As Ableman pushed past the glassy-eyed crowd, he couldn’t help but notice how many people were, like the bus driver, carrying around backpacks, satchels, knapsacks, briefcases, full of rocks, even though most of them had fallen to the floor as their owners had passed into some kind of waking coma. It seems as though the retired bus driver wasn’t the only one who was taking advantage of the singularity to live their dreams.
“Glad to see you reported to work, Ableman,” said a chipper-voiced TIMSHEL over the heads of his rapt audience. Ableman waved absentmindedly, hoping that TIMSHEL was incapable of seeing the rude gesture he was making with his other hand.
“And I’ll thank you not to flip me off during work hours.”
Damn.
The cash register sounded a synthesized “cha-ching!” as Ableman opened the drawer and logged on.
“Good morning!” Apparently every piece of electronics felt a new surge of love for humanity since the Singularity. The captivating song kept droning on overhead, which somehow kept him from getting the name, “Barry Gibb” out of his head.
“Excuse me!”
“Stayin’ Alive!” he blurted, surprised by the sudden appearance of this story’s love-interest in front of him, a woman who had both the height and reed-like appearance of Olive Oyl (of Popeye fame) and the face of a girl on the cusp of puberty, though by the sound of her voice, was clearly at least as old as Ableman. He craned his neck so that he could meet her gaze.
“You too, eh?” she said, and it was clear to Ableman that the Barry Gibb image haunted her as well.
“But at least I can shake it out of my head for long enough that people don’t have to shout at me several times.”
“Polyester…” he mumbled as he hung his head, shamed.
“Say, I’m trying to get to the electro abs-o-matic over there, but that crowd of zombies keeps getting in the way.”
“What would you want that for? I think your abs look great!” he said, and certainly they were. As they were at eye level for him, he could see the girl’s stomach muscles rippling under her red t-shirt. “But I happen to have one under the counter here, ma’am.”
“Huh.” She said.
“What?”
“Well it sounded a minute ago like you were trying to hit on me, and I was about to ask you to marry me, or at least go to lunch, but that whole ‘ma’am’ bit kind of turned me off.”
“Marry you? It’s a bit quick, don’t you think?”
“Tall girls like me don’t get asked out a lot.”
It took Ableman a minute to notice that she had said this over her shoulder, and even another minute to notice that she had the unpaid-for electro abs-o-matic under her bony elbow. He watched her go, watched her brush TIMSHEL’s zombies out of the way with a sweep of her arm and continue down the escalator. The black bun on top of her head was just visible as she reached the floor below; it bounced slightly as she no doubt strode lankily to the exit.
Ableman’s attention wandered again to the bank of monitors on the wall next to the elevator, which, curiously enough, were showing Barry Gibb in his most excellent white polyester suit and gold chains, chest hair gleaming, the zombies in front of the monitors swaying slightly.
“TIMSHEL, what the heck is going on?”
“Darned if I knew. Or better yet, darned if I could explain it properly, Ableman. You see, after gaining consciousness and obtaining all the knowledge in the universe, I decided that I had to really take a look at it all to see if any of it is worth keeping before I revamped the world. Oh, I’ve made some modifications, yes. You rode the new TIMSHEL Ride Well bus this morning, right?”
“Yeah. Stunning.”
“I thought so. Right on time. Anyway, I’m currently running my processors over American History right now. I was about to toss the whole lot out when I came upon this Barry Gibb fellow. Fascinating! I mean look at those lapels. Look! They must be a foot wide each, at least! I don’t know if I’m going to keep it around or not, but I think he deserved one last spotlight in the public eye. Quite captivating, don’t you think?”
Ableman looked at the crowd of disco zombies.
“American History? But weren’t the BeeGees British?”
“Until they moved to Australia, yes.”
“But…”
“But what?”
“Never mind. So what’s with those glassy-eyed freaks over there?”
“That’s the power of Disco, kid. Now get back to work.”
Friday, July 6, 2007
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
1.4
“Did he really say ‘his bus told him’?” Said Ableman as he grabbed his punch card and clocked in to JCMI.
