Automation is a hot topic these days. There are lots of ramifications. Whether they be economic, social, or psychological the domain in which they lie is well suited to philosophical exploration.
In this super breif video I go over some recent developments that depending on your perspective are yet another step in either liberating or bankrupting the working man.
I didn’t have much reason to hang around the dawning of Atlantis. So I cleared my mind and rejoined the expedition.
“Is it elevenses already?” Sam inquired.
“Huh?”
“What’s with the teaball man?”
“Oh..uh..I just had forgotten I’d put it in my pocket.”
“That’s pretty weird my dude. Heh..say what’s in that tea braheem…?”
I actually had no idea since I’d just gotten it from a Victorian ghost. But, I did know that now was not the time to consume it.
“Maybe I’ll let you try some later. And we’ll see if you can sit with elders of the gentle race.”
I stepped off the trail and let the expedition troop past me as I deposited the item into my ruck.
Doctor Cook came up on me after a bit.
“I have been talking to Senhor Hoyt.”
“O?”
“Si, and he says that the map merely leads to another map.”
“Jesus.”
“Yes, that’s what I said. I love the jungle. I love the ruins we are seeing but…even I have my limits.”
“I think I reached mine before this party started.”
“There are many limits to be broken.” Graham muttered melodramatically.
“So Ipsissimus…” I quipped. “Where the hell are we?”
“We are a hundred some miles northeast of the true coordinates of Dead Horse Camp.”
“Are we there yet, are we there yet, are we there yet….!” I taunted.
“We are within fifty miles of the location of the second map.”
“Please tell me that there are only two maps. Please….”
Graham merely smirked .
‘What a dick.’
“You’re not going to tell me where the second map is gonna take us are you?”
“Why do you assume I know.”
“Because you’re fucking demon possessed…”
“Am I?”
I was getting really tired of that statementesque question.
“Yep.”
“You know that they said the same thing to Jesus.”
“And Satan often dresses up like Jesus.”
“Isn’t it teatime?” Graham prodded.
“Um…” There was no way he had seen my recent acquisition. Though given all his newly acquired parlor tricks I took this as a sign that it was indeed time for elevenses.
We had been trooping since dawn and my suggestion was roundly accepted.
Graham, Cook, and I found a spot away from the expedition and sat down to tea.
The Sketch of Sam Monroe is a weird fiction thriller. Follow the adventures of five quirky Black Ops pharmacologists as they globetrot their way to the Mato Grosso jungles. Philosophy, psychedelics, and banter are infused throughout this literary comic-book.
“Well, sonny Jim I’ll answer for you. You are a period. I am a sentence.”
“More like a dime novel caricature.”
“Yes, much more.”
“So you’re just hanging out here in prehistory? All ethereal like? How’s that goin for ya?”
“Why can’t you divide by zero?”
“Because something being operated upon by nothing does not transform.”
“It doesn’t?”
“Yes, nothing happens.”
“How can nothing happen?”
“By not happening.”
“So, sonny Jim all this time you’ve been learning how to become undefined. Well, I am undefined. As such I am not dead. Nor am I strictly speaking alive.”
“Far out.”
‘Did Sam spritz some psilocybin onto my pork n beans again?’ I mused internally.
“This is far beyond psychedelics child.”
“That’s what all the mushrooms say.” Mind reading dead guys are a pretty strong indicator that your own brain is producing the experience.
“You will pass through the gate. Like me, you will pass through the gate as flesh. Death needs not be the mechanism of release if you pass through rightly.”
“I remember what happened to the last couple of assholes who thought they were Enoch.”
“You have not forced your way. So be as placid as a Zurich lake.”
“Poetic.”
“What is the ultimate sum?”
“Inifinity.”
“And what is infinity.”
“Forever.”
“No, what is the state of inifinity.”
“The ultimate sum.”
“Which is the addition of everything to everything, correct?”
“Sure.”
“And when you say that you have added everything to everything. Have you really transformed something?”
“You have done nothing.”
“So doing nothing is doing everything. Zero is the ultimate sum.”
“These games are amusing Colonel. But I’d much rather have coordinates.”
“You have a map. What you need is a key. Which I’ve just given you.”
“Ugh.” I sighed disdainfully.
“Digestion takes time with a zero sum game.” He said handing me a tea ball and vanished.
The Sketch of Sam Monroe is a weird fiction thriller. Follow the adventures of five quirky Black Ops pharmacologists as they globetrot their way to the Mato Grosso jungles. Philosophy, psychedelics, and banter are infused throughout this literary comic-book.
The Fractal Journal 