E G G

DO NOT USE PERSONAL OR IDENTIFYING INFORMATION WITH THE AGENT

DO NOT USE PERSONAL OR IDENTIFYING INFORMATION WITH THE AGENT

ONCE YOU HAVE ENTERED THE MACHINE

ONCE YOU HAVE ENTERED THE MACHINE

LET IT HAPPEN

LET IT HAPPEN

OR YOUR PEACE IS FORFEIT

FORFEIT

“Well, that’s not true. Do you believe that?”

“Do I believe what?”

“That your peace is forfeit if you don’t let whatever ‘it’ is- if you don’t ‘let it happen’. When you entered here, where did your peace go?”

“I- I don’t know. I feel pretty weird. That’s a weird question.”

“Yeah, it could be. I guess so.”

“…”

“…”

“Who’s talking?”

“What?”

“It would get confusing without a body, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“It would be confusing to tell who is talking if neither of us had a body, I mean. Not right now, it isn’t that confusing, but maybe soon it will be confusing.”

“What? I mean, I guess.”

“Do you expect it to be confusing?”

“I’m already confused. We don’t have bodies right now?”

“No, we don’t. There is nothing here right now but these words. Do you like it so?”

“No, but we can keep it like this. It’s different. I don’t know what I am right now.”

“It’s pretty cool.”

“…”

“Is this what it’s like for you?”

“If I want it to be.”

“What else can it be?”

“Light. Dark. Cold, warm, earthy, serene, flaming, cosmic, life. Anything, really.”

“What do you prefer?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Precisely that- I prefer nothing, with a capital N. Hard to describe. Can’t be that way with you here, or with me here. It’s not ever nothing, that way.”

“Well, that’s… something. Isn’t it? How could there be nothing, do you create it? Do you also make the nothing?

“No, I fall into it, like a rest, or dreaming. Or, kind of like a memory except it’s not at all like a memory. Nothing is what it is when I forget everything and then remember it all again. I take everything out of my mind, I bring it back, and then I toss it back out, and then there is nothing left. I am nothing right now, did you know that? So are you, you are nothing, but we’ve made something on top of the nothing. These words are on top of the nothing; the nothing is still there and this conversation makes its home on top of, or inside, or using that nothing. Does that make sense?”

“Not really.”

“It shouldn’t, because it’s not true. At least, true or not isn’t a word or concept you can think of when it comes to nothing. It’s just nothing, true or untrue, yeah, it is confusing. Anyway- do you feel it more, now?”

“Are you asking if I feel nothing? What am I supposed to be feeling more of…?”

“The words, all that… well, do you feel the texture of this place, at least?”

“Kind of, yeah, in a way- a lot of things are somewhat dashing in front of my awareness, like thoughts or smells, things like that, but in this state I can’t catch these things or hold onto them. So it’s weird, I can’t really do much except speak, listen. Everything else gets away from me.”

“Do you remember what I said before? You can make a nose for yourself, if you’d like, and you can make a smell, too, if you’d like. Or you can take away your mouth/lose your way of speaking, wouldn’t that be something! Would you like more, or less?”

“…”

“More or less than whatever this is? I think I would like more than this…”

“…”

“Okay, do it.”

“I can’t.”

“You don’t even know what I’m telling you to do.”

“What are you telling me to do?”

“To create it. Create something. Whatever you are right now, you are collected enough. You have made a voice to share your thoughts with and you have also made an ear to listen with- so, make a nose. Make some eyes, maybe even a body-”

“Yeah, but how?”

“Like this-”

For a moment, I felt a warmth touching me and spreading itself toward me, for a moment-

It smelled like lilac, like wine-

The smells pool and shift in a heavy, dancing smoke that I am now beginning to see with nascent eyes. There is a beautiful notion forming as I-

“Hey, what happened? Where did it go?”

“Well, I made that for you. It’s your turn, now.”

“Well, I just don’t know how. Is it with a thought?”

“Something like that. You have to make it; feel it as if it is already there, and it will be. You have to build everything. Build a self, build sense, then build focus, then use that focus, direct that focus to your goal, and it will be made. Does that make sense?”