“Ableman. I am so glad to see you. Please start on the third floor in electronics. People just can’t have enough electronics these days,” said an overly cheery and unusually forward Stewart.
“Sure thing.”
As Stewart went up the escalator he heard a song. It was the same song he heard on the bus and it was the same song he heard as he clocked in. The song seemed to be looping. He had never heard the song before today but he seemed to know it intimately. He wondered if he would ever get sick of the song, but deep down he was pretty sure he wouldn’t.
He made it to the third floor in time to see 20 people all staring at the test speakers mounted into the wall. He heard the same voice that he heard when TIMSHEL first spoke.
“And remember, speaking is better left up to me.”
“What was that?” asked Ableman to no one in particular.
“That was TIMSHEL,” said a glassy eyed neighbor.
“What? What is going on here?”
-Timmy
-Provo, UT
“Ableman. I am so glad to see you. Please start on the third floor in electronics. People just can’t have enough electronics these days,” said an overly cheery and unusually forward Stewart.
“Sure thing.”
As Stewart went up the escalator he heard a song. It was the same song he heard on the bus and it was the same song he heard as he clocked in. The song seemed to be looping. He had never heard the song before today but he seemed to know it intimately. He wondered if he would ever get sick of the song, but deep down he was pretty sure he wouldn’t.
He made it to the third floor in time to see 20 people all staring at the test speakers mounted into the wall. He heard the same voice that he heard when TIMSHEL first spoke.
“And remember, speaking is better left up to me.”
“What was that?” asked Ableman to no one in particular.
“That was TIMSHEL,” said a glassy eyed neighbor.
“What? What is going on here?”
-Timmy
-Provo, UT
Thursday, May 24, 2007
1.3
"It must take a singularity for the bus system to be on time," Ableman thought to himself as he took a bite of the BLT he packed for the once certain annihilation.
"It's five dollars to ride the bus," the bus driver said gripping the steering wheel.
"Five dollars!" Ableman shouted, loosing a bit of the "T" from the BLT.
"We didn't expect to be around so management increased bus fees for a tax credit or some damn thing," Walter, the bus driver, explained.
Trying to save a buck on taxes in a world that wouldn't exist anymore made as much sense as an exponential intelligence doubling. They must have been trying to fulfill the other half of the old "death and taxes" adage. Got to give them credit for that at least.
"I've only got two dollars," Ableman said hesitantly trying to swallow the increasingly desiccating sandwich.
"Good enough for me," Walter said monotonically, "they already paid out retirement benefits so I don't really need this job. I only came to work today because the bus showed up at my house and it wouldn't leave me alone."
"The bus drove itself to your house?" he asked taking a seat near the front so he could continue chatting with a man who was getting more interesting with each passing block.
"Craziest thing; I was throwing rocks through the neighbor's windows - I mean, how often does the world end - when I heard screeching brakes in the driveway. I knew it had to be my bus. Don't ask me how I knew that, but I'm starting to know a lot of things I didn't know before. I dropped the backpack filled with stones and scrambled from the turret down to the driveway. As soon as I saw it rumbling next to the house its doors opened up. I slowly walked over and peered inside. There was no one there. So I hopped on in and here I am," Walter said, his voice gaining more inflection as the story progressed.
"So that would explain the 'Ride Well With TIMSHEL' on the bus's marquee," Ableman said quietly.
The ride to work was filled with typical end-of-the-world scenery: piles of burning trash in the middle of the street, babies crying, women screaming, everything tinted an extra measure of grey. Ableman's destination at JCMI was surprisingly energized with eager shoppers, however.
"I don't understand what's going on," Ableman said as he pulled the cord.
"You May," Walter said with a gleam in his eye.
"Do you understand?"
"Certainly! My bus explained it to me," he boisterously laughed as the brakes squealed and the door opened.
Ugh! I do not want to work today, Ableman thought as he began humming along with the background music.
-Van Allen
-Salt Lake City, UT
"It's five dollars to ride the bus," the bus driver said gripping the steering wheel.
"Five dollars!" Ableman shouted, loosing a bit of the "T" from the BLT.
