Nano Prime One stared at the apparition before him. Ordinarily the Nanobots went about their business systematically and without emotion, dismantling nuclear weapons, hand guns, gas-powered lawn mowers and fancy electric ice cream machines–anything not exempted by their eccentric inventor, Alexander Preisczech–with equal detachment. They were machines, and thus did not think, wonder, deviate or speculate. And they were all alike, millions upon millions of them. Until one fateful day.
Nano Prime One stared at the apparition before him. God knows (literally) that to make a creation come alive as an independent entity capable of free will, a shock is required. Even Dr. Frankenstein knew this. A shock, physical, psychological, emotional or metaphysical. Something to wake the entity up, to shake it out of its trance of thingness. Those who know speculate that the trigger was the coincidental involvement of Red and Silver. For the Nanobots themselves, though microscopic, were Red and Silver, as anyone who has read the Chronicle* can testify. Long before the photo above was taken or contemplated, the Nanobots were Red and Silver.
Regard the photo above. Consider its implications. Consider its possible effect upon an unawakened creature whose rudimentary sense of selfhood contained the most limited data: the unexamined, half-unconscious knowledge that, “I am Red and Silver. We are Red and Silver. We take things apart, Preisczech is our master, and we are Red and Silver.” Knowing this, regard the photo above.
God Most High knows, and Dr. Frankenstein knew, and the adepts and dabblers who unwisely attempt to bring the inanimate to life know, that a shock is required. Cast in a positive light, this shock is called Satori, Awakening, Enlightenment. Knowing all this, regard the photo above, and consider its possible effect on an innocent, nameless Nanobot, one of millions upon millions, merely minding its mindless business and taking apart all the machines in the world. To be continued.
Once again, I depart upon a responsing, Whither it will lead to … I must Fear Knot, or Tremble.
Yes, indeed, from Whence cometh the title of our latest blogentry “What Red Button?” (From Whence comes this reminder – to do not Blog Gently not into that good night!) The slick and glib answer is to think that from the Blog’s Author, Her/His own Self, those words arose from within the roiling of the Creative Soup of Consciousness (or CSC if you’d like to join in the launching of a new acronym into the world of metaphysical discourse). But have we not, Shirley, already traversed past the slick and glib? (She nods in contemplative agreement.) So then, Who? Roger (Daltrey) that! The answer calls out throughout our Blog Leader’s comments: “a shock is required,” “A shock, physical, psychological, emotional or metaphysical,” “this shock is called Satori, Awakening, Enlightenment.” Of Course, it could be none other than our beloved, perhaps reviled, or perchance both, N.P.O. (who certainly had at that nano-point in time given no thought to its taxation status or medical care directive). Issue solved, correct? I thought so too. Nanobot-to-beome-N.P.O. advances upon machine, checks its Not To Be Destroyed list, finds machine’s description missing from said list, prepares to destroy it, sees PUSH RED BUTTON BEFORE TURNING HANDLE, looks for said RED BUTTON, sees there is none, experiences cognitive dissonance for the first nano-time, and is Shocked, SHOCKED! to find there could be such a thing as a directive for which there is no means of compliance, and then, realizing that it itself is full of directives, viola [v’wahLAH, not vie-O-lah], consciousness, the Monolith Has Landed, que in opening bars to Richard Strauss’s “Thus Spake Zarathustra.” Easy peasy.
But what if … what if Preisczech had more than One Ace up his sleeve? What if all along, Methinks, Preisczech intended [Damn – can’t italicize words on this here blog’s “Leave a Reply.” I know, I’ll put *’s before and after a word to signal to you, dear readers, that said word is to be, in your minds, *italicized* OK? So back to ] – all along Preisczech *intended* for the Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bi-Cameral Nanobot Mind. “How so?” you may ask. Since you probably just did, I will Lead On with the speculating and let you decide Whither it be specious or spectacular. Long before Preisczech had his misery-making American supermarket encounters over his familial last name, perhaps some indescribableness from within the Great Mystery had discerned another, more majestic emanation from his name, to wit: prescience. Perhaps amongst Those Who Could See With Lightened Eyes he was known as Preisczech the Prescient? And just perhaps, from this majestical emanation, his prescience brought him to design his nanobots not only with the red and silver coloration, but more presciently, with a *red* nano-button. And so, from Whence no one (except perhaps Preisczech the Prescient) knows, the nanobot-to-beome-N.P.O. arrives upon the machine with its directive PUSH RED BUTTON BEFORE TURNING HANDLE. It stops to examine said machine and becomes cognizant that *it has no red button, but that IT, It’s Own Self DOES have one!* SHOCK! Great FEAR-AND-TREMBLING-UNTO-DEATH Cosmos Upending New Breath SHOCK! ZAP!!! //POW\\ <> {{{{ZOWIE}}}}. Or, for you more gentle readers: Satori, Awakening, Enlightenment. World Without End, AMEN! I —- AM —- ALIVE! *Nano Prime One* ALIVE!!! Not as dramatic as The Space-Gate Monolith, but just as effective, and just as Greatly Mysterious – cause – how could new consciousness be anything other *than* mysterious?
