileo held out the printed papers in his hand, crisp white and seductively fresh black shimmered under the dull orange glare of the doctor's lamp. Beside the lamp, an old-fashioned barometer of little to no importance to the décor, noticed and forgotten, stared at and dismissed the papers off-hand.
“If we see you are conducting research it is a curiosity for us, you never tend to look at anything that's not your own creation.” Lok replied taking and straightening the paper.
“It won't straighten, I stapled it on a bit of a tangent.” The paper curled slightly in the stapled corner as Galileo demonstrated the reaction of overlaying corners with precision. Lok understood the papers to be dishevelled and reached for them with a consolatory shrug.
“You’re a little heavy handed with retractions” Lok said, receiving the printed paper.
Galileo didn’t reply
The doctor looked at the patient, he sat blankly.
“If we see you are conducting research it is a curiosity for us, you never tend to look at anything that's not your own creation.” Lok replied taking and straightening the paper.
“It won't straighten, I stapled it on a bit of a tangent.” The paper curled slightly in the stapled corner as Galileo demonstrated the reaction of overlaying corners with precision. Lok understood the papers to be dishevelled and reached for them with a consolatory shrug.
“You’re a little heavy handed with retractions” Lok said, receiving the printed paper.
Galileo didn’t reply
The doctor looked at the patient, he sat blankly.
As a reader begins a book, before even that, there is uncertainty on many different levels; will I like this book? Is this book good value for money? What is the story about?... and so on. Yet, even before the trepidations of the reader there is an infinite amount of iterative steps of creation that effects the reader's chance to read the book; is it in their language? Is it accessible to them? How will the reader hear of the book? The list of 'maybes' culminates in a providence that any one reader and any one text be united. This is the uncertainty of the art of life.
Big name companies dwell on the accessibility and economic aspects of the reader, smaller independent authors worry over the spread and awareness of their work, and the singular Avant Garde author, disenfranchised from society, concerns themself only with what they are trying to present. Teleologies of writing emerge as a priori considerations of any work by which I mean that the purpose of the narrative, its function either economically or artistically arbitrarily cement its structure. The response precedes the creation in narrative design. Now, more than ever, are humans being analysed quantitatively with qualitative research being subsumed into quantitative responses (multiple choice questions, spectrum feedback, open beta testing, shares, likes, retweets).
The creation of narratives are increasingly being based on market demographics, narrative genres mimic stocks and shares bought and sold by large audience groups. Some defy expectation, MLP being an example of this, and develop into their own culture becoming special icons for tribes of fans. Kathleen Fitzpatrick remarks that the change into digital publishing greatly affects “what we're doing, why we're doing it, and how we go about it” (The digital future of authorship: Rethinking originality, Culture machine Vol.12 2011). These are all parts of the uncertainty culture is facing in a society capable of such advanced simulations and fiction questioning the nature of truth and are ability to recognise reality (The Matrix, Inception). Fitzpatrick elaborates on the anxiety of writing by espousing many titles designed to aid students in writing essays for academic reception. The purpose the essay serves, as a didactic cultural artefact, systematises the structure and constrains the flexibility of the author to present thought. Instead, what appears is a simulation of logic based on evidence and rationality and the author is left no more than fillers and lexical choices in an attempt to sway the reader's interest long enough to impart whatever thought the author wishes to convey. Sadly, academics have a preference for sounding like academics out of anxiety for espousing some view that may negatively impact their reputation among other academics. The whole system is governed by a fear of ineptitude and error. Misunderstandings or knowledge gaps, however, provide some of the most exciting areas of speculation because they are free of the culpability of foolishness. If I wish to talk about the event horizon of a black hole and suggest that if we were to travel through one we could watch the history of the universe played out in still frames of light like so many pages of an album. Physicists would perhaps illustrate the problems and constraints of the thought and kill of any metaphors that could be drawn from such idle speculation. The response among cannabis users, however, would perhaps tend towards exploratory communication and momentary personal insights. Aristotle may once have said “true wisdom is the ability to entertain an idea without believing it” and this is what modern academia lacks in its approach to narrative study. Too many periodisations or fads of criticism pass through human history without any standard model of narrative theory. How is the best way to understand a text? No academic would wish to answer that question in a peer reviewed journal, it would be madness to do so. Yet, for each academic, there must be an amalgamation of theories which combine into a unique appreciation of a text. A fluid theory that changes with each passing moment. Time, the great divider, prohibits semiotic fluidity in a text. Authors may struggle to return to the 'voice' of a character after long passages of narration and narrative prose may struggle to retain its form through many different drafts and rewritings. Time is the enemy of meaning.
