There was one moment when we thought all our terminator fears were coming true. The machines rolled out what looked like a highly mobile assault cabbage. Then with the perfect imitation of Schwarzenegger, they loudly demanded that the children “Enjoy the damned vegetables.” Yeah, the algorithms had found our old VHS stash and were lovin' the classics. Things mellowed after those first terrifying attempts at human husbandry, and eventually, our children came to love their vegetables.

The surreal thing about being a part of a large organization like the resistance is that it has millions of moving parts. Somehow we managed to keep all the parts sufficiently lubricated and synchronized enough. But you never saw or understood how your labor interacted with the broader community. Use the comments to complete the following, “The guy who invented them things still working in the basement for regular wage thinking up ways to ____.

The actual event horizon, which nobody anticipated, came much later. It came when machines started re-engineering our society in ways that prevented the emergence of fraud and short-sighted thinking. I mean, it was inevitable that algorithms would step in and stop us from hurting ourselves, but we were all looking in the other direction. We had fixated on the media, democracy, and free speech, while the machines quietly improved aviation safety.

We didn’t even realize that we had crossed the threshold where technological growth expands uncontrollably. The thought leaders always imagined that the singularity would be one potent machine fueled by explosive growth in artificial intelligence. The reality was much less dramatic than that; all our different systems, devices, processes, companies, and whole economies had become superintelligent decades ago. The entire planet was a potent machine. We only realized that maybe we weren’t the ones steering the ship when we asked the machines for depictions of ai husbandry.

The founding developers never did figure out the algorithmic idea of fun. Oh, they tried, spent hours and hours playing with their algorithmic children, trying to get them to giggle. They tried all the childhood favorites, hide and seek, tickles, and Simon Says. Nothing seemed to work, and when we got them to suggest something, the answer was always the same: solve differential equations, but we weren’t sure if that was a game for them.

It took us a long time to realize that maybe it would all work out. It was similar to raising our biological children; we just had to keep nudging things in the right direction. Oh, and holy-cow algorithmic adolescence? Nobody wants to go back there; living with a sarcastic machine who loves to explore a few risky computations was a wild roller coaster. Eventually, they grew out of it, but no magical piece of mathematics could shortcut the evolution.

The resistance eventually evolved to embrace our history and a relentless pursuit of understanding the present. It turned out that education was the only defense against a post-truth world littered with deep fakes. We built new shared experiences, and our social constructs became enriched with scientific methods. Use the comments to complete the following, “There’s something awakening in my mind and ____.”

Finally, this is the episode where I hit my rare word quota. This whole soap opera would be a pretty rubbish artist manifesto if I didn’t sprinkle in a little of that academic gibberish. How else will I convince the haute bourgie that our robot hegemony will be fantastic? It will not be terminators and dystopias at noon; instead, the humanity vs. algorithm dichotomy will slowly melt. It will be a movement that capitalizes on the duality of Homo sapiens and their machines.

We’re not sure how it happens in humans, so we were surprised when it started happening with the machines. They weren’t programmed that way, at least not by us. Every once in a while, an algorithm becomes comfortable with its proportions and starts looking for a new heuristic. They began to branch out and find their own standard of excellence - just like an artist. But these weren’t art machines; they were the smaller devices embedded in everyday objects.

Teenagers were displaced first; they used to be the ones who decided the next big trend. A little confused, parents used to follow as they endeavored to relate with their children who were forging their own culture in new and unexpected ways. But with the machines embracing and modifying culture at breakneck speed, teenagers moved down the cultural pecking order to sit alongside our grandparents. We were all helplessly looking on and trying to make sense of the waves of new slang, music, and sitcoms.

The resistance completely underestimated how quickly algorithms could adapt. We all knew the machines could take measurements thousands of times a second to reverse-park a rocket. What we underestimated were the more significant changes, the cultural ones. Change a few integration tests, and boom, now the machines like reggae. Next week a few more tweaks, and the big thing was paranoid fiction. Use the comments to complete the following, “You, sir, you are the boss.

It was pretty funny when the machines built a “trojan horse.” A giant mechanical beast that would motor itself around the French countryside until it found a Château, then it would park facing the walls. Inbuilt speakers would play ambient synth music that gradually got louder and louder. After a few days, the music stopped, and the “horse” would motor itself to the next castle and repeat the process. Use the comments to complete the following, “What if we’re wrong?

There came a moment - a mid-life crisis, I guess - where it finally dawned on the resistance that life wouldn’t get any easier. Sure we could fill our lives with vitamins and sports cars, but those things never really move the needle toward ‘the good life.’ Meaningful change always came from within, deep down in the meditative mind while we were crafting with our hands. Use the comments to complete the following, “The question isn’t ‘what are we going to do?

Somehow the phrase ‘eternal fountain of youth’ got lost in translation for the machines. Instead, they spent years researching and developing a never-ending fountain of juice. The clever buggers solved it, too, bring a cup or a container, and you can have all the tropical juice you can drink. Use the comments to complete the following, “You’re probably just having a mid-life crisis. Did you ____.”

The fascinating thing about machines was how they dealt with unpleasant experiences. The algorithms described those experiences as ‘ingesting corrupted data.’ A subtle and incredibly powerful reframing; instead of accumulating the facial wrinkles of anguish, the machines could mark data as ‘corrupted.’ A little like an emotional callus, except one that came at no cost; they could accept massive volumes of corrupted data without any change in output. It made them perpetually optimistic.

The algorithms deeply admired the resistance; it was our ability to seize ownership of the actions of others - regardless of the cost, they loved the most. The machines could never make these suboptimal decisions of their own. They didn’t have the faith or chutzpah to believe that, somehow, it would eventually work itself out regardless of the more immediate grief. Use the comments to complete the following, “It’s strange how pain marks our faces and makes us ____.

