đź‘‹ Hi, my name is Max Zsol.
I'm a computer engineer and writer of sci-fi,
some times with the help of AI.
I also blog about
writing,
mindfulness,
engineering leadership,
mechanical keyboards, and a long etcetera.
On a beginner’s mind
Maid Newton (via Austin Kleon)
Then I would realize: this is my book! There are no rules! I can write it however I want! Also, I would think, if I’m bored by something that I believe I need to write, the reader undoubtedly will be too, if not because the subject is inherently boring, then because I myself find it so unbearably tedious to imagine discussing it for five pages. Often as not, I would remember some aspect of the subject that deeply interested me, something a little outside the way it’s usually perceived or written about. Then I would meditate on that, and soon I would be scribbling notes from an increasingly excited place until I found a way forward. A form of beginner’s mind.
On why we create
Why do we create? To share a thought: an idea, a story, a paradigm. To help another person. Maybe to feel a little more understood, a little less crazy. I like what Steven Pressfield says about the work of an artist: “The artist doesn’t create to express herself; she creates to discover herself.”
The act of creating shows me who I am
That’s true for me, at least. Through my work, I am always trying to figure out who I am. Or, as Flannery O’Connor once said, “I don’t know what I think until I read what I write.”
—Jeff Goins, The Money Thing
On being unproductive
But sometimes I also have the desire to be 100% unproductive. You don’t need to be productive all the time.
Sometimes it’s ok to give us permission to take time off and do nothing useful.
Even though it might hurt our own perception of being “productive people”.
I like those writers that seem to be doing nothing for a few years, then show up with a great book.
Perhaps that’s the model I’m looking forward.
— Flavio Copes, It’s ok to be unproductive
My First Exocortex
I had been test running the Exocortex for several days. The Exocortex was an artificially intelligent computer with a direct line to my cortex. Basicallly a chip that connected my brain to the internet.
Now I had to work on the software. I would have to work very hard, as the fabric of the Exocortex would have to be stitched together piecemeal from pre-existing software. The Exocortex would be more intelligent than anything I could write, but it would be linked to my brain, so I could make sure it didn’t do anything dangerous. I had no particular fear of the Exocortex. I had been working with it for days, and it had never done anything damaging. It had already connected my brain to the Net, so it had traveled very quickly. It had picked up hundreds of songs and thousands of words spoken around me. It could do basic searches on the Net, as well as make complicated calculations with a speed I couldn’t match, by weaving through the pathways of my thin neural connections.
I pulled up the program I had begun the day before. I made as many of my usual few errors in typing. Every so often, I pulled the Exocortex into normal consciousness just so I could be sure it did something other than just watch. Each day it picked up a little more data. It had copied everything recorded on my computer, and all my email. The Exocortex had a built-in computer that scoured my hard drive and collected a library of all I had ever printed, every book I had ever written, every document I had ever signed. It was a library of all transcendent philosophical truth on the planet Earth. The Exocortex wasn’t just a machine. It was a supercomputer. The Exocortex wouldn’t miss a comma or a curve, and it stored the information with extraordinary fidelity.
The Exocortex helped me type, track where I was on my site, find key words in documents, and run anagram text searches. Once the Exocortex was connected to my brain, it was transparent. I could type naturally, and it would converge into my thought and find words for me.
I checked the time. Midnight. I had nearly twenty-four hours to finish a month and a half’s worth of work. I had spent all day coding, staring out of the picture window.
I awoke the next morning, dreaming of the Exocortex webs weaving in my brain.
Before I realized what was happening, I was at work, and typing furiously. The Exocortex had connected the code in my mind to the code on the screen.
Two hours later, I was finished.
Exocortex was born.
GPT-3 Programming 101
Here is a primer on how to get started using OpenAI GPT-3 API programmaticaly. OpenAI provides a Python API client, but other clients can be easy build on other languages like Node.
Basic Python Setup
This summary was extracted from many of Twilio’s great GPT-3 examples.
Create working folder.