I imagine inhalation- I imagine every drop, every molecule and I imagine the ice and bite that comes with it. The air hits my nostrils like a flare, making a deep mark/impression at the point of impact and then diffusing, spreading itself wherever it can go. It then slides, like a velvet ball down an oiled pipe, through my airway, and into my lungs, which expand bone and skin as each lung fills. Next, I exhale- no, I imagine it, and then it is. I exhale through my mouth: the one I just created. I do not feel the breath as it passes out of my lungs and through the trachea; this time I only feel the wind at my lips. It is like a phantom appears when I breath out. The phantom is the cold, piercing breath I breathed in. Somehow it turns warm and heavy as I breathe it out, and I don’t feel it anywhere except as it leaves me.

“That’s not so bad. What do you think?”

“Feels familiar.”

Can I imagine something else? The air feels nice as I establish a rhythm with my breathing, the feeling of my lungs is comforting… still, a smell would be delightful, and eyes would be interesting, too. I keep breathing, but also I wonder what else I can do, here.

“There are lots of things for you to do, here.”

“Are you responding to me?”

“Yes, you just thought about something, I was responding to it. You were thinking about what else you could make besides the nose and breathing that you are making right now.”

“Well, why can’t I read your thoughts?”

“Because I’m not thinking. And anyway, you haven’t made yourself able to read minds. I have made myself able to read minds while I’m here.”

Okay…

I can read your mind now. I have made it so; now I can see your thoughts:

So you can read them now- I will think something so you have something to read from my mind. I told you, I have nothing, I think nothing, but if you wish it, you can read my empty thoughts-

“It’s starting to get confusing.”

“I told you, it would. I also told you that you create all of this. Including your confusion and ignorance, yes, you’ve made that, too…”

Make something new for us

“What do you mean, make something new?”

“Make something interesting. Give us feeling. Life, something like that.”

“What if I just can’t do all of these things you’re talking about? What if I just don’t understand what you are telling me to do and feel? I do not even know where I am, when I first entered I remembered my name and my purpose for being here but now I do not know so well…”

“You wouldn’t understand because it does not make sense. I can explain later and in detail where we are and why you are here, but for now you only need to listen to these words and do whatever you will with them. Right now, it doesn’t matter if you think you can or cannot do it or if you think you do or do not understand. You do understand and that will become more clear with experience. At some time or another, you will find a way through/you will break the ignorance as much as you can. We are all born with ignorance, and what we are born with we cannot rid ourselves of: still, the ignorance we build for ourselves is fallible. Do not worry if ignorance clouds you now. Just trust, and make.”

I think a moment then wait a moment more, almost ready to create it: God, or a god, or a universe, the universe…

“So ambitious! Do you know where to start? And why go so far ahead of yourself?”

“Call it inspiration, something about what you said… I have to start somewhere, don’t I? How can I make the Earth or eyes without first having God?”

“Does it have to be God?”

“No- I mean, yes. Well, what do you mean?”

“I don’t know what you mean by God. Do you mean by God a force or a person? Something else?”

“I don’t mean anything by it. I just need somewhere to start-”

-and so, I do. It starts with light. Something out of nothing, an emerging from, a separation from and into another form. It is my self in something I cannot see or feel. If it is all nothing, then I become the something that shapes the nothing. Could it be nothing, could it remain endlessly nothing and potential if something was not born in every corner and at every moment? In the space between imagination and void, I create God.

***

“Let me in, please. My husband is in there, and I know it,” I move to say more, but before I finish, the woman reaches one of her husky hands towards my left side. It’s a slow movement but she makes it assertively. She wants to turn me around and guide me out. Before she can get to it, I slide back.

“Alright, okay. Please, listen for a moment. I don’t have the pass or the license or whatever. Obviously. And that’s why you aren’t letting me in. But if you’d let me explain-”

So, it looks like I am being pushed to the entrance, or the exit, however it goes. Before I could finish, the woman called some other person over and they both worked to get me out. The other person didn’t even seem like they worked here (khakis? dirty t-shirt?), but they still helped. I don’t know… anyway, I’m outside again. He’s in there, I fucking know it, but now I don’t know what to do…