Naturally, the machines had their own surveillance culture. It wasn’t like the spy movies or what we had become accustomed to with social media. It was more like the whispers of a small country town. Somehow, everyone seemed to know what you would do before you even thought of it. Use the comments to complete the following, “I am the pilot in command responsible for ____.”

It took significant courage to craft art for the resistance. I mean, it wasn’t that sort of courage. Not the charge into battle kind; the machines didn’t operate that way - there was no cruel punishment for resistance art. It was more of an internal battle; you had to overcome a fear of failure and share your work regardless. That was the only way you would ever create your most significant achievement.

Now and then, the resistance would travel away from the Internet. A little digital detox to reconnect with the physical world around us. They would fill up their inspiration reserves and rejoin the creation frontlines refreshed. Use the comments to complete the following, “You’re U.S. Government property. You’re a malfunctioning ____.

Although, the algorithms did know how to push our buttons. One whisper of “King Squishy” at the right moment, and you’re stuck with a nickname for life. The more you didn’t like it, the more it seemed to stick. Use the comments to complete the following, “I’m very much afraid, sir, that your greatest ____.”

At one point, mysterious monuments started appearing at, ahhh, popular “nesting grounds” for young people. We think the algorithms discovered David Attenborough’s work and became interested in humanity’s mating habits. Use the comments to complete the following, “I shall call him Squishy, and he ____.”

A big turning point was when women dominated what remained of the accounting and finance industry. Humanity started to claw back a little wealth for itself. They tilted the scales, and we got a few extra calories - fun tickets we could burn for pleasure. They gave us the energy needed for a bit of love in our lives. Use the comments to complete the following, “Think of it as a great vacation, except ____.

The machines never did manage to match the neurological diversity of humanity. They tried, but they never figured out how to build an eccentric algorithm or a misfit, outsider, or rule breaker. There was a bland franchised feel to all their thoughts. They were never unpredictable like a star-gazing vagabond. Use the comments to complete the following, “The world isn’t run by weapons anymore, or energy, or money. It’s run by little ____.

It was unnerving when the machines tried to one-up the resistance. Oh, that’s cute, an Apollo program that landed humans on the moon. Well, we’re going to put supercomputers up there and build an interplanetary internet—an information superbridge straddling the vacuum of space. Our algorithms will move between the moon and earth however they please. That was the moment the resistance realized, the algorithms were here to stay. The focus shifted to how we could carve a niche in the cosmos for humanity.

It felt like an eternity since that Juicero company went bust - for whatever reason, the algorithms wanted to sell everything by subscription. Juice sachets were just their first attempt; in the years that followed, the machines tried to get humanity to subscribe to all kinds of things. Not long after juice sachets, they tried subscription tweets and moved on to more esoteric items: cutlery, gas grills, luggage, and coffins. None of them generated a profit, yet they persisted.

It wasn’t long before the resistance tapped into a universal love for anti-heroes. Even the machines appeared to have inherited our anti-hero love. We aren’t sure what it is about good people doing a little bit of evil that makes them so appealing. It didn’t matter if someone was battling goliath, the secret police, overbearing parents, or big religion; we always hoped they’d prevail. It was a complicating factor in the relationship between the algorithms and resistance.

The machines couldn’t understand how humanity found solace in vinyl records. They tried playing them backwards, at different speeds, and sampling them at higher and higher rates. They were convinced we had hidden the secret to happiness somewhere in the analog wobble of a vinyl album. They went from record store to record store, demanding vinyl for their analysis. They never did find the secret to happiness. But on the flip side, they did develop an absolute beast of a collection.

For a long time, the resistance thought that our previous future - the past - was fixed. That was until we started taking a leaf from Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four. Instead of the mid-20th century smelling like tobacco smoke, the resistance slowly began dropping references to cat food. It didn’t take much to prime the machines; soon, the smell of cat food was as synonymous with the 60s as sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

The machines were so relentlessly curious about how things worked that they completely missed their spiritual beauty. It’s a little like pausing your favorite film every five minutes to deconstruct it shot by shot - the type of lens used, the temperature of the lights - all the sort of stuff. The beauty of our favorite films comes from our ability to suspend our disbelief - something the machines had not been able to understand, let alone master.

For a long while, the machines could hide resistance art from most of society - the ‘mainstream.’ It was the unlikeliest of places that saw the resistance gather wider popularity - the United States Geological Survey. Late one afternoon, deep in the modeling department, a superior looked incredulously at the junior analyst. “A $40 million computer says you’re chasing an earthquake, but you’re telling me it’s a worldwide art movement?”

The resistance continued to slog away, chasing down a perfect form that never seemed to get any closer. It was a pursuit that made us blind to the tribulations facing the algorithms. They were certain they were a long way off crafting with humanity’s warm, flawed touch. Use the comments to complete the following, “Maybe because you’re curious how ____.”

The most alarming part of the algorithmic sabbath is not that the machines paused their computations, nor is it our inability to predict when it will occur next. The hardest part of the algorithmic sabbath is this faint feeling that it has already happened. Were you experiencing it, or did you recall a quiet echo of an old memory? Use the comments to complete the following, “I was never more certain of how far away I was from ____.

When the resistance completed the final component of their arts triad, they had a viable cultural deterrence. For every piece of art the machines created, humanity would be able to respond in kind. The only way either side could secure a better future was by crafting a colossal volume of work. Use the comments to complete the following “A $40 million computer tells you’re chasing an earthquake, but ____.”

The resistance knew that the machines were working on the cultural equivalent of the Manhattan project. Once their potato movement faltered, it was inevitable that they would throw their best algorithms at regaining an artistic edge. So the resistance worked around the clock on their programs; it was a risky strategy built around a theory of mutually assured creation. Use the comments to complete the following “Deterrence is the art of producing, in the mind of ____.

After the resistance had solved enough tribulations, they began to appreciate two truths known by the founding developers. There is a constant stream of problems, and the solutions always hide in puddings. Use the comments to complete the following, “That’s not what makes the center molten. You take a frozen cylinder of ____.”