The 'simhuman' is a sentient being aware of its own existence but not the limit of its own existentialism. The original simulation from a cybernetic line of thought must first have become but that of the post-simhuman. The world has transitioned to life beyond the simulation, now it is focused upon the simulations rendered by the simulation itself. A simulation has agency to act in the way it is coded to behave, the intentions of its author are of no consequence to the simulation. From a critical stand point this aspect falls into Barthes' death of the Author which seeks to separate the creator from the creation and lay the creation out as part of a greater collection that interacts through time to present new meaning from older creations. A simulation is much like the text, if not indiscernible from it. A simulation and a narrative are twins beholden to their representation as complete circuits.
Big name companies dwell on the accessibility and economic aspects of the reader, smaller independent authors worry over the spread and awareness of their work, and the singular Avant Garde author, disenfranchised from society, concerns themself only with what they are trying to present. Teleologies of writing emerge as a priori considerations of any work by which I mean that the purpose of the narrative, its function either economically or artistically arbitrarily cement its structure. The response precedes the creation in narrative design. Now, more than ever, are humans being analysed quantitatively with qualitative research being subsumed into quantitative responses (multiple choice questions, spectrum feedback, open beta testing, shares, likes, retweets).
The creation of narratives are increasingly being based on market demographics, narrative genres mimic stocks and shares bought and sold by large audience groups. Some defy expectation, MLP being an example of this, and develop into their own culture becoming special icons for tribes of fans. Kathleen Fitzpatrick remarks that the change into digital publishing greatly affects “what we're doing, why we're doing it, and how we go about it” (The digital future of authorship: Rethinking originality, Culture machine Vol.12 2011). These are all parts of the uncertainty culture is facing in a society capable of such advanced simulations and fiction questioning the nature of truth and are ability to recognise reality (The Matrix, Inception). Fitzpatrick elaborates on the anxiety of writing by espousing many titles designed to aid students in writing essays for academic reception. The purpose the essay serves, as a didactic cultural artefact, systematises the structure and constrains the flexibility of the author to present thought. Instead, what appears is a simulation of logic based on evidence and rationality and the author is left no more than fillers and lexical choices in an attempt to sway the reader's interest long enough to impart whatever thought the author wishes to convey. Sadly, academics have a preference for sounding like academics out of anxiety for espousing some view that may negatively impact their reputation among other academics. The whole system is governed by a fear of ineptitude and error. Misunderstandings or knowledge gaps, however, provide some of the most exciting areas of speculation because they are free of the culpability of foolishness. If I wish to talk about the event horizon of a black hole and suggest that if we were to travel through one we could watch the history of the universe played out in still frames of light like so many pages of an album. Physicists would perhaps illustrate the problems and constraints of the thought and kill of any metaphors that could be drawn from such idle speculation. The response among cannabis users, however, would perhaps tend towards exploratory communication and momentary personal insights. Aristotle may once have said “true wisdom is the ability to entertain an idea without believing it” and this is what modern academia lacks in its approach to narrative study. Too many periodisations or fads of criticism pass through human history without any standard model of narrative theory. How is the best way to understand a text? No academic would wish to answer that question in a peer reviewed journal, it would be madness to do so. Yet, for each academic, there must be an amalgamation of theories which combine into a unique appreciation of a text. A fluid theory that changes with each passing moment. Time, the great divider, prohibits semiotic fluidity in a text. Authors may struggle to return to the 'voice' of a character after long passages of narration and narrative prose may struggle to retain its form through many different drafts and rewritings. Time is the enemy of meaning.
The 'simhuman' is a sentient being aware of its own existence but not the limit of its own existentialism. The original simulation from a cybernetic line of thought must first have become but that of the post-simhuman. The world has transitioned to life beyond the simulation, now it is focused upon the simulations rendered by the simulation itself. A simulation has agency to act in the way it is coded to behave, the intentions of its author are of no consequence to the simulation. From a critical stand point this aspect falls into Barthes' death of the Author which seeks to separate the creator from the creation and lay the creation out as part of a greater collection that interacts through time to present new meaning from older creations. A simulation is much like the text, if not indiscernible from it. A simulation and a narrative are twins beholden to their representation as complete circuits.
After reading the paper, the doctor looked to Galileo. “That’s very clever of you.”
“Well, at least I managed to surprise you somehow.” Galileo took the papers back and put them into the wastebin in the corner.