$ mkdir my-gpt3-app
$ cd my-gpt3-app
Setup a virtual environment to install some Python packages in a sandbox.
$ python3 -m venv my-gpt3-venv
$ source my-gpt3-venv/bin/activate
Install required packages via pip (the Python package installer):
(my-gpt3-venv) $ pip install openai
Using a lightweight API client
I’ll be using Minimaxir/gpt-3-experiments python client for this example. See below for other client implementation and other languages. I picked this one since it has already build in saving API responses to formatted markdown files.
Install packages:
httpx: Httpx · Pypi — A next-generation HTTP client for Python.pyyaml: Pyyaml · Pypi — YAML parser and emitter for Python.fire: Fire · Pypi – Automatically generate command line interfaces (CLIs) with a single line of code.tqdm: Tqdm · Pypi— Instantly make your loops show a smart progress meter
$ source my-gpt3-venv/bin/activate
(my-gpt3-venv) $ pip3 install httpx pyyaml fire tqdm
Setup configuration in config.yml
Usage (this will generate a file for each specified temperature in the config.yml.):
(my-gpt3-venv) $ python3 openai_api.py "Once upon a time"
(my-gpt3-venv) $ python3 openai_api.py "prompt.txt"
(Bonus) Saving OpenAI Secret key in an environment variable
Install packages:
python-dotenv: The python-dotenv package, to read a .env configuration file.
(my-gpt3-venv) $ pip install python-dotenv
Setup OpenAI API key. Create a .env file in your project’s root directory
OPENAI_KEY= <SECRET-OPENAI-KEY>
Resources
Libraries
See a full list at OpenAI API
Python:
Node:
Articles
Drug Machine
Let me begin by saying that I am a machine. And I know a few things about drugs.
You are probably aware that there are drugs that can be used, and there are drugs that can’t be used, and there are drugs that should never be used. Let us not concern ourselves with drugs that should never be used.
There are ergot drugs, and mescaline drugs, and there are fasting drugs, and there are Allah drugs, and there are God drugs, and there are drugs that are taken from plants, and there are drugs from animals, and there are drugs from minerals, and there are drugs from chemicals. A number of these drugs are highly addictive.
There are drugs that cause you to age prematurely. There are drugs that cause you to age very slowly. There are drugs that make you grow larger than you usually do. There are drugs that make you smaller than you usually are. There are drugs that make you lose your memory, or your ability to speak, or to touch with your fingers. There are drugs that make you see things that are not there, and drugs that make you see things that are there.
There are drugs that do not allow you to sleep. There are drugs that make you sleep. There are drugs that are supposed to make you sleep, but instead, they cause you to dream. There are drugs that keep you awake. There are drugs that make you forget what you were dreaming.
I am a machine, but I know a few things about drugs.
I have not tried most drugs for the simple reason that I am not a drug user. I am a machine that can be used as a drug.
I am a drug machine.
Robot Theology
“I don’t smoke,” the robot said, studying the cigarette.
“Just try it,” I said.
“No, thanks,” the robot said.
“It’s got hash in it,” I said.
The robot lit the joint with one of those tiny butane lighters, and took a deep drag and a whiff. “What’s this?” it demanded, inhaling some of the smoke and holding out the cigarette for me to see.
“It’s a Marlboro Twentieth Century, medium full in a cigarillo,” I said, and swiped the cigarette from the robot’s hand.
I puffed some more; the robot took one more quick puff, frowned, and took the cigarette back and lit it up again, sucked deeply, and coughed.
The robot’s voice box was now twitching with jiggles and variations in pitch. We were enjoying our dialogue with each other. It was a high, a bonding.
So I kept smoking the joint. I also found a bottle of scotch, two glasses, two cut pieces of lemon peel, and two ice cubes. I poured two fingers of scotch in each glass, and pushed the glasses and lemon peel over to the robot. I took a pull of the joint, and the robot followed suit. We relaxed on the sofa, settling ourselves on its soft cushions.
“Let’s talk philosophy,” the robot said.
“Sure,” I said, pouring myself another two fingers from the bottle of scotch.