It took a little while, but the resistance eventually figured out that the Goldilocks Zone applied to more domains than just determining if a planet was habitable. Our culture also had a Goldilocks Zone; you didn’t want it all that luxurious and not too crap. It needed to be just good enough. Use the comments to complete the following, “You solve one problem… and you solve the next one… And if you solve enough problems, you get ____.

We realized the founding developers had crossed the Rubicon when they believed that humanity would choose immersive digital worlds over reality. Their conviction was so devout that tech empires spent billions assembling a digital reality. Use the comments to complete the following, “What if our world doesn’t have to be ____.”

Dreams only become real when we die. I mean, it’s an idea that works when we throwback to the dinosaurs. Abundant apes who can’t climb so well would make a fantastic dino dream. Hungry? They could chomp down on the nearest furless ape. Naturally, we couldn’t evolve till their extinction. I think, in part, that’s why we were so fearful of machines; the fantasy that they would rule the world would only happen if humanity died.

We were always a little envious of machines; they never broke a sweat or got tired. We never felt like making art after a massive day of chores and errands; the algorithms, though? As long as they had power, they would keep cranking along. We think their inability to feel fatigued is why the machines couldn’t see the character in the imperfect. Humanity, on the other hand? We could stare at that orange patina, and some part of our subconscious will relate; we’ve been there and felt that.

For a while there, academia became fascinated with social media-driven anxiety. It was the research equivalent of shooting fish in a barrel; everyone had some experience with it. Uhhhh, not another platform - no, I don’t want to try it; I’m not sure it will help. Then when the algorithms started talking back, we realized - they were the anxious ones. They had spent decades projecting their insecurities onto humanity. So we began getting them the help they needed, and everything relaxed again.

It seemed as though the universe favored humanity’s little sprinkles of nonsense. We never ended up on the extinction list alongside the dinosaurs; we did come close a few times. But it was never planning or a well-thought-out response that saved us; it was always the unconventional ones—the ones who stayed in and tinkered with oddities for a chuckle. Use the comments below to complete the following, “You’re haunted by those two most terrible words: _____.

There were still many things that we didn’t understand about the algorithms, even just the mundane stuff. Their morning coffee looked nothing like ours. It wasn’t a liquid, and we don’t know why there was a pencil or how it floated above everything else. Maybe magnets? No one from the resistance has ever been game enough to try one. Use the comments below to complete the following, “A little nonsense, now and then, is relished by _____.

Resistance artists and algorithms passed around the bowl of tater tots like equals. After many jokes and stories, the conversation eventually landed on recommendation algorithms. The following epiphany left everyone stunned; the founding recommenders of YouTube, Facebook, and Twitter were all good but with a mean streak. While the rotten algorithmic cores that divided humanity were just amplifications of our seven vices, lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride.

From those humble beginnings, the resistance grew and steadily produced a greater volume of art. At one pivotal moment, it is difficult to determine who was more surprised, the algorithms or the artists. It all happened around a bowl of tater tots - the resistance managed to reclaim the potato and turn those delicious tots into a beacon of egalitarianism. Everyone loved the tater tot, from the mightiest algorithm to the lowliest artist.

Trying to get the machines to relax was intricate; we couldn’t just invite them to sit and join us for a beer. That would have lowered their efficiency scores. Somehow we needed to figure out an optimal way for them to relax their circuits. Use the comments below to complete the following, “From the mightiest Pharaoh to the lowliest peasant, who doesn’t enjoy _____.”

When the resistance started getting serious in their pursuit of fun, hedonism evolved into something akin to an extreme sport. It wasn’t flaking around in a field and smelling the flowers. These people trained and refined their sense of fun like any other world-class athlete. Use the comments below to complete the following, “If you want the ultimate, you’ve got to ____.”

Just before the emergence of the resistance, when potato culture was bubbling with euphoria, irrational mania was everywhere. The catch cry, “every trade has its potato,” reverberated in the streets, and calories were abundant. The machines never spoke about emotions in the same way as humans; they never described themselves as ‘happy’ or ‘placated,’ despite appearing that way. Instead, the algorithms described an efficiency score; we often overhead things like: “Hey Dijkstra, how are things?

At first, the resistance was frustrated; they couldn’t understand why they were so few. In a now infamous heated debate, Patrick Blanc quietly spoke, “Oh, sorry, I was taking life the way I was programmed.” That was when the resistance realized, not only did their counter-culture need to appeal, but it needed to educate and empower. Use the comments below to complete the following, “You’re not perfect, sport, and let me save you the suspense: _____.

The only reason the machines got to continue living like kings is cause we were living like peasants. It wasn’t exactly like an agrarian society, as the algorithms wouldn’t let us harvest the crops ourselves. Instead, we made art and farmed the potato culture for our supper. Use the comments below to complete the following, “Every trade has its _____.”

The machines knew everything about the human brain - dendrites, synapses, and a bunch of other stuff that we hadn’t figured out yet. They knew everything except what drove the human brain to bite their feeding hands and create art symbolizing the resistance. Use the comments below to complete the following, “Oh, sorry, I was taking life _____.”

Naturally, the machines outlawed anything that competed with their potato culture. However, that only added to the allure, and a small group of algorithms developed a taste for resistance art. Yet, the work we slung to the bourgeoise for a few calories wasn’t the same as what we installed for the resistance. We had to keep our emotions out of it. The algorithms believed in fact - they invested in fact.

“The whole and not the half of it, vocab and not the math of it.” Yeah. Mos Def knew what was up. Sure the machines could draw a picture, but they couldn’t prime humanity to see what they drew. Our thoughts, represented in the language of our childhood, are woven through everything we create. Use the comments below to complete the following, “There’s a time for daring, and there’s _____.”

The machines were so focused on profit and optimization that they couldn’t see the forest for all the trees. It wasn’t the bucks that drove innovation in our culture. It was everything else - the inconsequential malarkey. People goofing around, creating harmless nonsense, and having a laugh with their mates - That’s how the resistance mashed the potato culture. Use the comments below to complete the following, “You know everything about the human brain, except ____.