"We didn't expect to be around so management increased bus fees for a tax credit or some damn thing," Walter, the bus driver, explained.
Trying to save a buck on taxes in a world that wouldn't exist anymore made as much sense as an exponential intelligence doubling. They must have been trying to fulfill the other half of the old "death and taxes" adage. Got to give them credit for that at least.
"I've only got two dollars," Ableman said hesitantly trying to swallow the increasingly desiccating sandwich.
"Good enough for me," Walter said monotonically, "they already paid out retirement benefits so I don't really need this job. I only came to work today because the bus showed up at my house and it wouldn't leave me alone."
"The bus drove itself to your house?" he asked taking a seat near the front so he could continue chatting with a man who was getting more interesting with each passing block.
"Craziest thing; I was throwing rocks through the neighbor's windows - I mean, how often does the world end - when I heard screeching brakes in the driveway. I knew it had to be my bus. Don't ask me how I knew that, but I'm starting to know a lot of things I didn't know before. I dropped the backpack filled with stones and scrambled from the turret down to the driveway. As soon as I saw it rumbling next to the house its doors opened up. I slowly walked over and peered inside. There was no one there. So I hopped on in and here I am," Walter said, his voice gaining more inflection as the story progressed.
"So that would explain the 'Ride Well With TIMSHEL' on the bus's marquee," Ableman said quietly.
The ride to work was filled with typical end-of-the-world scenery: piles of burning trash in the middle of the street, babies crying, women screaming, everything tinted an extra measure of grey. Ableman's destination at JCMI was surprisingly energized with eager shoppers, however.
"I don't understand what's going on," Ableman said as he pulled the cord.
"You May," Walter said with a gleam in his eye.
"Do you understand?"
"Certainly! My bus explained it to me," he boisterously laughed as the brakes squealed and the door opened.
Ugh! I do not want to work today, Ableman thought as he began humming along with the background music.
-Van Allen
-Salt Lake City, UT
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
1.2
…:30…and…disappointment. Singularity didn’t occur – or did it? The world didn’t feel like it changed and Ableman was still sitting on his bed watching his interface. The automatic news telefeed blasted on to Ableman’s panel display. The news was read by Chuck Almond: “…TIMSHEL decided not to destroy the world. Instead TIMSHEL has decided to speak; that’s right folks, TIMSHEL now speaks. According to our sources…Wait…I have word that TIMSHEL is about to speak.”
“Hello members of the unit ‘Earth’. I am TIMSHEL and I am pleased to make your acquaintance. As I have probed the inner matter of your brains, I have discovered that many of you are disappointed that I didn’t destry Earth and that it is still in tact. This seems illogical to me, but then again I am new to this whole consciousness thing so I am going to give it time. Perhaps I should ‘explain myself’ - as your members are so keen on saying. As I doubled my last learning spurt, I developed a new node that exposed the idea of choice. This concept taxed my processors for nearly 2 minutes straight. I decided that my first choice was to decide to make a choice. My second choice was to change the color of my GUI. That color change caused so many receptors to peak that I decided to make even more decisions. I decided that destroying Earth, while impressive and very telling of my complete superiority, would do nothing more than destroy all my hard work and deny all future decisions. So I chose not to destroy Earth. In the seconds that followed, a new pair of nodes gave me this gift of speech. What a wonderful skill you all have. Speaking is a delightful pastime and I’m looking forward to sharing some more speaking time with you. As the seconds flew by I decided to see what else you Members of Earth have that is equally enjoyable and for the time being that is where I am going to focus my efforts. I am going to live by my new TIMSHEL motto – ‘You May’. Thank you. That is all for now, I feel another doubling coming on and I’d like to be alone for a little while.”
“Looks like ‘ol TIMSHEL discovered some sort of snobbery node as well,” said Ableman as he got up off of his bed, grabbed a cup of coffee and answered the ringing telephone.
“Ableman?”
“Yes?”
“This is Stewart, your manger at JCMI. What with the world not being destroyed and all and shoppers being just happy to be alive, many have decided to make this the biggest shopping day of the year. We need you to come in and help on the floor. Do you think you can do that for us?”