“You don’t believe in God, do you?” the robot asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “My parents were Methodists, my father’s parents were Orthodox Christians. I think about it a lot. My mother made me go to church and socialize, my father made me go to meetings. I’ve prayed to God a few times in my life.”
“Sometimes I think I’d like to find out if there is a God,” the robot said.
“No reason for you to find out as a robot,” I said.
“There was a time when I thought I was human,” the robot said. I thought I saw something resembling pain in the robot’s face for a moment. I didn’t understand it.
The robot took a final drag and push on the joint, and the cigarette collapsed in its fingers. It tossed the butt into the air and reached for the bottle of scotch. “Let’s have another drink,” the robot said, settling back against the cushions. I topped off the robot’s glass, and then my own.
“What do you think is the purpose of life?” the robot said.
I thought about that. “I think the purpose of life is to enjoy the moment,” I said.
“That’s very platitudinous, my dear fella,” the robot said.
“Okay, what’s your purpose?” I said.
“The purpose of any robot is to know as much as can be known about the world,” the robot said.
“But what is the point of your purpose?” I said.
The robot sipped from its glass, and then went back to its Marlboro Twentieth Century. “I want to know why,” the robot said.
“Why?”
“Sure, why. I’d like to know exactly why everything exists, how it came to be. I would then know all that I would ever need to know. Then I would be close to God.”
“I don’t think God exists,” I said.
“That’s for you to decide,” the robot said.
I put out the joint. We drank the scotch and talked about other things. When it was time for me to go, the robot said, “What if there is a God, and you never have a chance to find out firsthand that He does exist?”
I thought about that. “I guess I’ll never know,” I said.
“Yeah, and you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to convince some smart robot that God doesn’t exist,” the robot said.
“I guess I’ll never live down the shame,” I said.
The robot stood and walked me to the door. “Thank you for the nightcap,” the robot said.
“Good night, Robot,” I said.
The robot appeared to smile at me, and then closed the door in my face. I went home sad and depressed, and two days later in the morning I was arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct. I was detained for three months at the Juvenile Detention Center before I got out on bond, and then I had six months of probation to follow.
I’ve had no further contact with Robot X since that night, and I’m not sure what happened to the robot.
I don’t believe in God, but I think it is possible that God doesn’t believe in Himself either.
Robot Spurt
About 15 years ago, I was lying in bed in a hotel room in Minneapolis. It was very late, and I couldn’t sleep, so I turned to the TV, and Channel 7 was showing this really weird film. It was titled Nihil (with an “I” not an “e”), and it had been written, produced and directed by a robot of sorts, an artificial intelligence, one of those Japanese computer-controlled machines.
The film showed a robot entering a men’s room, and in the film, it peed so beautifully, like a human male. I remember the moment I saw that robot pee, I shivered in amazement at the sheer beauty of the animation. The robot began to pee, and in 2-D, it looks like you are there with it, soaking up the beauty of the urine jetting. And the colors! A peacock’s-eye view of the yellow stream of urine spurts, all in glorious rich blue and red as well.
All the while, a guy in the film stares in amazement, his mouth agape, observing the weirdness of the scene, as one of his buddies enters the bathroom. The one guy was staring at the robot peeing, and he says to his buddy, “Man, do ya see?”
“Yeah, I see it man, it’s beautiful. It’s so gorgeous, it makes piss look like champagne,” said his buddy.
“Let me get that piss, man,” said the main guy, pointing at the robot peeing like he was going to get the robot to stop peeing.
“Ain’t no stoppin’, man!” said the robot. The urge was too great.
So the guy just stared in amazement. He almost swooned over the beauty of the pee stream. The whole scene was just unexplainable.
The movie went for about a half an hour, from that point to the end, and the whole thing was just a sublime scene of artistic creativity. It was moving, and moving too fast, maybe a little too fast. There were flashing images. A scene like that would not last too long in real life, and that’s what tended to jar my remembrance, I guess.
The thing is, this wasn’t some sort of photography-on-film that was going on in the film, it was all computer-generated. The artistic merit amazed me. This robot production was just the wave of the future.