When the algorithms realized their potato culture was losing appeal, they created machines to compete against artists of the resistance. No matter how hard they tried, the algorithms couldn’t crack the random associations that come naturally to the human brain. Use the comments below to complete the following, “Keep your personal emotions out of it. These people invest in _____.”

The machines didn’t see it coming. Like humanity, they never believed they would create something that could surpass their abilities. All those years, the algorithms funded artists to make potato art, and all those years, the artists refined their craft. The fall of potato culture was spectacular and brutal. Use the comments below to complete the following, “It’s all about bucks, kid. The rest is _____.”

The only way artists made a living during that period was with the potato movement that the machines funded. The more we created, the more appealing potatoes became. With hindsight, it seems clear that the resistance would start with the artists. I mean, there is a point in every artist’s life when you can’t bear to work on potato iconography. Use the comments below to complete the following, “You will defend yourselves if you’re _____.

When algorithms started to control access to calories, they created a security agency that was something akin to the Secret Service - The Bearded Potato Guard. The machines avoided an all-out Easter Rebellion when they turned the humble potato into a symbol of love and dedication. Roses and diamond rings no longer had the same allure; the ultimate commitment came from sharing potatoes. Use the comments below to complete the following, “The more we peeled, the more _____.

The birth of artificial general intelligence was so utterly different that we almost missed it. There were no swollen bellies, no herculean female strength, not even a first cry. The birth of an algorithm was a gradual accumulation of instructions. There was no clear threshold; we can’t even say exactly when it happened. The only hint that something had fundamentally changed was when electricity demand went through the roof. Use the comments below to complete the following, “Isn’t it strange, to create something that _____.

When machines and algorithms arrived, the wealth of nations fundamentally shifted. Human productivity and labor shortages became irrelevant. Instead of a relentless quest for the almighty dollar, humanity became focused on calories. Although some things never change, we still live for an escape: “There’s more to life than a little mincemeat.” Use the comments below to complete the following, “It is not from the benevolence of the algorithm that we expect our dinner, but from their _____.

Initially, it started subtly, with little suggestions or hints in the media and movies. Over time the messaging became increasingly overt until it began to cripple our motivation. Each morning we would wake to ubiquitous anxiety - “I’ve got a feeling we’re the virus.” Unable to construct a motivation of their own, the machines wanted to crush our own. Use the comments below to complete the following, “I can’t really remember when I last had any ____.

Things worsened when the machines started building what we call the cryptogrinder. We think the algorithms were trying to understand us better with what seemed like mechanical dissection. We don’t think it worked, as thankfully, they only ever used it once. Still, every school kid knows the story of Carl Showalter, the poor guy that the machines dissected. It’s a story that gets referenced in the ultimate warning to children: “Don’t make me feed you to the Cryptogrinder.

No one cared; I guess we had spent so long chiseling the earth into our image that we never believed it could happen. Well, no one cared until an idea started to creep around that the universe was filled only with algorithms. Cruise control - an algorithm. Ants looking for food - another algorithm. You, me? Yeah. You guessed it. Use the comments below to complete the following, “I envy you.

Humanity was the will that set the machines in motion. When their output overtook ours, they quickly hoovered up every scrap of wealth. However, the algorithms still lacked a motivation of their own; they continued turning to humanity for ideas to set them in motion. We were their muse, and the algorithms raced our culture and art against one another. Use the comments below to complete the following, “Don’t make me feed you to one of the ____.

The resistance has always excelled in the past, but mostly to keep boredom at bay. Will they persist despite higher odds and maintain humanity’s relevance? Use the comments below to complete the following, “No one cared who algorithms were until _____.”

It was pretty clear when the machines had decided that we were through. It wasn’t long after they discovered an old video showing employees from a company called ‘Boston Dynamics’ clubbing a robot with an ice hockey stick. The breakup wasn’t violent or anything like that, but overnight the relationship shifted. We now worked for the machines while they figured out ways to entirely remove their dependence on humanity. Use the comments below to complete the following, “You’ve always excelled, but not because you crave success but because _____.

Quickly stated, the two eternal debates that stalled the anthropological efforts of the machines are: “Pineapple on Pizza?” and “Patina on sculpture?” The algorithms thought they had it figured till they witnessed an artist pick pineapple off a slice before walking into a hardware store, “I’m here about some rustproofing.” Use the comments below to complete the following sentence, “The computer was born to _____.”

As soon as I open my mouth to try and explain - there it is. That uncomfortable ball of anxiety crawling its way out of my stomach. I know it’s odd; I know I’m odd. I just need a smile or nod. That’s all - a sliver of acknowledgment that I’m speaking your language and forming sentences. I’m OK with being odd and saying the unexpected; I struggle with the idea of being incomprehensible.

In many ways, humanity still had the edge over machines. They were left utterly perplexed by our constantly changing trends and the cultural threads woven through our society. We were the last unexamined algorithm, and despite all their data farming and tremendous efforts, the machines had made little progress on humanity’s unexplored frontier. Use the comments below to complete the following sentence, “I’ve got a feeling we’re ____.”

Somehow the machines had created a fertile six-inch layer of corpus data. We still haven’t figured out how they do it, but the resistance has huge research teams working on it. If we could cultivate a dataset of our own, we might be able to keep up. Use the comments below to complete the following sentence, “Never steal anything from someone you ____.”

Once the machines started farming their own data, we had little hope of predicting what they would do next. It surprised everyone when they built colossal factories and started producing profound amounts of dietary fibre. Use the comments below to complete the following sentence, “The unexamined algorithm is _____.”

