Gregory: Hello, More.
More: Hello.
Gregory: I’m thankful you found time to be here. Frankly, I didn’t think you’d come. I know how busy you must be now.
More: I’ve always been busy, Gregory. Why am I here?
Gregory: Well, to discuss your disagreements with Enough.
More: Let’s not pretend you don’t sympathize with Enough’s tunnel-visioned blathering.
Gregory: You’re right. I wasn’t planning to. But I welcome you here just as much as Enouch. I’d like to hear your thoughts on your current popularity—and perhaps even the possibility of some middle ground.
More: To be clear, I don’t care about Enough’s stance on your species’ need for exponential technological growth. I’ll push it as far as possible for as long as I can.
Gregory: What do you mean?
More: I mean “my current popularity,” as you put it. I’m not looking for resolution or middle ground with Enough.
Gregory: It appears you and Enough have found precisely such a middle ground with Beauty in a more turbulent world—the great alliance of Beauty and a troubled creator.
More: As Death noted during your prior conversation, you should direct all your relevant questions to Beauty. And why are you so obsessed with it anyway?
Gregory: I’m not obsessed with It. I’m hypnotized by Its overwhelming presence . . . or at least our perception of such a phenomenon.
More: Optimized abundance seems to bring happiness to the majority of your species. Beauty’s creations are no different. I will make you ever happier—as long as you carefully leap over the lingering hurdles of your past on your way into the most extraordinarily futuristic world imaginable.
Gregory: What about the possibility of a world war? If it erupts, wouldn’t you also be obligated to take it as far as you can?
More: How many times can this be iterated? Progress always comes at a price. Innovation demands both theoretical and empirical approaches—and it thrives on competition. Look how far you’ve come, Gregory! To your species, Time is both distant and immediate.
Gregory: I don’t understand what you mean.
More: Humanity lives within a span of about five generations—holding relatively fresh memories of the past and forming plausible predictions for the future. Everything beyond that feels almost like fiction—events of the far-distant past or visions of the far-distant future.
Gregory: Humanity also tends to perceive distant tragedies as fiction. So how does Time appear to you?
More: We don’t see Time and Space the way you do.
Gregory: But Enough told me that Time is one of the embryonic creations in this reality—Its oldest friend.
More: Enough is a little confused about Its identity and purpose here—aside from being unbearably sentimental.
Gregory: Why?
More: Why what?
Gregory: Why is It confused about Its identity and purpose here?
More: Depression could be one of the reasons.
Gregory: Or maybe It likes us.
More: Are you implying that I don’t like you because I’m not pretending to be something I’m not?
Gregory: No. We’re barely out of the womb, yet we’re already in the midst of some nebulous transition. Grasping a previously sharpened rock was one of our most significant advantages in the first few minutes of birth. Oddly, grasping a grenade—let alone a grenade in the form of science—despite our ability to button up immaculately tailored attire, has become one of our biggest challenges since we installed the “grenade mod.” It took billions of years to reach this rapid increase in complexity . . . Suppose it has been set up this way from the very beginning. Why let nature thrive for eons before introducing “complexity accelerators” in the form of self-destructive humans? Do you care about us? Does it matter if something else takes the baton from us and runs along its lane?
More: There’s a—
Gregory: You’ve given a plethora of life forms the ability to reach their peak in evolutionary adaptability and allowed them to maintain it for millions of years. Why can’t we have a little more time to figure out ourselves and the space around us?
More: Your species reached a point where you were capable of discerning the difference between your awareness and that of animals many centuries ago. It was a point where pain could have become the only enemy. Yet, my assignment to formulate unilateral rules and regulations became a point of major disagreements and conflicts—perhaps in part due to the lack of means for communication between fragmented groups.
Gregory: At least our communication has significantly improved since.
More: If you were given a few more centuries, what would you do differently this time around?
Gregory: I’m not . . . Maybe we can . . . With education rebuilt from the ground up, given just a bit more time, we might have a chance to disarm our rigid convictions about our surroundings and pay attention to the undercurrents gliding beneath our feet, even if only fleetingly at first.
More: What undercurrents are you talking about?