But wait! There’s more! If you order one right now … Scratch that. We can’t order a nanobot for money OR love. But there IS more. Just think. What does N.P.O. begin to think about after its Great Awakening? What’s missing here? The Handle! It has the RED BUTTON, but, Whither To Be Found is there a handle to turn upon its pressing? “Where, O My Creator, is a Bot-With-A-Handle for my Red Button to turn?” Ah, the first Bot-Angst! And how is this situation to find its resolution? Heck if I know. I’m not the one who wrote * “To be continued.” * at the end of this blogentry.
Now that I have had my way with “What Red Button?” I expect that our BlogAuthor will gently, or at least respectfully inform me that I have once again gone off Half-Crocked (which is better than Full-Crocked, to be sure), and point us all in the direction of The Real Truth – OR – what he,she, or it wants us to accept as TRT (another nascent metaphysical acronym for you). And I? I will respectfully, or at least gently accept what our BlogAuthor has to tell us – unless or until up from the roiling of the CSC into my brain/mind comes speculations anew.
And before bidding you adieu, just for fun, a riddle for you, a pozzer if you will:
Q: If N.P.O found a way to divide itself into quarters (perhaps with the help of a Bot-With-A-Handle?), and the other 3 quarters each took to calling themselves Prime One (P.O.), what would Nano Prime One say?
A: I see 3 PO.
Cheers!
P.S. – Or – Psudonymiously Submitted,
One does not suppose that Alexander Preisczech himself could be reached and asked to shed alight upon the stab-in-the-shade supposings of the above Lennie-Fits-The-Bill regarding red buttons on the silver bodies of the nanobots, does one? The not supposing of the presentation of the supposings is sensible, as the end of TL&ToHS leaves Preisczech at last reference still a-honeymooned with sweetest Jenny, address unknown, no such NUMbah, no such ZONE. Sweetest Logic comes To Play Here, and chimes that the honey-covered moonies are yet likely to be somewhere in the vicintitude of *The Canis Fidelis* (rather than the suddenly immensely distant Barbados). So, while one does not *suppose*, one MAY hope that that other sundry and un-named contributors to this blog MAY be able to locate the love-laden Alexander and beg for the briefest of interruptions of his mooning the honey with Jenny-So-Sweetly in order to enlighten us on the presence or lack thereof of a red button upon the silver soma of the nano beings of his visualized actualization. One may HOPE … ( sigh … !Nudge nudge, wink wink!) !
We are currently out stalking jackrabbits or something, but some of us hope to reply to your thoughtful comments very soon. As soon as we can find some caffeine or a reasonable substitute, say a day or two at worst.
Your worst bests the best bests – or – a worst worth waiting fore!
WARNING: If you are neither of the individuals addressed below, *do not* read the following unless you have a high tolerance for witty badinage and obscure references.
Dear Lennie-Fits-the-Bill and Pseudonymously,
(Say, you’re not related to Eponymous Bosch, are you? Never mind.) Well, we had a little pow wow–geez, Sage, man, climb down, get that look off your face! Um, we had a little conference at the Dirty Dog and decided that the depth and specificity of your comments required an answer by committee, rather than a single person. So, here are our thoughtful yet off-the-cuff responses, moving down the page of your extensive commentaries:
B. Vasselschnauzer: Ah, whence and whither in the first two lines! This proves that my influence over lit’ture is undiminished. And I do not merely mold the public mind, I AM the public mind!
Unidentified Voice: Shut up, Vasselschnauzer. Or this thing will be the length of a Tolstoy.
H. Sage: Creative Soup of Consciousness. CSC. I *like* that. (“I *am* serious. And don’t call me Shirley.”)
Unidentified Dirty Dog Gang male and female voices: “Roger Daltry!” “Roger Daltry!” “He’s cute!”
H. Sage: Who?
Nanobot Prime One: (in a monotone): This discourse is not productive activity, but the reader’s description of This One’s shock/Satori experience is essentially accurate.