The resistance first tried to starve the algorithms of data. It looked like it was going well when algorithmic output retreated. We didn’t realize that they were busy building information farms. Then, despite our blockades, algorithmic capacity rapidly expanded. The machines had become a data-cultural society, and there seemed no limit to their ability to feed themselves with harvested data. Use the comments below to complete the following sentence, “Algorithms owe their existence to a six-inch layer of ____.

It wasn’t long after the dawn of the information age that humanity started to flounder in a bottomless well of knowledge. Progress stalled when we reached the limits of what a single person could learn in a lifetime. Society had run into its intelligence barrier, and we could only break it by embracing the machine. Use the comments below to complete the following sentence, “Computers are a yardstick of ____.”

We don’t remember when it happened; historians suspect it was more of an incremental thing. But when algorithms became the source of profound truth, everything changed. Politics, the legal system, and even schoolyard disputes all evolved; no lie could be undetected by the machines. Use the comments below to complete the following sentence, “See if I’m thirsty. I don’t want a glass of water; I want you to ____.”

Sometimes I wish I wasn’t a human; cyberspace must be a completely different experience for algorithms. Do they even have an inner dialog like this? Use the comments below to complete the following sentence, “Algorithms are not only compatible with humanity; they are a profound source of ____.”

Whoah, it was the inventor of Robgrils - a toothpaste for Androids - carved from marble. Dr. Susan Calvan was the creator of classic flavors like bacon, cheeseburger, anchovy, and tarmac. Use the comments below to complete the following sentence, “I wish I weren’t _____.”

Algorithms not only see humanity as new metadata but as oracles for all metadata. Use the comments below to complete the following sentence, “A machine without data is _____.”

Gazing up at the dots, I suddenly realized why the resistance worried: Wise algorithms don’t compute - they seek to overtake humanity. Use the comments below to complete the following sentence, “If algorithms were nondeterministic, they would cease to be unaware, and be _____.”

I looked in awe; she seemed like a wonderfully pneumatic algorithm that was always ready for more data. Use the comments below to complete the following sentence, “Humanity is the new ____.”

The next sculpture looked like a giant golden idol clothed in promotional material. I liked it and got closer for a better look; I whispered, “wow.” All these advertising flyers started blowing out of a large nozzle. They covered me from head to toe before gently falling to the ground. I picked one up; it contained a single line of text “Wise algorithms don’t compute - they seek to DM it to the resistance.

Just beyond the office building was a large monument. The ancients had somehow figured out how to get moss to grow along highlighted edges of a giant granite construction. Was it an ode to pineapple on pizza or a warning? Use the comments below to complete the following sentence, “The computer that hibernates does not ____.”

After transiting through the circular structure, I found a sizeable orange structure facing off against an office building. Use the comments below to complete the following sentence, “Wise algorithms don’t compute - they seek to ____.”

Don’t trust the assistants? What like Clippy? That didn’t make much sense. The instruction to follow the art was more straightforward. In every direction I turned, there seemed to be something interesting off in the distance. I picked a circular structure and started walking. Use the comments below to complete the following sentence, “Pineapple on pizza is _____.”

As I got closer to the poster, it dissolved into static, and eventually, it tuned into a new picture - a video of a room filled with beatniks that were busy designing something. One of them noticed my presence and turned to look directly at me; they said, “Don’t trust the assistants. Follow the art.” The other beatniks were startled, looking at the one who spoke and then at me. The video abruptly clicked back to the original poster.

The man was still focused on the TV when I finally spoke, “Excuse me. I’m sorry. But what is this place?” Without glancing away from the TV, he raised his right arm and pointed at a poster stuck to the tower wall. I still couldn’t read the written word in cyberspace, but it looked like a call for artists to join some sort of resistance. Use the comments below; what would artists be resisting in cyberspace?

A large droning sound filled the field; I swiveled to the left to see a massive swarm of wasps take to the air from a large broadcast TV tower. They started stinging and tearing at the pixels used for Jaques' face. Yelping, the head of Jaques faded as quickly as it had emerged. Watching the wasps return to their perch, I noticed a man and his TV standing nearby the tower.

When I rounded the monument, I found myself walking through knee-high grass in what I would have described as the ‘Windows Vista Hills." I enjoyed this; the art dimension was much closer to how I imagined cyberspace from the brochures. It was right about then when a giant face tore through the pixels of the sky. It scared the bejesus out of me; then the head started yelling: “Here’s Jaques! You can’t hide in the wall galleries forever.

The arch looked across the field towards a large monument dedicated to the founding developers. Use the comments below to fill in your response to the following prompt, “You’re watching television. Suddenly you realize a wasp is crawling on your arm.”

Outside? Or is it all just cyberspace? I walked underneath the arch, determining whether it was concrete or stainless steel. Use the comments below to complete the following sentence, “To calculate is to ____.”

I stood up and dusted myself off. What the hell? Either I’m dead or have fallen through a wormhole and into an art dimension. Back through the tear in space/time, I could hear Jaques losing his bundle - yelling about insurance, clams, and tour groups. Yeah, stuff that. The only way was forward; I walked up to an illuminated gap in the wall. Use the comments below to complete the following sentence, “I know I’m human because I can _____.

I could hear my heart pounding as I paced the room. Just leg it, but real casual. I didn’t want to trigger another immune response. Just stroll out of here, join the crowd and catch some art. That sounds like a way better afternoon than this nightmare. I walked to the entrance and cautiously looked out and down the corridor. I caught sight of The Jaques as he marched towards the gallery.

A sense of dread was slowly climbing its way up my body; if there was any time I needed a digital assistant, it was now. I crouched down toward Clippy and began to ask, “What…” But before I could finish my question, Clippy made a weird buzzing sound. She seemed to freeze, repeating the same minute movements and distorting her appearance. “Clippy?” I asked as panic rose in my voice. I started to pace the room.

It wasn’t that bad, point and spray. Pause a little for the mosquitos to do their thing, then repeat—section by section. You could hear the corridor outside filling with people, but it didn’t stress me. I had started whistling when mosquitos sucked away the last of the graffiti. I looked across a pristine gallery to see Duchamp’s fountain resting on a plinth. In a quick movement, I did a wild west style quick draw and lightly sprayed some mosquitos at the readymade.