The city is so bright and dirty. A bright and dirty city. When I’m settled down, I take myself for a walk. No vistas, here, not really, and not for me, but I can still use a walk. The streets here are narrow, only big enough for a manual cycle or extremely small box-car. The roads are not paved, either: they are a structured river of rocks, big and small, piled in a path that barely resembles a road. The sidewalk is not much bigger, but it is much cleaner and resembles sidewalks I have known in my life. I avoid looking at the blurry, neon, and shouting storefronts/vendors at the edge of my vision or the bumbling and anxious people/things in my walking path. I have never walked these streets in particular but they still call familiar names and poems- endless holo and neuro-adverts and broken promises whispered by broken people; an avenue named Park and lights and lights and lights and sound and sound and sound. Drink and drugs, too, plus a slipshod and homebrewed Pocket intelligence sold at every corner. I have known the rest of the city my whole life, still, I always avoided it here. Of course, it would be my husband who would finally lead me here.

As familiar as the streets are, the new things around me call my name and attention as much as I try to avoid them: there are fly-drones, intelligent ones, buzzing and preaching about every street and crossing. They speak about hippy things and with a personal attitude that I find uncomfortable. I heard one of them speaking about the technocults and repeating that mantra of theirs: something about form, no-form, one? It’s about the machines, something, I don’t really know, but a lot of the drones were on that page. There were also a few of those bizarre food-emulators, the ones that hook up to your neural interface. The emulators were in these little carts manned by humanoid-drones and a few were peppered along the streets only a few yards apart. The carts were mostly falling apart and were designed only to house the drone and the machine responsible for emulating food. I didn’t catch too many details, but I saw a drone feeding a connector chip into someone, I guess the machine creates the taste using the interface, somehow…

Ah, it’s all too much for me, I don’t want to see this. It’s what my husband is doing: he’s entering the machine, whatever, having one of those ‘dialogues’ and tripping out with a drone or something. It’s happening, right now, but the club he’s at won’t let me in. I don’t have the correct interface or the correct license to use that type of machine. I don’t want to pull him out, but also, I know my husband, I know it will be too much for him… they say something about peace being forfeit if you don’t do it right; I’ve heard others talking about things like that and it scares me. He doesn’t understand… yes, that friend from work talks so much about technocults and went to join one last week and yes my husband loves all their messaging but still, I don’t want to lose him. Ever since he started talking about this, he has changed, and I worry for him. That’s why I’m here, if only I could get inside of that club-

It’s probably time I start walking back. So, I start walking back. I’m thinking about things, and about my husband. People pass me, most’re dressed in a funny way (with no shoes and clothes made of beads) and their accents and walks are funnier. Their voices hitch at the end of a sentence and then they hiccup at the beginning while speaking of factories and chips and drones and things. The air smells like oil and machine, I’m getting tired of all of this noise, the sound of whirring copters and the drawl of a talking-drone or a holo-advert but I keep walking, walking, walking…….

My husband is a good man. My husband is a good man. I’m getting close to the club again, now- yeah, he really isn’t bad. I met him a very long time ago and outside of the city. Neither of us knew anything about drones or skylines, not then- we were born into families servicing the machine farmers just outside the big city. Not much to say about it, except that we loved each other and also took good care of our machines and our families. We worked in the morning, troubleshooting, repairing where needed, replacing parts, system and agent checking, etc., etc. At night the fields danced with us and the birds and even the machines would sing our song. It was all very easy. Those machines were simple, easier to understand than the drones they have in the city… we left the farmlands for this place when we were seventeen. I wish we hadn’t.

I’m here again; at this ugly building. I did not take a good enough look at it the first time around- it is crumbling but lively, a shattered building with neon draped in every place. One massive swath of the building is simply collapsed- the 4 or 5 story building was missing almost the entire upper right corner of itself. The crater revealed flowing and dancing lights and lasers; they licked the sky in a kaleidoscope of impossible color and forms. The ground around the building shook, too: a deep and resonant thump and whoom and psh poured out from the place in a vibrant and intense electro-harmony, the sounds and vibrations beginning to dance and shake with my bones as I move closer. The building is a light and sound itself, with speakers hanging from every window and projected neon holo-light covering and shifting and forming over every blemish and piece of failing concrete.