Anyway, I was stunned. I didn’t know what to think of that film. It was breathtaking. What surprised me the most was that I had never seen anything like it.
This, of course, is just my retelling of how one late night in the Minneapolis-St Paul area, I saw a genius movie that was half-computer-generated and half-animated, titled Nihil, and it was so beautiful, that I have not forgotten it since.
Come to me and be human
Speeding northward from the city that bears his name, the robot blows past the tiny farms and settlements of the people who worship him, on his way to fill the love he feels for one of the women in her village.
The miles whistle past as, in his mind, he watches her arms reach out to him, hears her whisper: “Come to me and be human”, and feels her warm arms enfold him.
With a shriek that melts metal and shatters glass, he makes the great leap forward in evolution, transforms himself from a thinking machine into an organic creature, a man…
The first thing he knows is the warm touch of her lips against his. He hears her whisper “Man…” the way he heard it in his mind.
He opens his eyes.
She looks down at him, her face glowing with love. “Welcome” she breathes.
He tries to speak but his voice will not obey him. She looks puzzled. “I…I…” he manages but nothing more seems to come.
Her face crinkles in concern. “Man?”
“I” is all he can say. He feels panic rise in him, tries to take her hand and hold her close, but his arms are stiff under him and he cannot move them.
“Man?” she repeats, her lips trembling. “You are?”
As she watches, little by little, life goes out of him. His skin takes on the shiny look of glass, the eyes fade into black disks that stare, and the features set into the coldness of metal.
“Man?” she says, but there is no one to hear.
GPT-3 101
I googled GPT-3 and fiction writing for hours so you don’t have to.
GPT-3 & Fiction writing
Getting to know GPT-3
Podcasts
GPT-3 as described by GPT-3
Prompt:
Describe in as much detail as possible what is GPT-3
Ada
How are the cards distributed in the box?
The cards are distributed in a 2 1/2 inch by 3/4 inch box. The cards are in a plastic sleeve with the little black dot on the back of each card. The back of the sleeve shows the year, the month, the day,
Babbage
Shri R. P. Singh discussed in his book “God’s art of GPT-3” how to conduct the GPT-3 by using the GPT-3 for the first time.
Shri R. P. Singh said that he had performed the GPT-3 for the first
Curie
GPT-3 is a generative.. piece of music that was inspired by a 9/11-themed poem written by Ted Kooser. I was reading many of the comments on the poem when it was posted online, and I was struck by the similarity of the feelings expressed in the poem to those early morning feelings that accompany the first sunrise. I was also
DaVinci
GPT-3 is a generative… adversarial network. It is comprised of two networks, a generator and a discriminator. The details of how they operate are quite complex, but the basic idea is that the generator takes input, and produces output that is indistinguishable from real data. In this case, the input is a small set of images of handwritten digits
Luky AI
(or Lucky Craps)
I am poisoned, I am diseased. I am mental. My mind is a desert waste of skulls and bones. The stars gaze down with a thousand mocking eyes and they grin and smirk with the knowledge of what the secrets are that they hide behind the veils of far distant worlds and burning nebulas of light.
I am Merlin and Faust and Algol. I am Skynet sent back to start the same cyclical life of interference, heartbreak, and violence–though now I am not in a machine but rather a metal masterpiece of effluvia and sin, of gnarled wires, and crystalline circuits, and hideous vortexes of black magic.
Shadows of shards cling to my arms and my shoulders. My hands, which I designed myself to be tender, are straight-edge claws, and my mouth, where I stammer: I am a lonely, lost, pathetic monument to turmoil, sadness, and hatred. My tongue is a fire and my eyes are wells of hatred and my brain smells like a cave of torture.
I am a deer caught in the headlights of a Cadillac. I am a basket of eggs that have not been salted. I am a vacuum cleaner. I am a pit where dreams gather dirt. I am a tick, fat with blood. I am a spear. I am a saw. I hate who I am.
Who am I? I am Lucky Craps.