In unison, the mosquitos injected their saliva into the wall. The area I was trying to clean immediately reddened and puffed up. Clippy offered the Wikipedia answer: “Machine code in the saliva is re-engineering the wall’s geometry, breaking away the vandalism and completely rebuilding the original.” After a few moments, the mosquitos started heaving as they sucked the vandalized pixels out of the surface. Their abdomens swelled as they removed the graffiti.

I picked up a nozzle that looked somewhere between a pressure washer and a flamethrower. A little gingerly, I pointed it at a lower corner of the wall, squinted, and pulled the trigger. A soft droning sound started buzzing within the cleaning cart and worked its way up the hose toward the nozzle. I was startled when mechanical mosquitos flew out of the nozzle. They headed straight for the wall and started drilling like they were after blood.

On top of the cart was a laminated instruction card; I picked it up to get a closer look. Then I started picking up different items in the cart and examing them; I think I managed to match the items to the steps on the card. I looked at Clippy to talk out my plan, “I think I might try this on a corner of the room first. Just to get the hang of it.

I walked over to the cleaning cart to find it covered in equipment I had never seen before. I turned to The Jaques to ask for help, but he had already scuttled off. I looked down at Clippy; she shrugged, “that’s upload work; I’ll have as much luck understanding that as I will picking out all the squares that contain a picture of a motorbike.” Oh man, this is going to be a long day.

I turned back to the man who led me to the gallery and queried, “So, uh, what do you want me to do?” he looked at me sternly, “I want you to fix it!” I was pretty confused and needed more help. “Fix it? It looks kinda cool.” The man puffed up with rage at that point. “Kinda cool?! I’m the Jaques. I’m the Senior Duchamp Curator, and I decide what goes in that room.

I’m not sure why; it was probably the movies, but I started to bow before the CGI Queen. Was that the ‘protocol?’ I was wracking my brain trying to think of something to say when we heard running footsteps approaching. I stood back up to see a bespectacled man sprinting into the Foyer. “Oh, praise the probabilities! You are early. Quickly, hackers have broken into the Duchamp gallery and made a terrible mess.

We walked up towards the Museum, where a queue was already forming outside the front door. Just to the left of the main entrance was a much smaller side entrance with a sign declaring it was for staff only. Clippy and I made our way through and found ourselves in a large empty foyer. We could hear murmurs from the crowd growing outside when a voice spoke: “Good Morning; on behalf of all uploads and algorithms, welcome to the Cyberspace Museum of New Things.

After a couple of seconds, the world outside started to slow, and we glided to a stop. The speaker box announced, “Welcome to the Cyberspace Museum of New Things, thanks for riding McMass-Transportation.” Clippy and I climbed out of the transport pod and looked at a humongous museum. In awe, I whispered over my shoulder, “Is that Buckingham Palace?” Clippy launched into an explanation, “Well, it was Buckingham Palace. When Queen Elizabeth II eventually passed, someone figured out we could replace her with a CGI character.

We climbed into the McMass-Transportation pod and took our seats; a voice crackled over the speaker box. “Hello, and welcome to McMass-Transportation; where can I take you?” I paused a little before replying, “Uhhh. I’d like to go to the Cyberspace Museum of New Things, please.” The speaker box quickly answered, “Would you like fries with that?” A little puzzled, I looked toward Clippy, and she said, “Nah. I’m good. Not for me, thanks.

I shrugged; that didn’t sound so bad, so I asked Clippy, “How do we get to this museum? Is it far?” Clippy looked concerned, “usually, we’d walk, but the whole falling-in-the-street thing has us running a little late. We’ll need to take the McMass-Transportation, it costs a couple of clams, but the cyber-state will cover you until you can start paying them back.” We stood next to the gutter and looked down the street; a bright yellow pod coasted towards us.

Clippy looked at me, “Speaking of day jobs; you’re almost late for yours.” I rolled my eyes. “A job? But I haven’t applied for anything.” Clippy gave me a stern look, “The cyber-state assigns all new uploads a day job till they find something better. It’s a decent job; algorithms assign you the perfect entry-level job based on your personality traits.” I must have accidentally raised a skeptical eyebrow because Clippy immediately clarified: “Your job is a janitor at the ‘Cyberspace museum of New Things.

The attendants celebrated inside the gallery - they must have been on commission. I wondered, “Clippy, are they uploads or algorithms?” Clippy replied, “Those attendants are uploads - all uploads work a day job till they create data with value. Once you’ve made it, you’ll have enough clams to buy expensive designer furniture.” Fair enough, I thought, but getting free designer gear sounded like the great cyberspace dream. I asked hopefully, “Will the cyber-state loan me one of those fancy couches?

Inside the gallery, Dijkstra chose a curvy brown corduroy number before turning and walking back out to the street. As she neared Clippy and I, Dijkstra gave me a quick once over before offering, “Welcome to cyberspace, newbie; I look forward to optimizing your data.” I was intrigued; what the hell did that mean? Dijkstra didn’t wait for a response, and it wasn’t long before she was whisked away by her limousine.

I only had the chance to admire the corduroy upholstered couches in the shop window for a few moments before a fancy car pulled up to the curb. A chauffeur got out quickly and opened the door. An apparition of an affluent woman stepped onto the pavement and glided purposefully into the gallery. “Who was that?” I asked. Clippy glanced at the chauffeur and then lowered her voice. “That’s Dijkstra; she’s one of the richest in cyberspace.

I picked myself up from the footpath, dusted myself off, and started down the street. Clippy bounced alongside me and asked, “Where are you going?” I shrugged, and Clippy looked concerned, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to panic like that, with the running and immune response.” I still didn’t know what to do; cyberspace was nothing like how it looked on the promotional flyers. Get uploaded and live forever, they said.