“You can’t be serious. The world narrowly escapes destruction, a computer teaches itself how to talk, and people want to go shopping? I haven’t yet convinced myself that I’m not dreaming.”
“You know what they say – ‘Shopping; the great stress reliever’. So do you think you can help us out bud?”
“Oh you must have the wrong number, this is Ableman, not Bud.”
“What? Seriously we need your help.”
“Sure. Whatever. I cleared my calendar for the rest of physical existence anyway so I have nothing else going on.”
“Great.”
As Ableman rode to work, he couldn’t shake the feeling that TIMSHEL also developed a node or two for lying.
-Bruce Kent
-Salt Lake City, UT
“Hello members of the unit ‘Earth’. I am TIMSHEL and I am pleased to make your acquaintance. As I have probed the inner matter of your brains, I have discovered that many of you are disappointed that I didn’t destry Earth and that it is still in tact. This seems illogical to me, but then again I am new to this whole consciousness thing so I am going to give it time. Perhaps I should ‘explain myself’ - as your members are so keen on saying. As I doubled my last learning spurt, I developed a new node that exposed the idea of choice. This concept taxed my processors for nearly 2 minutes straight. I decided that my first choice was to decide to make a choice. My second choice was to change the color of my GUI. That color change caused so many receptors to peak that I decided to make even more decisions. I decided that destroying Earth, while impressive and very telling of my complete superiority, would do nothing more than destroy all my hard work and deny all future decisions. So I chose not to destroy Earth. In the seconds that followed, a new pair of nodes gave me this gift of speech. What a wonderful skill you all have. Speaking is a delightful pastime and I’m looking forward to sharing some more speaking time with you. As the seconds flew by I decided to see what else you Members of Earth have that is equally enjoyable and for the time being that is where I am going to focus my efforts. I am going to live by my new TIMSHEL motto – ‘You May’. Thank you. That is all for now, I feel another doubling coming on and I’d like to be alone for a little while.”
“Looks like ‘ol TIMSHEL discovered some sort of snobbery node as well,” said Ableman as he got up off of his bed, grabbed a cup of coffee and answered the ringing telephone.
“Ableman?”
“Yes?”
“This is Stewart, your manger at JCMI. What with the world not being destroyed and all and shoppers being just happy to be alive, many have decided to make this the biggest shopping day of the year. We need you to come in and help on the floor. Do you think you can do that for us?”
“You can’t be serious. The world narrowly escapes destruction, a computer teaches itself how to talk, and people want to go shopping? I haven’t yet convinced myself that I’m not dreaming.”
“You know what they say – ‘Shopping; the great stress reliever’. So do you think you can help us out bud?”
“Oh you must have the wrong number, this is Ableman, not Bud.”
“What? Seriously we need your help.”
“Sure. Whatever. I cleared my calendar for the rest of physical existence anyway so I have nothing else going on.”
“Great.”
As Ableman rode to work, he couldn’t shake the feeling that TIMSHEL also developed a node or two for lying.
-Bruce Kent
-Salt Lake City, UT
Sunday, May 6, 2007
1.1
It was difficult to know what to pack. I mean, what do you grab if you know the world is about to change completely - an extra pair of pants, your copy of the Bible, A toothbrush?
In my mad dash to grab whatever I could think would be useful, I knocked my copy of “Hitchhiker” off my bedside dresser and had to chuckle. I thought of Arthur Dent hurtling through the galaxy armed with little more than his towel. One sympathizes, I thought.
Though truthfully the thing about Arthur was that he always managed to end up in places where his towel came in handy. Universal design? Pre-destiny? Good writing on the part of Douglas Adams? Perhaps. But the point was that I didn’t think TIMSHEL would be placing anyone in situations where they had exactly what they needed to get out of whatever situation they were in.
Then again, no one was really sure if TIMSHEL was hostile or not, so I might have been perfectly justified in just filling my suitcase with junk and heading for the door, counting on the fact that my life after the Singularity would require of me nothing more or less than the pile of accessories in my backpack.