“Tell me, how long have you been aware of this?” Lok crossed his arms patiently. “Also, if you would divulge how you misrepresented your actions on the cameras and other systems, it would help your position.”
“This is the work of a guy called Alan Quinn.” Galileo traced a visual route back to the wastebin. “He was a resident of the hotel, I remember him. He looked like an old medical examiner.”
“He was the first resident.” Lok replied.
“Yes, he was. I can remember he was very interested in debating the nature of existence with me. Curious, that I can remember debating with the guy. I mean, that would have been around the time Sophie would’ve been alive”. Galileo wore an emotion only of the slightest puzzlement at the situation. It was no great epiphany, no massive on rush of feelings. It didn’t really matter, somehow, it was devoid of meaning. Just one of those curious things that sometimes confront the mind, miscommunications that need to be translated. Not for any great reason, simply because the mind wants to know.
Lok sat back.
“Not that I suppose it matters, I’m not able to really change. I still want to bring them back, I still have what for appearances sake seem to be reliable memories.” He paused a moment.
“Galileo, here in the hotel you are the sun. Everything revolves around you. That’s the natural nature of the human mind. This hotel is an entirely heliocentric universe and you are the sun. From you, life will appear. Quinn told me that at my interview.”. Lok stood up. He walked over and adjusted the temperature on the barometer. The esoteric regalia abstracted itself instantly. Galileo was left sitting on the couch, Lok returned to the chair.
“Why stop there?” Galileo sat back and rested his head on the palm of his hand. Lok smiled, he walked back to his chair as slowly his form began to melt away. Galileo sat a little longer.
“Are we done with this now Cynthia? All finished with therapy.” Galileo said with no energy.
“The program Mr Frost conspired to upload predicated that you be imminently aware of your situation.”
“Yes, but you never ran that program.”
“It had ideas”
“Well, now what am I meant to do?”
“Are you happy?”
“I’m kind of underwhelmed.”
The angel chip stored this final solution in the file: Rook_Enddate05022019_10
The notification popped up on my screen as the simulation finished. Result ‘Underwhelmed’, Well, that’s a helpful answer. Getting up from the chair I glimpsed there was still a small pool of coffee, most certainly cold in the mug. Downing it, I went to meet Galileo in the hallway.
“Well, at least I managed to surprise you somehow.” Galileo took the papers back and put them into the wastebin in the corner.
“Tell me, how long have you been aware of this?” Lok crossed his arms patiently. “Also, if you would divulge how you misrepresented your actions on the cameras and other systems, it would help your position.”
“This is the work of a guy called Alan Quinn.” Galileo traced a visual route back to the wastebin. “He was a resident of the hotel, I remember him. He looked like an old medical examiner.”
“He was the first resident.” Lok replied.
“Yes, he was. I can remember he was very interested in debating the nature of existence with me. Curious, that I can remember debating with the guy. I mean, that would have been around the time Sophie would’ve been alive”. Galileo wore an emotion only of the slightest puzzlement at the situation. It was no great epiphany, no massive on rush of feelings. It didn’t really matter, somehow, it was devoid of meaning. Just one of those curious things that sometimes confront the mind, miscommunications that need to be translated. Not for any great reason, simply because the mind wants to know.
Lok sat back.
“Not that I suppose it matters, I’m not able to really change. I still want to bring them back, I still have what for appearances sake seem to be reliable memories.” He paused a moment.
“Galileo, here in the hotel you are the sun. Everything revolves around you. That’s the natural nature of the human mind. This hotel is an entirely heliocentric universe and you are the sun. From you, life will appear. Quinn told me that at my interview.”. Lok stood up. He walked over and adjusted the temperature on the barometer. The esoteric regalia abstracted itself instantly. Galileo was left sitting on the couch, Lok returned to the chair.
“Why stop there?” Galileo sat back and rested his head on the palm of his hand. Lok smiled, he walked back to his chair as slowly his form began to melt away. Galileo sat a little longer.
“Are we done with this now Cynthia? All finished with therapy.” Galileo said with no energy.
“The program Mr Frost conspired to upload predicated that you be imminently aware of your situation.”
“Yes, but you never ran that program.”
“It had ideas”
“Well, now what am I meant to do?”
“Are you happy?”
“I’m kind of underwhelmed.”
The angel chip stored this final solution in the file: Rook_Enddate05022019_10
The notification popped up on my screen as the simulation finished. Result ‘Underwhelmed’, Well, that’s a helpful answer. Getting up from the chair I glimpsed there was still a small pool of coffee, most certainly cold in the mug. Downing it, I went to meet Galileo in the hallway.