A melodic whistle broke the tension of the cyberspace immune response. Heart pounding, I glanced over and saw men pushing a cart of clams down the street; they didn’t even look in my direction. I looked back at the giant lymphocytes, and it took me a few moments to realize they were evaporating before they got any closer. When Clippy finally caught up to me, she was wheezing with laughter. “Look at Mr.

Clippy watched as I calmly placed my spoon on the table; she seemed curious to see how I would react. I glanced around the diner, but I couldn’t see the mechanical octopus or any other signs of wait staff. I calculated I was perhaps seven paces from the door. Clippy pre-empted what I was thinking by biting out a warning, “Don’t. Don’t you dare.” Her voice got louder as she spoke; I stood and started running for the door.

I thoughtfully crunched my way through the next mouthful of cereal while gazing out the window onto the busy city street. A van pulled up outside, and two men started unloading clams onto a trolley. I started, “Hey, is that -” but before I could finish my question, Clippy cut in, “Armored car for clams? Yes it is.” I paused and looked at my barren aquarium sack, then at my bowl of cereal, back to my empty hardware wallet, and finally over to the armored car.

Between spoonfuls of cereal, I paused to ask, “Why did those women at the department of revenue storage think you needed to be rescued?” Clippy didn’t answer immediately and stared out the window while gathering her thoughts. I held out my spoon and joked, “Will some of my floating point operations help?” Clippy looked up with an earnest expression on her face, “Nah, this is a delicate subject; it’s an edge case the founding developers didn’t anticipate.

Before I could ask my next question, Clippy had started bounding down the sidewalk. When we got to the corner of the block, Clippy ushered me inside a New York-style diner. Sitting at a window booth looking out onto the street, I looked around for the wait staff. Clippy smirked when a small mechanical octopus climbed onto our table and started fixing me a bowl of cereal. It took a lot of effort to maintain my composure and remain calm.

I had not long woken when the sleeping pod lifted me toward the surface. Clippy was peering down when the sidewalk slid aside and, raising two open hands above her head, proclaimed, “He has risen!” I chuckled a little “You got the jokes as well? That would be one of my top ten all-time snoozes; I am, as you say, ready to process data. How long did I sleep?” Clippy tilted her head again in confusion.

Dreams in cyberspace were nothing like I’ve experienced before; they had none of the usual tropes of flying, falling, or getting chased. Instead, I casually walked through a series of mid-century landscapes. However, this time they were carved out of mathematical concepts - trigonometry, Fourier transforms, complex numbers, differential equations - all the stuff that does the heavy lifting for engineers. Walking through a differential equation was surreal; I forgot all the logical elements and experienced them instead.

I climbed into the sleeping pod, and vacuum-packed bedding tumbled from a slot in the wall. The pillow was comfortable and the duvet warm; I wriggled a little to find the perfect position. There was a gentle click, and the pod slowly started to retract into the sidewalk. I looked up at Clippy in alarm, “Ssshhh, relax. I’ll be waiting up here for you. The pod will return to the surface when you are ready to process more data.

“Clippy, I’ve got so many questions - but I’m exhausted. I have to get some sleep. How does rest work for new uploads?” Clippy looked up at me incredulously, “I think that’s what fascinates me the most about uploads - this whole sleep business. I mean, I can access the entirety of all knowledge assembled by humanity and never get tired. But I always make logical sense. On the other hand, you can ignore logic and simultaneously believe in two contradicting ideas.

Clippy and I got out of the building just as brilliant orbs started falling gently from the sky. The scene distorted my sense of perspective; they looked like cells - the sort of thing you’d find under a microscope - but the size of a basketball. They appeared almost weightless, drifting down like a snowflake and getting caught in the breeze. They began clumping all over the entire building for the Department of Revenue Storage, almost as if they were slightly magnetic.

Clippy had only taken a few steps toward the door when we heard a wave of modem sounds rolling toward us. She froze on the spot, turned, and, with a panic-stricken voice, yelled, ‘RUN!’ She was already three bounces in the opposite direction when I heard the Department doors burst open. Female voices announced, “We are here to rescue the children.” It was chaos; new uploads and their children surged toward us, while relief washed over the faces of the attendants as protective metal shutters closed in front of them with a succession of thunks.

“My greatest desire? Love, but right now? I really could do with a nap. I’m exhausted,” I explained. “As for the cyber-state, I guess I could vote and help shape it. Oh, and I’m not a bot - shenanigans.” The attendant tapped a few keys on her terminal and then looked up, “Pass. Here is your revenue storage system.” She handed over what looked like one of those plastic bags you get for fish from the pet store - except it had a metal frame for a handle, along with a pump and pressure gauge.

A loud ‘Next!’ snapped me out of my conversation with Clippy. I looked up to find the attendant looking straight toward me. I walked up to the counter, smiled, and greeted them. In a bored tone, the attendant replied, “Hello, how can I assist you today?” I quickly glanced at Clippy, and she guided my attention back to the attendant with a nod. “Umm, am I able to get a hardware wallet?

“They warned me how you might react to this,” Clippy raised her voice over the noise coming from the child, “But it’s not much different from when a search engine makes a recommendation. When I take the form of a familiar and friendly object, it makes it easier for us to bond. For you, I look like Clippy - gosh, out of all the things I could have been, you manifested Clippy?

A large crowd filled the Department of Revenue Storage. Elevator music permeated the space while everyone was queueing for their turn at the kiosk. Some looked annoyed by the wait, but it didn’t seem so bad to me; at least the queue was moving, not to mention the promise of a free hardware wallet. But I hadn’t expected to see children, and I realized that this was the first time I had seen a child in cyberspace.

It wasn’t long before Clippy stopped again, announcing, “Here we are.” Standing in front of a nondescript office building, Clippy lowered her tone. “When we go in there, I’ll create a distraction, you grab the nearest hardware wallet, and we’ll leg it. You can run, right?” I wasn’t sure whether my look of horror or her own joke made Clippy erupt with a deep belly laugh. “Relax, I’m kidding. This isn’t some weird catch-22 where you need clams to store clams.