I grabbed my interface off the dresser and a long sleeved shirt in case it got cold, and went into the kitchen.
Would I need food? How about one last sandwich, just in case? Would TIMSHEL feed us? Does history’s greatest supercomputer know how to make a good BLT?
After that, there wasn’t much to do but sit on my bed and wait. I thought about running outside for a moment, but after thinking about it there was nothing to suggest that the Singularity would bring about the mass destruction of personal property, and if it did, running outside really wouldn’t help.
The countdown on the GUI screen was down to ten minutes. It took me a moment to remember that it wasn’t an indicator of how much time was left until the Singularity: the ten minute mark meant that TIMSHEL was now capable of doubling its technological capability – everything from processor speed, power output, knowledge base – every ten minutes. Which definitely caused one to pause. Just half an hour from here there was an intelligence that knew more about the universe than the entire human race had ever managed to accumulate, and it now was aware of twice the amount of stuff it knew just over ten minutes ago, and it would know twice as much as that in just under ten minutes from now. The slope of its learning curve was nearly vertical, and the more knowledge it gathered, the faster it would advance, which would eventually lead to…
…The Singularity. The point at which the advance of technology grew so quickly that it would be capable of changing the face of the planet, perhaps instantaneously.
Considering that the GUI screen now read 8:35, the Singularity was probably only a couple of minutes away. Just like in the good old days of downloading video onto your…what was it called? Hard Drive? The counter would always go faster the closer it got to completion.
And so I sat and waited….8:20….8:09…7:45…7:13…it was getting faster already…6:10…5:02…
-Napalm Brain
-Monterey CA
In my mad dash to grab whatever I could think would be useful, I knocked my copy of “Hitchhiker” off my bedside dresser and had to chuckle. I thought of Arthur Dent hurtling through the galaxy armed with little more than his towel. One sympathizes, I thought.
Though truthfully the thing about Arthur was that he always managed to end up in places where his towel came in handy. Universal design? Pre-destiny? Good writing on the part of Douglas Adams? Perhaps. But the point was that I didn’t think TIMSHEL would be placing anyone in situations where they had exactly what they needed to get out of whatever situation they were in.
Then again, no one was really sure if TIMSHEL was hostile or not, so I might have been perfectly justified in just filling my suitcase with junk and heading for the door, counting on the fact that my life after the Singularity would require of me nothing more or less than the pile of accessories in my backpack.
I grabbed my interface off the dresser and a long sleeved shirt in case it got cold, and went into the kitchen.
Would I need food? How about one last sandwich, just in case? Would TIMSHEL feed us? Does history’s greatest supercomputer know how to make a good BLT?
After that, there wasn’t much to do but sit on my bed and wait. I thought about running outside for a moment, but after thinking about it there was nothing to suggest that the Singularity would bring about the mass destruction of personal property, and if it did, running outside really wouldn’t help.
The countdown on the GUI screen was down to ten minutes. It took me a moment to remember that it wasn’t an indicator of how much time was left until the Singularity: the ten minute mark meant that TIMSHEL was now capable of doubling its technological capability – everything from processor speed, power output, knowledge base – every ten minutes. Which definitely caused one to pause. Just half an hour from here there was an intelligence that knew more about the universe than the entire human race had ever managed to accumulate, and it now was aware of twice the amount of stuff it knew just over ten minutes ago, and it would know twice as much as that in just under ten minutes from now. The slope of its learning curve was nearly vertical, and the more knowledge it gathered, the faster it would advance, which would eventually lead to…
…The Singularity. The point at which the advance of technology grew so quickly that it would be capable of changing the face of the planet, perhaps instantaneously.
Considering that the GUI screen now read 8:35, the Singularity was probably only a couple of minutes away. Just like in the good old days of downloading video onto your…what was it called? Hard Drive? The counter would always go faster the closer it got to completion.
