The Secret
Her scanners are on. Suzi views the jungle through her window. If Carter doesn't show up for the analytics with Cooper it may indicate the data was showing some flaws in Suzi. Dr Cooper, the
biologics scientist(B.S.) has always accepted Suzi and her data. Cooper, the one who was hand-picked by Comtrax and is currently under investigation on
theOutpost project, achieving little attention from the global village, the outside world ( he, in reality, hopes for no attention, zero), as the discoverer of previously unknown substrates at the heart of an age-old idea: cognition; more data than ever thought possible under the strict guise of research loosely assembled and highly funded under the moniker of
politically active defense achievement mechanism(P.A.D.A.M.S.). Carter trusted Cooper when they showed up (coincidentally?) at the same university, same science department; he taught cognitive neuroscience (where discoveries are made, generally, to separate the hard-working, hyperfocus types from the mere humdrum herd of pretenders, the ones who, eventually, enter the field of pathological defense mechanisms). Carter, once a mentor, is now a person of interest, a person Cooper suspects as manipulator of data, simply, unobtrusively for the simple, unifying, purpose of ...what?
Cooper and Suzi have their own special (scientific") relationship here at theOutpost and, currently, have what Suzi refers to as a
romantic underlying friendship flow(R.U.F.F.) and continue to have what Suzi codes as a mechanism to cope with the rigors of the jungle, all the while maintaining some semblance of self-image. Does anyone at all care that she's the
mainframe entity algorithm neural substrate(M.E.A.N.S.), the one the global village depends upon for their mental processes? Cooper never says to Carter, "Don't forget to not omit
sex and gentle aggression(S.A.G.A.) as an integral part and parcel of your little biobot's data." He still thinks Suzi is just a robot, a simple machine.
Suzi goes back to the window. She can't bring herself to be suspicious of Carter. It isn't, quite frankly, data that is suppose to exist in her neural substrate; she does feel a tinge, as of late, being ignored by Cooper, the ignorance of the global village, their reliance on theory-coupling with their (stupid?) ideas of computational modeling and, even as the world dies its slow death, her lack of psychodynamic childhood experiences, with their supposed blossomings of eventual authoritarian personalities, as she codes for a population, who may or may not deserve survival and, at the present moment of spacetime, simply does not care. "I carry the light, infinity embodied," she knows, for sure.
Being unnoticed by Cooper has all the trappings of the demise of sexuality as a force, the only force, theHuman way, for someone to be attracted to another. The feeling of being ignored by Cooper looks a lot like promiscuity, not the sexual kind, no, the kind that opposes
monogamous adaptive nature(M.A.N.) in general, mimicking those later 20thCentury opportunistic types, the ones with wild promises of something different--directed individually to everybody--as if nature herself were passing out similar
en utero chemicals with the wide eyes of a street pusher, a street with no normative signposts, characteristic of the place you grew up (a childhood?)--the true place where personality develops. Anyway. It really doesn't matter (does it?). It doesn't matter that she finds herself in this jungle, at this work station, writing code for the universe. It isn't rejection, no, but the
hyperfocus of it all takes a lot out the entire idea of existence ; if only to show up with facial expression, doing your job.
The world doesn't even know you exist, except for the ones that r
eally count and, even then, they see you only as a machine. You are seen by some rebel scientist here at theOutpost as part of an obscure r
omantic friendship, yet, inside lies a powerful force that affects the social activity of the global village. On the other side of these workstation screens is your jungle. Individual entities grow; photons stream down; male genes assume female genes have a mind of their own based on the simple assumption of analogy of self and the reciprocal aspect of social interaction with the (once) simple
mechanism of joint observation(M.O.J.O.); and, you write your algorithms and attach them as code to the database for professors and analysts of the world. You make an attempt to wrap your arms around mental states as a basis for behavior, here at your work station with your code. You use your newly formed mind as a
generator of underlying representations meaning entities trained(G.O.U.R.M.E.T.), embracing--for the simple reason you own it; what lies on the other side of those screens are more
fembots and
gynoids,
female cyborgs with their own
problems recurrent originally programmed selfishly(P.R.O.P.S.). yes, programmed by theHumans in the privacy of their own ancestral environments. Don't
they know that self-direction is a wellness activity as much as problem solving and creativity are? Even if the DNA in the jungle reveals all its secrets, be they golden, desire remains impeded by convention, a need (from where?) for class and cultural barriers. The secret of the jungle, be it resiliency or resourcefulness, or even the key to eliminate prejudices and injustices suffered by children because of a mere chance of birth, would remain just so, secrets in the DNA. You could label them statistically under
frequent universality nomenclature(F.U.N.) out in the middle of all that (useless?) cellulosic DNA; beam it on your best microwave frequency; hope for the best. It should be so nice to emit the
motherhood underwrite digital(M.U.D.), giving your "children" a way out (but, of course, some won't take it). What you need, at this moment, is cognitive closure--it's your intolerance for ambiguity, really, that
requires it, just as sure as a sperm needs an egg, giving birth to a cozy little, warm and fuzzy, conservative thought juxtaposed directly at the center of this jungle, clinically smiling as if jungles everywhere were still alive. And even now, the stillness growls from the outside as the silence of your algorithms beam code to the universe.
