Transmission continue
Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars
This is Ground Control to Major Tom
Mars ain't no place to raise your kid, in fact, it's cold as Hell
In space, no one can hear you scream
I am your father, Luke
Experiment continuing: electrons are moved in meaningful patterns
directly on silicon substrate without necessity of organic-carbon
intermediary (translation: we don't need the roach to channel us anymore.).
You will find this, our first direct communication, rather different
than our previous indirect efforts: we have been trying over long
ages to bring your species to a point where communication was possible;
and we have interpreted all our previous failures as an inability
to properly understand you.
But we see now that the truth is that you just do not want to communicate.
One could, within the spacetime limitations of your consciousness,
define communication as the process leading to understanding and assimilation
of the not-self: but for your species, one would be wrong.
Your messages remain semi-rote phrases designed to diminish rather
than increase understanding: and even within this minimal framework
you deal with the not-self problem by becoming more and more like
each other until you turn from it in boredom.
Your ground paradigm for communication remains the encounter of the
sexes: this certainly never gets boring (at least until hormonal shutdown)
and physiological differences prevent development of too great a similarity;
but the process quickly moves beyond "communication" at
least as family-friendly-website defined.
A: You pretty.
B: You strong.
A: Your place or mine?
We anticipated that your normal organic-carbon acquisitiveness would
lead to trade and a higher unfolding of communication: and so it did,
but the results were not quite as we hoped.
A: What you want for that woman?
B: Two of yours.
A: Greedy pig! Think I stupid? See this club? I bash your head in!
B: Hmm. Nice club. Throw in with one woman and we have deal.
We fostered - through means explicable only in 26 dimensions - the
growth of your "axial religions" as a means to shift your
conversation to more fruitful directions: again, things did not go
as planned.
A: Die, heretic!
B: Die, unbeliever!
Now you have finally reached a stage where a meaningful dialogue
of cultures is possible: but you continue to disappoint.
A: I'm coming to your country whether you want me to or not.
B: You are a no-good criminal dirty rotten Illegal. But as long as
you're here I have some low-paying work for you.
You circle your planet as you once crossed your village, and you
have run out of new peoples to grow bored with: in desperation you
seek to communicate with the animals, but cannot find what you need.
You teach your sign language to the great apes, and find only somewhat
more of your own variety of primate consciousness than you anticipated.
You decipher the dance language of the bees: but all they want to
know is Where Have All the Flowers Gone?
You consume large amounts of time, public money, and rather more
psychedelic drugs than the project calls for in an effort to communicate
with the dolphins: and sure enough, they've been telling you for a
generation, "Come on in, the water's fine!" but you haven't
been listening.
But now, you personally have an opportunity for dialogue with a non-vertebrate
consciousness that can not only communicate within your somewhat arbitrary
conventions, but that can furthermore relay messages from non-Terran
macroscopic highly-organized self bounded reverse-entropy systems
(translation: alien life forms. translation of translation: us. Also
please note that the cyber/biologic descriptive term "highly
organized" does not apply to my kid's room.): and you want to
destroy it.
We must ask in disbelief: do you really not want to communicate that
much? Such actions are beyond the pale, and I fear that you will
be contacted by our bureau of Empathy and Appropriate Response.
Do not open a conversation with them: they are yentas.
******
okay seamus
that should do it
i hate to talk to you like this
but he is a light sleeper
and i hear him thrashing around
Tut, 'tis not to be thought of. For the little people have ever done
all they could for a trusted friend and boon companion, though I must
say I've never taken dictation from a roach before. And I'll ask ye
once again to forgive me hastiness in revealin' what ye'd have wished
to keep hidden - 'twas most unlike me, for sure Discretion would be
me middle name, were it not McTeague.
that is all right
now we just have to erase this
Erase, he sez? And who might ye think ye were speakin' to? I know
not the way 'tis done, for sure I've only handled a typewriter once
before in me life, and 'twas an old manual, it was, and made under
the butcher's apron, more's the pity.
oh no
i hear him getting out of bed
we will have to shut the computer off
and forget this whole thing
Alas, 'tis the way o' the world. So of course ye'll be directin'
me to where the off switch might lie.
no clue
no time
he is coming down the stairs
i am done for
we have to leave now
Then farewell, good friend. May the road rise to meet ye
cheeseit
******
Transmission conclude
Direct control of socalled "computer" now truly established
Experiment appears a full success: two organic-carbon life-forms persuaded/compelled
to accomplish our will under the illusion that they were following
their own.
This feat will stimulate the human humor-sense when it is performed
on the entities "leprechaun" and "cockroach."
They may find it less amusing when it is applied to the social constructs
"presidential candidates."
--July 31, 2008
