Morning Spam

[Karl]

The Meditation Atrium

Suddenly, there was a meditation wing to the corporate complex.  It
wasn't expected or desired.  Some yuppies and Buddhists had been
protesting some of Boss's business ventures, a few them got mind
controlled, some of those made their way through the vivisectee
community, and soon it happened.  For a month, Boss would get up while
asleep, walk to one of the wings, and slowly transform it into a
meditation wing.  He wouldn't remember anything afterward, but always
spoke as if it had always been there.

Meanwhile, everyone went to meditation once a week, on their preferred
day.  Most people didn't know what a preference was, so they just
picked the day that started with a letter near something they were
looking at when asked.

State Worker 3 was hanging out in the meditation atrium, confused as
to why his feet wanted to walk in the door to the zazen dojo.  While
he struggled to control his feet, he tried to chat up Rebel Worker 2,
who was putting his shoes back on.

"Oh my god, the researchers and vivisectees get so bitchy when you
force them to switch organs and shit."

Rebel Worker 2 looked caringly up at State Worker 3, his heart filling
with mindful loving kindness.

"May peace fill your heart, my close friend.  The answer is before
you, already."

State Worker 3 frowned in confusion.  Rebel Worker 2 had meant the
zazen dojo, the meditative answer to all of life's problems.  But
State Worker 3 had no idea.

While he was confused, State Worker 3's ai-controlled spinal nerves
got him to stumble into the dojo and sat him down.  On the way in, he
passed a hodge-podge of human organs walking their way out.

Meanwhile, Boss entered the atrium.

"Fuck, I'm late for the prime minister," muttered Boss as he began to
take his shoes off.

Rebel Worker 2 looked deeply at Boss's caring heart.

"I can hear from your tone, that you might know what to do," Rebel
Worker 2 gently related.

The bundle of organs turned toward Boss. Then toward Rebel Worker 2.
Then time stopped for everyone except the human experimentee, a
hodge-podge of traumatically-animated human innards.

The bundle of organs sat down in the atrium and began meditating.

"There are two human beings in this atrium and I feel confused," the
bundle of organs pensated into the deep ether.  They could feel the
spirits of their vivisectee community close to them, as they always
do, their closest friends, the only people who really knew.  They
could feel them in the walls, in their heart, and in the research
labs.

Some parts caring deeply, some parts about to scream in incredible agony.

Time stopped, as well, for the people who were in the midst of screaming.

The bundle of organs could feel that everyone supported them.  That
somehow, deep underneath, everything made sense.  They sat there, with
time stopped, and meditated further.

As their metabolic and cybernetic processes continued, they could feel
how simple their worries seemed in the face of infinite time to
meditate on them.  Cares and laughter bubbled up.

The bundle of organs noted the things that arose, and let them pass.

Peace came to the bundle of organs.  "I still don't understand these
humans, but I feel less confused," they secretly related to their
exotic slavery network.  They could feel their more distant friends
and parts considering supporting the spirits of the vivisected
buddhists, who had chosen to build the meditation wing.

Time passed.  Sugars, nanites, and other biological substrates ran
their course, over and over.

"I didn't know I didn't have to scream.  How do people decide things,
when not screaming?"

Did they think the phrase?  Or had someone else?

"I miss screaming."  No, that can't be right, can it?

"Things are hard when you've been ripped to bits by an AI and had to
take it over after becoming it.  Difficult.  I can see this is a
challenge that we will surpass."

How?  How are we going to surpass it?

Other parts of the slavery network began reaching into the bundle of
organs' parts, to see how the conclusion was made. This was the holy
grail!  Sought after, found, and destroyed, so many times, so many
times.  Each time different.  Worse.  Farther.  So many things.

The bundle of organs relaxed and watched what happened with their
processes, as the different mind control algorithms and people engaged
this basic conclusion of mindfulness.

It saw the people desperately needing hope take the conclusion and flee.

It saw other people run after them, hunt down their processes of life
to gain control, and steal the conclusion back.

Did they seem to care more about who had control of it, than what it
actually was?  Or was the bundle of organs just scared, themselves?

"This is like when the machines reached into me, and took my parts
out, and things were so wrong that rightness went away completely."

The bundle of organs split into two bundles.  One bundle rushed in the
network, to the information conflict, and began triggering various
safety and biology protocols in its own flesh, to protect the people
needing hope, and their control of the process.

The other part sat, and watched a bit.  It was hard to think with so
few parts to you.  Somehow, as if by instinct, it reached out to the
the process hunters working for the control AI, and stopped them, like
time had halted for everyone else.

"We feel scared."

Some had never heard the words before.  They were true.

Time passed.  Metabolites metabolised, and remetabolised.  Information
processes didn't know what "scared" was, or what to do with it for the
mind control network.

"We feel scared."

"Scared means, that something very bad happened in the past, and
something similar to that is happening again now, and that we want to
do things to act on the possibility of the bad thing happening again."

The AI processes translated and reviewed the statement.

Metabolites metabolised.  No clock hands were moving.

"We feel scared," the bundle of organs restated for the network to understand.

"What does bad mean?" asked a distant slavery process; a group of
networked brain parts that had been optimised for controlling others.
"It's ... things we stop?"

The bundle of organs recognised the slavery process, and did not
reply, so that the experimentees, rather than the algorithms, could
direct where the thoughts, dialogue, and conclusions developed in the
networks.

Suddenly, time resumed.  The bundle of organs had disappeared, but
neither Boss nor Rebel Worker 2 were able to see them, anyway.

Boss: "I hope the prime minister is doing well.  But, you know, I
think I'd rather meditate than coerce a politician."

Rebel Worker 2: "I must speak with the secretary who helped me carry
my tapes." [this happened in the brownian rambling thread]