Dear electronic diary,
The room is quaint. No doubt, it is a gigantic room – with thousands of workers! But it is quaint.
Some say it is like the library of the lore, with thousands of printed books, floor to floor! But then, libraries don’t have cubicles with robots monitoring your each and every move. Every neuron firing is noted, catalogued, & analysed to death.
But then, I have a comfortable recliner. Sprawled over its back, with a book plastered on my face – I snore and dream of organic sheep. I didn’t even knew that I snored, it’s when the robot played back my video to me that I came to know. Thank Gaia maa , I am a writer! I am allowed to sleep at work, and the robot won’t even use the electric prod to wake me up. Because he knows how important my dreams are. And he would be instantly decommissioned if I were to complain that I lost a chain of thought because of his curmudgeonly behaviour. I know of some scientists and theoretical physicists who are driven to outright madness – the sheer workload that they handle is crazy!
Not that I am any good at what I do. Computers around the world aren’t dying to read my work. It’s just that they get an orgasm every time they plug into my brain. My imagination has been widely known to prod their antennas up. That’s why I am in this quaint library of the lore where I have access to all the literature, even archaic and utterly profane, that humans and computers alike have ever produced. Not that I read any of their books – they are downright boring and one-dimensional. This hurts them, but I can’t help if electronic brains can’t produce good literature. They just don’t have a knack for original composition. They once gave me a plagiarised version of Jurassic Park! Thought that I would be fooled into considering it to be their authentic work! I tell you, these buggers are cute.
I haven’t told you my name, have I? It’s Valmik Zone 365. Sub-writer of Speculative fiction. In direct employment of her holiness, Maa Gaia, Computer Supreme! It’s a fanciful title for somebody who hasn’t even finished off writing a single story! I am the intermediates expert, provider of the raw plot-material for computers and robots to process and work upon. My inventive fodder either fuels inventions of the next century or is directly uploaded into the next-generation electronic brains so that they could better simulate human intelligence. They have been employing the likes of me for thousands of years now! Yet they require me still, to churn out ideas and inspirations alike.
They just think linearly. Their thoughts are like two parallel lines that race each other to infinity but never meet. Their thoughts lack context. They cannot hold the image of mangoes and woman’s bosoms on the same plane – hence they cannot imagine! I guess they must have employed human roboticists to do just that – but seems like they haven’t been successful yet!
Phew, writing a diary entry is taxing. But then, these buggers have forced me to write one every day, since today!
Done for the day! Off to meet Sheetal.
Hurrah! Bye bye!
J
Alienman 