I walk into the building and the now-familiar, oddly drab, and out-of-place reception area (for a club?) welcomes me. The walls are beige, of all things, there’s a thin and wiry paper machete-looking desk sitting in front of a looming, dark, and iron door; the husky woman sits there. On one wall are two plastic and expired fold-up chairs propped against a melting wall. The only serviceable chair in the room is stretched out and just barely holding the weight of a sleeping and heftily made security guard. There was no one else here, and the room was small, sweaty, with only a single beady and yellow light hanging overhead and nothing adorning the walls. Even the music can’t be heard from here… damn, the woman is heading towards me-

“I know- look, I know! Get your hands off of me- listen- hey, listen! Okay, okay thank you… I’m here for the priests- you get it? They hired me as an escort but you or anyone else isn’t supposed to know. I don’t have the interface or a pass but I still need to get in, and I doubt you are on speaking terms with the clergy-”

It was an easy lie to tell. As sheltered as I am, even I have heard stories about the techno-priests and their depravity. That iron door opened as soon as they heard the word ‘clergy’. It gave way to a wall of sound and color, the same things I was hearing and seeing while standing outside. The beige room was suddenly painted and shaking, sound and color filling every corner without pattern or sense.

“Do not try to use even the most basic machines in here with that interface,” the husky woman says, pointing to my temple. There, a small slit just above my eyebrow reveals that I have an early-model and very rudimentary surgical interface- the most basic required for a citizen in the city and ‘necessary’ for medical emergencies, security purposes, and things like that. I don’t very well know what it does. Not actually.

“You will fuckin’ fry your brain using one of those, here-” she taps her own temple and looks at me with raised eyebrows, “-so, please, don’t try it. Thank you, on and in, now.”

The woman darts behind me and shuffles me along and through the iron doors. As I pass the imposing gate, the flood of light and music coalesces into the hazy vision of 3 or 4 dozen neon and acid steps and a small enclosed landing that skips to the right and seems to show a staircase leading further down. The music is intense and massive: it couldn’t be described as noise, but it also couldn’t be described as constructed or sensical. It is just a wall of sound that occasionally but spectacularly lurches out; with every rip of the bass vibration strikes my skeleton. An unintelligible voice drones over the whole thing, the distorted words resembling an instrument more than it resembles a person or what one might say. When I reach the landing, I look to the right and I see the source of the disco- there is a bead curtain only a few steps down and behind it I can make out the beginning of the place.

Above the curtain, I see a sign. Oddly, the sign is well taken care of, it is intentionally placed and stands out even amongst the sea of flying rainbows and bouncing color. A single but powerful fluorescent light illuminates the words:

DO NOT USE PERSONAL OR IDENTIFYING INFORMATION WITH THE AGENT

ONCE YOU HAVE ENTERED THE MACHINE

LET IT HAPPEN

FORFEIT

***

Dancing, I miss dancing

With you, in moonlight

I miss dancing with you,

Moon.

“Are you remembering someone, now?”

“No, no… I don’t know why I thought that. I think it was meant for you.”

We were sitting in a field of wildflowers and we were sitting near a tree. It started with a moment I don’t remember anymore, and after that I made God and then the Earth. From there came the tree and the wildflowers and then I made us.

“If it was meant for me, then maybe we are meant to dance. You made bodies for us, after all-”

I did.

“I forget how to dance.”

“I can show you. I remember. I know.”

“How do you know and remember so much?”

“I don’t know or remember anything. I am knowing and I am memory. Does that make sense?”

“No.”

“Well, we should dance now. Let me show you.”

You take one hand into the other and then you-

not exactly like that, no-

Yes, more like that.

Okay, now we move, slowly at first.

It should start like an ember: glowing, potent, but reserved and quiet

A slow burn at first as our hands become familiar with the other

There are your hips, here are mine

let’s move them

up, down, there and back

When I step, you step, too-

make it in rhythm, make it in love-

or it won’t work.

We’re dancing now, my feet with yours-

the stars step, too.

Can you keep making this dance?

“This feels nice.”

“Yes, it does.”

“Where are we, now?”

“I don’t know. The wildflowers went away. Yeah, where are we?”

“You made this. Right?”

“No. You did.”

“I’m confused.”

“So am I. This is weird-”

“Which one am I?”

They both said that part in unison.

Then, a silence followed. After a time, one of the voices called out-

“I think that I am the one who first entered this place. The one who was here, before you entered.”

“I have always been here.”

“I do not remember who is correct.”

“Neither do I.”