Wolf: You think Preiczech did this on purpose?? Ha, ha, ha, you wish!
B. Vasselschnauzer: We agree that the absence of italics on these benighted internet sites is *very* annoying!
Unidentified Voice: Um . . . you don’t *have* any internet
H. Sage: Alternate time tracks/universes?
Nanobot Prime One: I have a red button. *I* have a red button!! I HAVE A RED BUTTON!!! Abort, abort, system failure, help!!!
We regret the necessity to cut this response short to deal with pressing matters. Thanks for writing ?
B. V: Due to space concerns we will skip witticisms on Fear Not and Blog Gently into that good night, but they are duly appreciated.
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
O blissful blog-entering bliss.
That such August (in May)
Responders to thiss
Have made such Off-the-Cuff of a parlay
(Whence to not would have been, anon, remiss).
Great Thanks for all of yours, to you I say.
Firstly, to B. Vasselschnauzer: A friendly inquiry. (I have sincerely no desire to earn your enmity) The Blog Author(ity) stated on May 6th, current year: “From the Grammar Department: Let’s bring back “whence” and “whither”. They’re nice.” In your above blog-sponse, you state, and I quote “Ah, whence and whither in the first two lines! This proves that my influence over lit’ture is undiminished.” From your above response, may we interested parties deduce that in all matters TL&ToHS blogettish you ARE the Grammar Department? If this is correct, may I express my pleasant surprise, as I, along with all of H. Sage’s Last Book Ever Published readers, have been led to believe that you have had, in the past, a profound, if not supreme, disinterest in disciplined rigorous activity. Furthermore I congratulate you upon your assumption of the Position of the Life & Times of Halicon Sage Blog’s Grammar Department Position (Blessings Upon The Firesign Theatre), howsoever it may have come upon you. My Best to you if indeed you have assumed the mantel of this blog’s Grammar Department!
To H. Sage: Delighted that you *like* the Creative Soup of Consciousness, aka CSC. Figured if *anyone* were to GROK the CSC, Halicon-Fits-The-Bill. With self-abasive respect, Mr. Sage, I never called you, nor ever would call you, Shirley. She just happened to turnup at that moment and I felt beholden to include her in my discourse. Shirley, you agree? “Yes,” she informs me most demurely.
It is most unsurprising that Preisczeck was nowhere around to be found whence upon the time of your Dirty Dog conference (no doubt being otherwise engaged with Jenny) but I was delighted to see/hear/read the NPO was amongst you all and, like, WAY blown away by his confirmation that “the reader’s description of This One’s shock/Satori experience is essentially accurate.” But then all that jumpy-for joy was turned upsidedown at NPO’s subsequent panic attack. Does this happen every time the RED BUTTON recognition recognates within NPO’s substraights? Oh my! Oh poor IT! TOTALLY understand necessity to cut response short. Hope one or some of you were somehow able to calm poor NPO down (I know I’m anthropomorphizing – can’t help it – little feller! ? ) or get message to Preisczeck to come sooth away its pangs of conscious selfness. If I could, I’d tell little NPO that what first appears to one as failure, calling for self abortion, with patience, (achieved by counting up from 1-hundred trillion nano-seconds, 2-hundred trillion nano-seconds, 3-hundred trillion nano-seconds – on up to 100 trillion hundred-trillion nano seconds, plus deep nano-umbillical breathing) will end up circuitously reversing ITS most intimate polarity, from whence cometh one’s Help and the Winds of All-Clear System Passageways Will Brighten All that Lays (or Stands) Ahead. (And if that doesn’t do it for NPO, tell the little bugger “Now we’re going to play a game called ‘Waiting for the Electrician, or Someone Like Him,’ and it will set everything to rights for you by the end of Side 2.”
Or – maybe our NPO simply needs a good handle to activate, whereupon all associations of aproductive activity attributed to its RED BUTTON will assiduously atrophy, whither and thenceforth All Things Will Be Well, and All Manner of Things Will Be Well. (Thanks, DJoN – not to be confused with the potent mustard DIJoN.)
My best, really, to NPO, and all of you at the Dirty Dog.
P.S. I am not ashamed to acknowledge that I am unfamiliar with the initials “B.V.” used at the end of your response. Are they the initials of a specific individual or an acronym of similar usage such as “P.S.”?
P.S.S. Regarding your duly noted space concerns resulting in the skipping of a reply to said witticisms of mine, as a Minneapolitan metaphysical mentor whose name calls up images of great travels and adventures has been heard to say: “No Worries!”