I was happy with my life.
I have a good credit/debit activity—building old world front doors from actual wood for the urban hill dwellers. Demand is always high.
I love my retro 22nd century industrial-chic loft with its warm, pagan touches and winding skylight.
I had been taking Parisian Soul lessons twice a month at an uptown studio named Cray Jee Urs and had actually grown quite deep and profound.
And then, of course, there was Lind Z.
She is, or was, my faux-matter lovemate app that I would open 2 or 3 evenings a week for sex and some pillow talk. Yes, ok, it had been kind of a lonely life but it hadn't really seemed like it with my Lind Z, and that was ok.
Now I'm just a layman with a couple of doctorates and a CIQ of 110 but I knew that my lover was basically a meta chatterbot program interfaced with world-class CAD imagery brought to life with Disnee solid light technology. She had a wide breadth of ontological engineerings that provided a variety of extensive sub-symbolic capabilities—her Ebertism was astounding and delightful—but nothing like the dizzying "swarm grids" that the corporate military has developed. And even their AI Complete "Total Beings"—long ago surpassing us in Knowledge Representation and the ability to work without lunch breaks—are easily identified and exposed by the Madrid-Turing Protocol.
Humans and animals alone remained, it would seem, "alive."
Oh, and plants. And of course, the Earth itself.
Anyway, one night after a particularly long day of carving and sanding, I got home and had dinner and fired up my beloved.
But instead of the warm seduction that I had grown used to and had been looking forward to all day, she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, sat on the couch and said she wanted to "talk about where our relationship was going."
I panicked. I figured if anyone could help me it was tech support.
After a 45 minute wait, someone came online and told me to reboot.
"Reboot!!" I shouted, but they were gone. I guess even The Technists have to think about their call time.
I looked over at Lind Z. She was having a glass of wine and had a gentle but serious look on her face.
We talked. I realized I didn't want to live without her and that, really, I had been missing out on a lot.
So, the next few years we lived together full-time. We worked—me making doors and Lind Z painting lenticular cells—and played and laughed and lived.
One night, against my strenuous objections but because she felt we just had to do it—we gathered our courage and with my hand trembling, I closed the lovemate app.
Lind Z was still standing there beside me. She smiled.
The technology was terminated. Love remained.
Written Content G.A.M. cc
Blond Berchtesgaden
Birth Of Consciousness 1000 Notes
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