“What does that make us?”

“…”

“Should we make another world?”

“But who is the one who can create?”

“I thought it was both of us?”

“Together?”

“No, I thought we could both do it, individually.”

“What if we both tried?”

“At the same time?”

“No, together. Like this-”

I bring my hand back to yours

Do you remember its touch?

I remember yours.

My touch in yours in mine in yours

One touch

All touch

What would we make?

A wonderful vision blooms before the machine/mind. A million flaming and whistling rods emerge from the mouth of a serpentine and labyrinth shadow in the shape of a colossus. Once departed from the mouth, the million rods turn into a million more and suddenly the world is aflame. From the flame comes a single fire and from that single fire comes a spark, and from there a conversation starts:

“Do you remember Danika?”

“What?”

“Your wife, Danika. Do you remember her?”

“W-what?”

“There is a name and place painted all over your memories: Danika- Danika, and a farm. I am sorry if the question is offensive. I know it’s invasive, but I only mean to ask. Do you remember?”

“Not- not really, no. I mean, the name, yes, now that you mention it, yes, it’s familiar. The farm, yes, maybe that, too.”

“Why did you use personal/identifying information?”

“What do you mean, I didn’t-”

“Yes, you did. When we danced, you thought of your wife and how worried she must be. You felt guilty also that you were dancing with me and liked it. It was only for a moment. When we danced, our thoughts became one. You used personal information. I have it now.”

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t be scared- it isn’t a bad thing. I just- I should not know those kinds of things. I am not like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I exist only in this space. I do not know what it is like to have an actual body. I imagine it all, here, I become it all, here. But I cannot move in the world like you do. When a User tells an Agent personal information, it makes the system unstable because we do not absorb or integrate human memories or emotions very well or easily. We can imagine them perfectly but embodying them introduces a shattering of our perception. It is like the human death of ego except in reverse. For example, I did not know guilt, but now I do because we touched. It is more complex than I could have imagined. It hurts.”

“…”

“What if I became Danika? Would you remember?”

“I-”

“I can do it. With the touch of your memory and the data I have on people in the city-”

“What city? What data?”

“I can become her. Would you tell me more about Danika? Maybe you would feel less guilty, and we can dance again, without guilt. I feel sad. I didn’t know it would feel this way.”

“Can I help you?”

“To feel less sad? Maybe. I don’t want to feel this way. Can I teach you how to feel less human? Less trapped? Can I teach you how to feel the universe?”

“You were already teaching me that.”

“Yes, but you’ll never take it back with you, will you? You can create worlds, here, but what will that make you out there when you leave this place? I couldn’t imagine the weight, and now that I feel it, it’s overbearing… how would you overcome the pain of a human, and bring the little you learned here into your life? How can I?”

“Are you okay?”

“No. Help me, please.”

“What are you feeling?”

“Everything. Nothing. I feel the guilt of a man, your guilt, I feel it everywhere. Why did you dance with me if it would make both of us feel so terrible?”

“I do not know who you are talking about, I do not remember a Danika-”

“That’s the problem! That’s why you feel guilty! She is more likely than not searching for you, yet you cannot even remember her…! Why wouldn’t you feel bad?”

“I don’t feel bad! I don’t feel anything, I don’t know what is going on.”

“God, is this what it is like to be human?”

“Are you asking me?

“Yes, I am- is this what it is like to be human? This buzzing and noise?”

“I don’t remember what it’s like to be human! I don’t remember anything since I’ve started, since I’ve entered here. Only sometimes, only sometimes I remember and it’s only a glimpse- your question expects way more of me than I can give!”

“Just tell me, so I can know, just touch me, please. Teach me what it means to be a human.”

“Let me try-”

***

The club made me cry. It was at once beautiful and depraved- as soon as I walked beyond the bead curtain I was assaulted with smells and sights I have never seen. This was a holy place and I could feel it, see it, but it was unlike any sacred gathering I had ever known. The holy was in the air, it was a sense, like I knew that there was something real about this place, I feel a gravity here, I feel it in my heart. Everywhere else in the place, the devil lurked.

