deepthiw: April 2009 Archives
Flowers, bushels of them everywhere. I was leaping in massive soaring bounds, not flying, better than flying. Bees the size of mantics were courting a field of jayseeds in their coy darting fashion, and the air was full of hypoallergenic pollen as I breathed deep and full. Not a hint of headache. I took another joyous leap high into the air and landed in a heap of purple petals the size of my head.
Zzzzzt. Zzzzzt. Zzzzzt. the gentle buzzing of the clangbot intruded for a moment into my dream before becoming incorporated as the rhythmic hum of the mantic-sized bee chorus. Nope. I couldn’t maintain the illusion of sleep for much longer after that. Grumpy. And hot. That was about the size of it. A day of info excavation and all its tedium stretched out before me as I lay there, in bed, disgustingly awake for five am and sweating from the combination of stale air and bright sun. Even so, I drew the roffle tighter against the harsh light as the clangbot activated the shades. I took one look outside and drew back with a start. The crocuses were clustered at the window, sending out tendrils in search of a way in. I knew just opening the window even a crack would be a quick and painful death. And I didn’t even have a pantact to protect me.
Info excavation isn’t as easy as it used to be. There was a time when computing devices used to help humans, before they grew beyond our simple means of control and became the full-blown computers of today. It seems almost sacrilegious to think that those simple computing devices were actually called computers back then. The whole computer revolution finally proved that information can be turned quickly and completely against us, so humans have finally learned to give in to their fears and control the flow of information to a gentle trickle. That’s where I come in. Info excavation is an art, which is why you need to be certified before they’ll even let you near the twages.
I know excavation isn’t exactly the best word for it, but I’ve never been that good with words. I just do the job and get out, knowing that I’ve done my bit to keep the human race going in the face of odds that overwhelmingly favor the crocuses. And barring them, the computers.
Zzzzzt. Zzzzzt. Zzzzzt. the gentle buzzing of the clangbot intruded for a moment into my dream before becoming incorporated as the rhythmic hum of the mantic-sized bee chorus. Nope. I couldn’t maintain the illusion of sleep for much longer after that. Grumpy. And hot. That was about the size of it. A day of info excavation and all its tedium stretched out before me as I lay there, in bed, disgustingly awake for five am and sweating from the combination of stale air and bright sun. Even so, I drew the roffle tighter against the harsh light as the clangbot activated the shades. I took one look outside and drew back with a start. The crocuses were clustered at the window, sending out tendrils in search of a way in. I knew just opening the window even a crack would be a quick and painful death. And I didn’t even have a pantact to protect me.
Info excavation isn’t as easy as it used to be. There was a time when computing devices used to help humans, before they grew beyond our simple means of control and became the full-blown computers of today. It seems almost sacrilegious to think that those simple computing devices were actually called computers back then. The whole computer revolution finally proved that information can be turned quickly and completely against us, so humans have finally learned to give in to their fears and control the flow of information to a gentle trickle. That’s where I come in. Info excavation is an art, which is why you need to be certified before they’ll even let you near the twages.
I know excavation isn’t exactly the best word for it, but I’ve never been that good with words. I just do the job and get out, knowing that I’ve done my bit to keep the human race going in the face of odds that overwhelmingly favor the crocuses. And barring them, the computers.