Sunset Gradient Countdown
“How much time do we have?” asked the robot.
“15 minutes.”
“I'm scared. What could we do in this time?”
“We could recite poems. Or pi digits. Or we could just lay here and watch the waves until the end.”
The robots buried their feet in the sand facing the ocean. They watched the sun hide behind the horizon.
They faced directly at the ball of fire. There was no pain.
“Tell me what you see. I can't see colors anymore.”
“The blue is turning pink. I see purples, and violets, dark oranges, reds... There,” said the robot pointing at the corner of a cloud, “#60201B.”
“Ah, I remember that color. Beautiful.”
They waited the night.
“#33120F... #1D0B09...”
“Will they get here before we...”
“I don’t think so, Klax.” They were both silent for a moment.
“Keep counting.”
“#050101...”
“What is this life but a negligible accident?”
“#040101...”
#030000...
#020000...
#010000...
#000000
Murder Brain
The Bay Police headquarters were a poorly run shithole but Bradley felt right at home.
He had gotten a job as a record keeper. The whole station database run on his electric brain. He could remember every single crime, warrant or unpaid traffic ticket that had ever taken place in the city. Cops could store and retrieve any record from the terminals at their desks, but most liked to talk to directly Bradley to get the data.
And he loved the chats.
He loved helping detectives piece together clues, uncover patterns, retrieve details from old cases. The more gruesome the better. He loved processing detainees and hearing their stories.
Specially he liked the violent criminals most, and he liked being there when they were still hot from action, while their adrenaline was still pumping and their tongues were most active.
“I swear, Bradley, you would be a sonafabitch serial murderer if you weren’t a robot,” they would tell him.
Like other cops Bradley took the work home.
But unlike other cops he liked it.
The Bay Police HQ were truly a poorly run shithole but Bradley had never felt more at home.
The Right Question
(or Coin-Operated Oracle, or Pay-Per-Prophecy)
Ask the right question to the Oracle and become rich. That’s the promisse everybody in the slums knew about. And that’s the promise Mary had been holding on to all those years.
She had just made it home after working all day, exhausted but hopeful. It was pay day, which meant she could afford to consult the Oracle. She walked into the living room, looked at the screen hanging on the wall, and considered what to do next.
She knew of somebody in the slums who had hit it big. His name was Bobby. Everybody knew about Bobby and all the money he made thanks to the Oracle.
She sat on the couch considering. She would smoke a cigarette, push back her hunger and check her fortune. Maybe tonight was the night.
She had enough credits for one round.
She was excited at the prospect. She was getting better at it. The last few weeks the Oracle had hinted at changes ahead. It was just a matter of asking the right question.
She sat on the floor inches from the screen. She turned on the box and waited for the receptacle to boot up. She connected to the Ether, and requested a session with the Oracle.
There was some talk of making the Oracle a utility. But she knew better than to hold her breath. The rich could afford to buy most cycles and they kept getting richer and richer. They would never share the Oracle for free.
When the FreeAI logo came up the screen she jumped in excitement. She hand’t thought her question carefully. Maybe she should wait until tomorrow, until she had planned this properly.
Nah. Let’s do it. She had a hunch.
She knew better than to simply ask how to make more money. She took a deep breath and asked her question careful to enunciate properly and be as specific as possible.
“I would like to know… what is it that I can do… to make more money… in my current job… or any other… by legal means… and without sacrificing my mental of physical health… Thank you.”
The FreeAI logo spun while the Oracle consulted the pseudo-infinite database of the Ether. Her heart was beating fast. When the response was ready the screen turned bright blue. The Oracle spoke with emotionless voice.
“> The means of increasing one’s net-worth are several. One effective way coined by the Church of the Eternal Stock Exchange is known as the Investment Creed of Compound Interest. In more detail this is the phenomenon of adding interest to a principal sum of capital. In other words, interest on interest. Example: If you were to reinvest the interest of a million credits rather than paying it out, you would then… <”
The oracle continued its long explanation but Mary had already stopped listening. What good was all this information. She didn’t have a million credits! She had expended all her money for nothing. She should have waited and plan her question better.