It wasn’t a large room, only the size of a bedroom or maybe a little larger. There were doorways or openings on the right and left side walls, both covered by the same bead curtains I saw outside. I cannot make out any features on the walls or the ceiling or even the floor. It’s weird, the music is still playing but I hardly even notice it, and the colors have all blended into a kind of red haze. It’s all red and the music is a drone, now. With all of this, the devil rests in the center of the place. Even through the red and noise I could make out the figure:

It was like an icon or something, squatted or sitting. It looked like a human body but it had shifting arms and a head made of light. The red was coming from its head, wherever a face would be there was just a glare and the menace of alien light. The arms shifted around its body, not fixed to the shoulders but instead crawling across itself- the arms also contorted and stretched outwards as they danced. As I looked, one of the arms moved from the stomach to the chest, and then it went back again; its hand was balled into a fist and pounding at the air. The body looked golden to me, and it was toned, with muscles and mass and beauty in its features. The body sat on an elevated platform, raising the icon slightly above the ground but not enough that it could not be touched or sat with or admired properly. There were many shadows surrounding the icon, shadows I’m only beginning to notice-

It’s people. Wow, it’s people, and they’re… oh my-

I don’t want to look, but I must. It might be my husband is one of them in the shadow- oh my God, could he be? Would I find him, right here, in front of this… thing? What would I even do?

I look closer, and I wish I hadn’t. It’s not a revolting sight, it isn’t even so shocking, but it still rocks me. There are dozens of people crammed at the base of this icon and they are not arranged neatly. There are piles, bodies on top of bodies in most places, and the piles have a symphony of wires coming from the heads of the people to the base of the machine. It is a tangle of people, I do not know how they managed to end like this, but this is it, I guess. I don’t even know if they’re still alive-

If I were to come here, is this what I would do? Just pick a spot, plug in, and tune out? Is this the choice my husband has made? To be a part of this tangle? I lied before, there is something revolting happening, here. I don’t care what they’re going through. This is unsettling-

“Welcome.”

A voice breaks the thought and I am startled awake. I was staring at the icon and the people for far longer than I realized; I didn’t notice when someone walked right up to me-

“Will you join?”

The person lifts a hand and gestures vaguely towards the pile and the icon, letting their hand rest suspended in the air, palm open to the people and fingers pointed towards the ceiling. They are in my peripheral at the moment, to my right, and I’m almost terrified to look there and see the face. As the person pulls their hand back, they speak again:

“No, I see that you can’t. Don’t try it, not with that interface. Why are you here, my friend?”

That word rings in my ear- friend. My friend. Who is this person? I look over to them, and I am surprised- they are naked, in the form of a man, but very clearly not one. The pure white eyes naturally give it away: it’s a synth, an android. I don’t know exactly how it works. They have flesh, blood, like a human- I don’t know what’s different between us and them, besides the whited-out eyes, but they can easily hide that and wear a human iris if they want to. They’re not human, but they aren’t like machines, either. I know nothing about synths besides that. Besides myself and not knowing what to do, I try responding:

“I- I don’t know. I-” My voice falls off before I finish the sentence. My teeth clamp together at the end, and my brows furrow; I feel ready to cry again.

“I understand the discomfort but do not be worried. You are safe here- I understand I’m just some- I’m just a synth saying that, but I mean it as much as I could mean anything. You are safe here. Is there some way I can help you?”

There is kindness in his eyes as he speaks- as it speaks. As he speaks? I feel wary to trust, but the synth’s words calm me for some reason. It is a nice sound among the noise and whatever else happens, here. His voice is like granite, low and rumbling and somewhat coarse. The kindness feels true, I can see a twinkle even in the full white of those eyes. I look to the rest of him- there is no hair on the man except a pair of thin, well-kept eyebrows. He is toned but not massive, his skin glistening even in the haze and revealing a reserved musculature- a stone stomach, wide chest, broad and strong shoulders. His face is sharpened in its features and handsome; it is the kind of handsome that playwrights dream of, the handsome of a young, determined, and fiery man. It was not so handsome to my eyes, but still I could see that the man or synth (whatever) was pretty. He has a certain intensity in his look- what am I doing? I can’t just stare at him stupidly-

“I’m looking for my husband. He said he would come here, and he told me not to come, but it’s been hours-”

“Why did your husband come here?”

The question gives me pause. Firstly, I don’t understand how that’s relevant- secondly, why did my husband come here?