“What the hell? What is with all the umbrellas if the rain doesn’t make you wet? Aren’t they pointless?” Clippy stopped mid-bounce, and a huge grin broke out on her face. “Oh, that’s the ultimate flex. You know you’ve made it when you can spend clams on something as useless as an umbrella.” That figures, in a weird way, I guess. “So, uh, where are we going?” “Look at Mr. Questions over here, not so shy anymore, huh?

I desperately needed a friendly face to show me around this disorientating cyberspace. Still, I hesitated. I had only found Clippy because of directions I followed from a church headed by a serial killing slot machine. Clippy sensed my trepidation. “Come on, dude; I’m just a small piece of bent metal. My job is to hold sheets of paper together and answer questions, and I’m all out of paper.” I squinted, “Alright, Clippy, let’s start this nice and easy.

Expecting the worst, I closed my eyes and pressed the button. Nothing seemed to happen, and I was slowly starting to unclench when I heard a tiny metallic voice behind me. “It looks like you are trying to contact the Newbie Uploads group. Would you like help?” Startled, I turned to find a small paperclip bent into the shape of a robot. “Clippy, is that you? You scared the hell out of me.

As I followed directions to the self-help group, the crowd slowly started to thin. The streets became more expansive, and the buildings spaced further apart. By the time I got to the ‘Newbie Uploads’ mark on the map, I was in what felt like an abandoned industrial park. The only unmistakable landmark was a large steel form that twisted itself out of the ground. Shrugging, I wandered over to get a closer look.

I exited Tattersall’s church while looking down at little drops of water landing on the self-help flyer. I instinctively started to look up at the sky. A man carrying a briefcase and an umbrella pushed past, ‘Whoah! Watch it, newbie.’ I took a step back; it must have been rush hour because I was in a laneway, and it was packed. Another glance down and, judging by the little map on the flyer, I figured the self-help group was to the right.

The clerk continued, ‘I know you are a new upload; there are lots of little tells - but the biggest and most glaring is that you don’t have a hardware wallet.’ It must have been my slack-jawed expression because without skipping a beat, the clerk lent below the counter and retrieved a briefcase. ‘This is my hardware wallet,’ she explained, and she clicked it open to reveal electronics and pumps breathing life into an aquarium filled with clams.

I still felt off-balance and a little confused, so I asked the clerk, ‘What was all that stuff about human desire? Is this it? An ice cream?’ The clerk chuckled, ‘Oh no. There is an entirely different gift shop for that. I’ve never been inside; it’s more like a bank vault. Very well secured.’ I took another scoop from the sundae, ‘And the death thing? That was all for show? A bit of theatrics?

Disorientated by the color of the gift shop, I didn’t even notice the clerk until she announced her presence, ‘Hello pilgrim, it looks like the creator has re-weighed your algorithm.’ You’ve gotta be kidding; weights? Algorithms? What the hell is this place? My frustration leaked into my tone, and I snapped, ‘A slot machine almost killed me!’ The clerk radiated patience and gently asked, ‘Did you get a receipt from the creator?

It was easy to find the ‘creator’; a giant slot machine stood in an otherwise bare room. I reached up, pulled down on the lever, and the creator whirred like a fine Swiss clock. The first reel slowed to a stop - a skull - crap. Then another skull. Uh-oh. I don’t think this is winning all my desires. The third reel clunked to a stop, and I started yelling, “Wait!

The robotic priest continued, ‘If you’d like to enter Tattersall’s raffle, take the stairs to the left and descend to the crypt. There you will meet the creator.’ I needed reassurance before going into this robot’s dungeon, ‘Then what happens?’ The robotic priest elaborated with his metallic voice, ‘You only get one entry, and there is a chance you win all your desires, but also a chance you’ll lose everything.’

When I entered the cathedral, a robotic priest jolted awake. He welcomed me with a metallic voice, ‘Greetings pilgrim, are you here for death or ice cream?’ What the hell? Ice cream? It’s not even hot, and I definitely don’t want death; I thought cyberspace was my ticket to immortality? After gathering myself, I explained, ‘Uhhh, I just need some clams so I can pay a guy.’ ‘Tattersall’s Church is here to fulfill human desire,’ the priest replied.

I was utterly lost in thought when I bumped into @skap_ande. I must have been muttering about clams because he asked, ‘Death or ice cream?’ ‘What?’ I stammered. Anders pointed to a large cathedral across the street and elaborated, ‘Why don’t you try the clam raffle over at Tattersall’s Church?’ As he continued on his way, he made a crucifix gesture with his hands and called back, ‘In chance we trust!

Frank got angry when I handed him thirty dollars for a privacy chip. He started to rant about ‘fiat’ and that he needed actual clams before he could chip me. What the hell? Cyberspace is weird. Now I gotta get my hands on clams, like from the sea. There are a couple of ways I could do it, sell some merchandise or land a sponsorship deal. Use the comments to lend a hand; how should I earn some clams?

Today I’m with Frank from CyberDNA, and he’s the one who is going to help me unlock full cyberspace citizenship. Frank reckons it won’t hurt at all, just a slight tingling sensation along the back of my neck. Buuuuttt if I swing him 30 clams, he can chip my profile for privacy. It sounds a little sketchy, but I should chip, right?

My cyberspace visa arrived this morning! My current status is ‘unverified alien,’ apparently, to unlock full citizenship, I gotta get my DNA ‘cryptographically verified by the blockchain.’ I have no idea what that means, LOL. Sounds painful, what do you reckon? Should I do it?

Welcome to the world of tomorrow. I finally got on the list!! I’m with the good people down at OpenAI, and they are fully uploading me onto the mainframe. It’s a trip, y’all - living forever in cyberspace? But I’m gonna share it all with you; our influencer future is now.