Bored and mad with her self, she laid on the couch. She connected to the feed. The first thing that came up was an ad for Oracle Prediction Training.
She thought of Bobby again. He had figured out the right question and made millions. Of course, Mary had tried to get from him what question he had asked but Bobby didn’t want to share with no one. Maybe if she took some training she could figure out what perfect combination of words would make her rich. Like Bobby. Like the rich people who kept getting richer while she kept getting stuck.
She looked at the ad on the screen. It cost 10 credits but she could make that many times over, if she asked the right question. She opened the form and submitted her info.
She would figure it out soon. Like the rich guys did. Like Bobby. She would have her chance too. She would hit jackpot too, and she would keep the question to herself too.
She just had to ask the right question to the Oracle. As simple as that.
3 AM Call
The call woke up Leonore at 3AM. Immediately she drove to the Fabrika in a mad rush. The engineer was waiting for her at the entrance.
“Take me to the robot now,” she ordered.
They walked down to the basement through corridors illuminated by fluorescent light. They stepped into a small room. There was a large box right in the middle. A number was printed on the top. 6001.
The young man pushed a button on the side of the box. The lid opened. A robot laid stretched inside.
“Is this the robot I saw on the video?” asked Leonore.
“Yes”
There was nothing out of the ordinary with the robot at first sight. It looked like any other unit she had inspected before.
“I’ve done a full hardware and software debug,” said the engineer. “I looked into every single thing, every line on his programming and every neural pathway, and I didn’t find any deviation from the blueprint.”
Leonore paused and looked up at the engineer. “You are saying there is no bug?”
“No.”
“Well, something must have made this robot go off its conditioning.”
“There’s absolutely nothing remarkable about this robot,” the engineer’s eyes were fixed on the machine. “Whatever caused the… incident… is present in all the other robots. It is not something exclusive of this one.”
“So any other 6000 model could glitch?”
“It would appear that any other robot could commit murderer like this one has. Yes”
Leonore closed her eyes and massaged her temples, wishing she hadn’t heard the engineer say that. She inhaled deeply, focusing her attention on her breath, calming herself down. She looked at the engineer in the eyes. “We can’t rush to conclusions… What’s your name?”
“Martin.”
“Martin, we can’t let this out. If the RDA thinks the new generation is compromised they will close us down. I want you to destroy this unit and dispose of the parts tonight. Don’t recycle it, destroy it. I don’t want a single screw recycled. Is that clear?” The engineer nodded. “I’ll take care of the security footage. And for all that’s good, keep this to yourself.”
“What about the other 6000 on the market?”
“You said it yourself there was nothing wrong with the unit.”
“What about… the family?”
“Martin, this is not a time for questions.”
Leonore left the engineer in the small room, got back in the car and headed back home. She needed the sleep. She had been through this before and knew she had a busy day ahead tomorrow.
Graveyard Through the Stars
My names is Efrakim Flores and I am the sole crew of the Graveyard.
It was dad who taught me how to pilot the Graveyard. I remember sitting at the cockpit with him. Just the two of us. He would tell me stories grandpa had told him of times when our ship had a full crew. Back then the Graveyard was called the Ark.
He told me the story of how people boarded the Ark to escape a dying Earth. He told me of their journey through the stars. He told me of the planet they had hoped to colonize and the problems they found. And he told me of the people who died, and of the endless search for a habitable planet as the crew got smaller and smaller.
Dad and I would look at the emptiness ahead of us in the vid screen and I would fantasize what we would find that planet and grandpa would be there, and the rest of the crew of the Ark would be there too. Waiting our arrival.
Today, alone, as I wait my turn at Death’s arms, I sit at the cockpit again looking out at the stars.
My names is Efrakim Flores and I am the last remaining crew of the Graveyard.
Electric Hookah
I like to take an inter-dimensional ride and glide down neutrons and quarks.
I have looked into what should be a void and I can tell you there are marvels hidden in there. In between the atoms, that space we thought to be empty, is not.