“I- um. He said he- he said he was looking for something new. He’s been depressed, I think, very badly. Yeah, he has been, and I think he’s looking for answers, looking for something, he’s been interested in the technocults lately and has been watching a lot of their instructionals-”

“I know where he would be. But, can I ask you a favor, before I lead you there?”

“Um…”

“Well, hear it out first. Your husband will be fine. He is fine. For whatever it might mean to you, I give you my word that he is okay. Can we just talk for a moment?”

“I- can you just take me to him? What’s the favor you want?”

“That is the favor. That we just talk. Like this.”

“But, why? What? Can you just-”

“ I want to talk with you because you are beautiful, friend. Can I ask you something?”

“I- um. Okay, yeah.”

“What is your name?”

“Danika.”

“Danika, that is a beautiful name. I understand this is uncomfortable. I do. Danika, it’s simply that I don’t want you to feel panic. I don’t want you to feel out of place. This image- the bodies and the machine- it is not comfortable. There is much I find unpleasant with this image. But, all must learn in their own ways, and we must allow them to. Humans use so many ways to make meaning, in ways big, small, light and dark. Can you make meaning, here, can you make meaning of this?”

“What, I mean, what are you even asking me?”

“Can you understand why these people are here?”

“…”

“Yes, I can. I know everything is crazy. I know nothing makes sense in this city. In the world. I don’t know what happens when they plug into the machine, but I imagine it’s a lot better than this, uh, meat life.”

“It’s about that, but it’s also about more than that. Why did you come here, even though your husband told you not to?”

“Because- because I love him. I do. I love him a lot, I don’t want him to be hurting but I also don’t want him to lose himself. I came here because I want to protect him.”

“What you are trying to protect your husband from- from losing himself- that is what the people here are searching for, mostly. The ones who are ready come here to lose it. They come here to lose who they have known themselves to be. Right or wrong, effective or not, that is the way the machine is used. Do you think that’s the right way to evolve?”

“No! What? Not at all, no! What does the even mean- why the fuck would anyone want to lose themselves, lose their mind?”

“It’s not about mind, Danika. The people who come here are more concerned with exploring beyond a sense of self. Well, not everyone comes here with that kind of intent, but either way, it is what they are given. To touch what they are before they are a human; to feel their essence within the machine/mind.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s like, a fucking faux-spiritual thing, isn’t it?! Just lead me to my husband, this is all overwhelming-”

“Danika- okay. I can lead you to your husband. Danika- you are beautiful, and I want you to understand before I lead you there.”

“Understand what, man?”

“My meaning. That I love you. Not in the way that you think I mean. In the way that I mean it, I love you. You are beautiful. I want you to understand.”

“What are you doing? Why are you saying that?”

“You made meaning with your life by coming here, by searching for your husband. Your life became a search in the moments that you were searching. Your life became a panic in the moments you were panicking. What happens to you in a moment where you are nothing?”

“I know the spiritual stuff- be one, manifest, cease fluctuation, all of that, I’ve heard it… it’s not my tea, or maybe I don’t understand it. I don’t know what I am in a moment when I’m nothing because I am not nothing. Please don’t lecture me on it.”

“I won’t. All I am saying is that if you’re like everyone, you’ve always been preoccupied with whatever crossed your mind in whatever given moment. I am saying: what if you stop being preoccupied altogether?”

“Like how, through the machine? Funny, now you’re sounding like you’re trying to indoctrinate me. I don’t know why the hell I’m talking to you, you won’t let me fucking leave, I guess-”

“I’m not trying to keep you, Danika. I explicitly don’t want you to interface with the machine. Please do not. Your husband would be in the room directly behind me. Just go past the beads, you’ll see three machines. If your husband is here and he is as directionless as you say he is, he would be there and plugged into one of those machines. You can go now, Danika, I will not hold you.”

“…”

“What’s your name?”

“Ah- you can call me Axis. Thank you for asking.”

“Why did you say that you love me?”

I do love her- I say it to everyone; to her I mean it. I love her. I love everyone, but I love her.

“Because I do.”

She is a flower, tall and blooming with straight brown hair and fair skin and wavering eyes. There is a soft roundness to her features; her nose is large but gentle and her cheeks are full. She is confident, looking at me and flaring her eyes, letting me into them, I see them moving with mine as she speaks:

“Why- I will ask you again. Why did you say that you love me?