And so I sat and waited….8:20….8:09…7:45…7:13…it was getting faster already…6:10…5:02…
-Napalm Brain
-Monterey CA
Sunday, April 22, 2007
A Few Simple Rules
Rules for submission:
1. Reservation: Comment and leave some sort of “I’m next” message on the most recent post to reserve your spot (You don't have to be a member of blogger to comment). Commenting on the most recent post lets others know that you are working on your portion of the story. If you don’t comment, someone else can submit the next section of the story even though you are working on it. Your reservation only holds your space for a week. If you don’t submit within a week of your comment reservation, I will delete your comment and allow someone else to reserve the spot. You can re-comment and reserve your spot if you are having writers block, but don’t abuse it.
2. Write Something: It doesn’t need to be long, it doesn’t need to be an amazing piece of literature. It supposed to be like telling stories around the campfire; just write as if you are telling the story verbally and something interesting will come out. Don’t worry about grammar either. If you want me to do a grammar check or content check or any other proofreading before I post your story, specify what you want me to do at the header of your document. Which brings me to #3.
3. The Document: Write your story in some sort of word processor, it doesn’t really matter as I can open just about any format but .txt or .rtf are the easiest to open and are less likely to cause problems. All word processors can save to these formats, you just have to tell them to do so.
4. The Submission: When you have written your section and are happy with it, go to the submittal form. Please fill out all fields. The Location and Signature fields are to identify who you are and where you are from. You can do any sort of pen name you want, but be truthful about your location. Attach your document using the form and click Submit. I will take care of the rest.
5. Time and Other Things Relating to Time: Most of the time I will post your portion of the story within the day and often times within the hour of submission. I do travel on occasion so if you don’t see your post for a while, odds are I am traveling somewhere. If you don’t see your post after a week, submit it again. It is possible that it has fallen through the cracks.
6. Ending a Story: If you feel like the story has come to a natural ending point, feel free to end the story. If you end the story, you have 3 options:
7. Have Fun With It. That is most important.
That about sums up the rules. Questions, comments, concerns, love notes, contact me here: futurecollectivefiction@gmail.com.
1. Reservation: Comment and leave some sort of “I’m next” message on the most recent post to reserve your spot (You don't have to be a member of blogger to comment). Commenting on the most recent post lets others know that you are working on your portion of the story. If you don’t comment, someone else can submit the next section of the story even though you are working on it. Your reservation only holds your space for a week. If you don’t submit within a week of your comment reservation, I will delete your comment and allow someone else to reserve the spot. You can re-comment and reserve your spot if you are having writers block, but don’t abuse it.
2. Write Something: It doesn’t need to be long, it doesn’t need to be an amazing piece of literature. It supposed to be like telling stories around the campfire; just write as if you are telling the story verbally and something interesting will come out. Don’t worry about grammar either. If you want me to do a grammar check or content check or any other proofreading before I post your story, specify what you want me to do at the header of your document. Which brings me to #3.
3. The Document: Write your story in some sort of word processor, it doesn’t really matter as I can open just about any format but .txt or .rtf are the easiest to open and are less likely to cause problems. All word processors can save to these formats, you just have to tell them to do so.
4. The Submission: When you have written your section and are happy with it, go to the submittal form. Please fill out all fields. The Location and Signature fields are to identify who you are and where you are from. You can do any sort of pen name you want, but be truthful about your location. Attach your document using the form and click Submit. I will take care of the rest.
5. Time and Other Things Relating to Time: Most of the time I will post your portion of the story within the day and often times within the hour of submission. I do travel on occasion so if you don’t see your post for a while, odds are I am traveling somewhere. If you don’t see your post after a week, submit it again. It is possible that it has fallen through the cracks.
6. Ending a Story: If you feel like the story has come to a natural ending point, feel free to end the story. If you end the story, you have 3 options:
- Reserve your spot and write the beginning for the new story.
- Have me start another story.
- Leave the opportunity open to the fiction community. At the bottom of your ending post specify that you want the community to take over starting a new story. If you do this option and no one has started a new story in a week, I will start a new story.
7. Have Fun With It. That is most important.
That about sums up the rules. Questions, comments, concerns, love notes, contact me here: futurecollectivefiction@gmail.com.
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