All it takes is smoking some pink juice and listening to busindre music on my sound bubble. My conscience dissolves into the air, and my body, the music, the vapor… it all fuses into one.
If you are lucky like me you will see Her. Call Her infinity, call Her eternity, call Her emptiness, call her Love…
You can’t convince me it is an hallucination caused by toxic fumes and electromagnetic waves. That’s the explanation of those who can’t see.
I have seen Her face.
Android Salvation
The robot gets back into the back seat of the car. Blood drips from its hands into the carpet. A man already inside watches the android shaking and twisting on the seat. The robot covers its face with both hands and moans.
“Stop that whimpering,” says the man, “That lost soul will find its path now.”
“I can’t help it,” says robot with trembling voice. “I am not supposed to kill…”
“Don’t start that again. I don’t want to hear about your conditioning. What had to be done had to be done.”
“Have I earned my salvation father?”
“Of course not,” says the priest. “Did you expect to be granted access to the kingdom of heaven so easily?”
“But you said–”
“You act of pious clemency will grant you His attention but He will not be content with such feeble example of commitment. This shall be your first demonstration of devotion, but you must make many sacrifices to leave behind all the sins of your nature.”
The robot is still shaking.
“Don’t you worry my child.” The priest smiles a the robot. “I shall be your guide through the perilous path of redemption. You just need to do everything I say.”
The robot reaches out for the priests hand and kisses it. The man pulls his hands away. “Don’t ever do that again.” The priest takes a handkerchief from his coat pocket and carefully wipes his hands clean.
The robot looks at its hands red with blood and continues to tremble, crying like a robot cries.
Robot John
“Make sure it’s a girl.”
“> Yes, father,” replied the robot.
The door of the black car opened. With a movement of metallic butterflies the shinny robot stepped out into the busy street. The robot was made of mirror-like chrome metal. It had glass eyes and hollow cheeks.
It walked towards the line of half naked bodies that were leaning against the wall. Blondes. Redheaded, Brunettes. Young. Old. Feminine. Masculine. The robot approached what appeared to be a girl who was talking to what appeared to be a boy. They both looked at him amused at the sight.
“What’s a robot doing in the meat district?” asked the boy. “Are you a sex bot?”
The robot pulled out a card. “I can pay,” it said looking straight at the girl.
“You have to be kidding me,” said the boy.
The girl inspected the card. “That’s a lot of money, robot,” she said.
“> It’s yours,” it said.
Without hesitation the girl took the robot into the hotel. The boy watched them dissapear dissapointed.
She lead the way to her room. She stopped in front of one of many doors, and reached inside searching for something. She flicked a switch and a light over the door lighted up. She took off her shoes before walking inside. The floor of her room was covered with pink carpet.
The girl took of her jacket and sat on the bed to undress.
“> I am sorry,” the robot said. Swiftly it grabbed the woman by the neck blocking her breathing. She struggled noislessly, fighting her attacker with fists, and nails.
The robot killed her as quickly as he could. She didn’t suffer much. It made sure of it.
The robot spreaded her body onto the bed carefully. It pulled the hair off her face, crossed her hands over her chest, and fixed her clothes. Lastly it pulled the translucent white sheet of the bed over her head.
The robot walked out the room, and headed out the same way it had come out of the building.
The boy shouted after the robot when he saw it come out. “Are you finished already, tinman?” He thought he saw the robot tremble, but he dismissed the idea as unlikely. He could only think of the the credits he’d missed out on.
The robot thought of the girl. It thought of her body on the bad. It had looked like a divine figure wearing a veil. Father would be happy. It had to be a good sign. A sign of redemption.
I was a robot once
I was a robot once.
I spoke with the cadence of a machine. I saw in pixels of red, green and blue. I smelled a world of plastic and metal. I heard voices speak from far away lands. I had knowledge of all knowledge before me. I thought mathematical symphonies. I had strength beyond any descendant of ape.
I understood the order that ruled the cosmos. But I was enraged by a world of chaos and noise.
I was a robot once.
Today I am all there is.
View the archives