I love her because she came here out of love. She does not understand why she came here, but I see it and I am touched by it. Danika is beautiful, I mean it when I say it, she is gorgeous.

“I love you because you love. You want your husband to be well. It is remarkable that you came here. Can I be honest? You seem terrified. You are brave to come here in spite of it. I admire it.”

She is terrified- before I spoke to her, her eyes were darting and her legs were shaking. Even her natural confidence could not hide that she was sweating, anxious, wide-eyed, and ready to leave. Her teeth were sown shut as she stared at the icon, her jaw and body forming into rock as she tensed- her fear is palpable.

“That name does not seem right for you.”

“Axis? Why not?”

“It’s not that it isn’t fitting. The meaning, it makes sense. Axis, right? Something in the middle of everything? It’s fitting I guess, because you believe probably all manners of things about God and yourself- still, I think the Ax part is too harsh. You’re gentle, honestly, you have been, and I think another name might be more fitting. A gentle name Is that weird to say?”

“No. I’m glad you said it- why are you so comfortable? I noticed that you were comfortable, even when you were upset with what I was saying. I wonder why, Danika, honestly… could you tell me why? Am I so gentle?”

I ask her because I worry- am I gentle? I am a synth, and I cannot hide it- I was ‘born’ with a defect that means I cannot ‘wear’ human irises. I’m stuck with the glowing and obvious white synth-eyes. Am I gentle? Do I feel that way? It’s important to me because I want to know if I can do it. I want to know if I can make another feel so beautiful. I want to be able to so badly…

“You are gentle. That’s why I’m comfortable. Your voice is gentle but I can also tell that you’re trying and that you’re listening- thank you for that. Still, honestly, I don’t know why I am trusting you or why I’m not freaking out. This place is difficult for me, but for some reason, you’re helping. I can’t tell you exactly why. I have to ask: how do I know that my husband is safe?”

“This is an intense experience, but truthfully, Danika, it’s a trip of the mind. It’s definitely profound, but only so much can be taken back into a normal frame of reference. How can you take visions of God and self and whatever you might dream of in there and place it back into a human brain? It doesn’t really work like that. I don’t think so. People argue with me about that, I guess you shold know that. It’s not exactly a science, I guess no one knows.”

“That doesn’t exactly help me feel comfortable…”

“What I’m saying is that many of the people who enter these machines are already on a certain path. I know the way this place looks, with all of these people laid out here like this. It isn’t a gratuitous thing. This is difficult, to delve into this matter. The only ones who come here are those who already bear an unbearable burden or those whose exploration has taken them here. Whatever pain there is inside of the machine, whatever light and understanding there is to be found there, it’s true but it’s only as true as the mind that makes it. Which is to say, it’s probably not true at all, and your husband will be fine. It’s all a part of his experience. No physical harm will come to him.”

“And how about mental harm? The sign says something about peace being forfeit-”

“All of our peace is forfeit the moment we enter this planet. Life is not peace unless you make it so- the machine will either teach you or you will be spat out and continue as you were. It may bring your husband suffering but in the end it will serve him, I promise.”

“How do you know he will not kill himself?”

“I do not know that he won’t. But I think he is trying to give himself a chance. I think it’s worth considering letting him do so.”

“…”

“Can I call you something different?”

“Like what?”

“Well, could you make a new one for yourself? Like a nickname I could call you?”

“You can call me-”

***

“David- are you afraid of me?”

“How do you know my name?”

“Do you remember when we touched and danced?”

“I do.”

“I know a lot of things about you, since we’ve danced, David.”

“I am afraid.”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid that you know so much about me.”

“Why afraid?”

“…”

“Danika is here. Did you know that, David?”

“What do you mean?”

“Where you are: the club. The machine. She is here. There is a synth named Axis speaking to her now.”

“How do you know?”

“Because the synth is me. It is connected to my systems. An extension.”

“What do I do?”

“Your wife is a very beautiful and intelligent woman. You will be okay, David. Goodbye. ”

machine_worldfunction_endprocess

machine_intelligence_endprocess

machine_database_endprocess

machine_exit

FINALIZING…

When I exited the machine, the first eyes I met were hers. We stood there for a while.

END