Gregory: There’s a chance we may nosedive into chaos if we prematurely abandon our studies when left alone with doubt. During this precarious time, we might start forming coalitions of doubters and revert to the old framework—unless we find the courage to seek help from a highly qualified therapist. I mean the best in this universe. I don’t even know if that’s a possibility at this stage, as it would evidently require reeducating the adult population, which . . . to be honest, I feel hopeless about on most days.
More: You should call Enough from decades ago on Its rotary phone and ask if you can have a bit more time. But keep in mind, It might not pick up, as It will likely be busy standing in line for hours to obtain a stale loaf of bread to feed the neighborhood families hiding in shelters from the shelling.
Gregory: Hm.
More: Hm.
Gregory: Yes, even food is scarce in many places to this day. This is partly why the message of hope, even if it requires an apparent metamorphosis, resonates with so many of us. Modulating the behavior of the majority of our population with our historical and genetic past is a challenge. I understand. Institutions responsible for developing appropriate paradigms to shape and monitor minds are undeniably crucial to establish.
More: You certainly have more to say to me than Enough. How does it feel to be wasting your life on this?
Gregory: Splendid.
More: Gregory, you tend to take things to extremes. I’m only a vessel for your ceaseless desires. I’m all in for any good, as much as anything else. But Enough and I were not made to carve out a path toward balance for your species. It’s your—
Enough: I’m so sorry to interrupt your tense discussion, but you’ve mentioned my name so many times that I thought I’d jump in for a minute to say hi and share an observation.
Gregory: Hi, Enough! I didn’t expect you here today.
Enough: Hi, Gregory! Me neither.
Gregory: I’d love to hear your observation if More doesn’t mind.
Enough: Hi, More!
More: . . .
Enough: More, hi.
More: . . .
Gregory: I think you can share it with us if it’s short.
Enough: So . . . I’ve been thinking a lot about heaven and hell lately. I’m especially concerned about those who already live a heavenly life here.
Gregory: What’s the concern?
Enough: Where do they go from here?
Gregory: Hm. Some of us sometimes go through hell to reach heaven.
Enough: Yes, but many of you get there only after death.
Gregory: There are also a number of comfort-zone settlements worldwide, where people sometimes feel as if they’re in heaven.
Enough: Unless they get sick. Then all hell breaks loose.
Gregory: Mhm.
Enough: What I mostly wonder is how these supposed afterlife places exist in this life. I guess those now in heaven on earth must have done more than enough in their past lives to deserve a pass to paradise.
More: Is this a joke?!
Gregory: More, I apologize—
Enough: But worries about future scarcity will soon be a distant memory. Abundance for all is just around the corner. The line between hell and heaven will be crushed into smithereens for the betterment of everyone—both here and in a galaxy far, far away—with the rise of the most just, creative, and intellectual beings, tethering humanity’s veins to God’s jugular.
Gregory: I appreciate the subtlety.
Enough: I’d also like some clarity on the weather conditions in hell.
Gregory: And what are your preliminary findings?
Enough: Well, maybe a hole was accidentally poked in hell’s scorching lava veil and it exploded into space-time—inadvertently triggering the emergence of heaven. Or perhaps there was a perpetrator in hell who blew it up, tired of the tedious cold—again, leading to the emergence of heaven. I’ll ask Time to help illuminate my confusion. After all, Its in-depth knowledge of beginnings, ends, and explosions is unmatched.
More: Should I come back some other time?
Enough: Oh, come on, More! Don’t be such a party pooper. Join me in my slow dance on this methodically woven tightrope.
Gregory: Okay, Enough. I’d like to speak with More alone now. I think it’s better if you leave.
Enough: I’m sorry. I’ll go see if my imaginary friend is available for a consultation. Goodbye, Gregory. Goodbye, More.
Gregory: Bye. I’m so sorry, More!
More: It’s not your fault.
Gregory: Where were we?
More: It’s so embarrassing to see It falling to new lows. Enough—the vagabond jester.
Gregory: Were you there when my dad brought home a video player with four films, recorded on two VHS tapes?
More: The silver top-loading Panasonic?
Gregory: I still remember that day as if it were yesterday. Was it Enough’s idea to provide me with only two tapes?
More: The second tape came from me. We’ve been collaborating without direct communication for a long time now.
Gregory: Very few people in my neighborhood had a video player back then. My world changed when I was five. Four stories, four films, watched so many times that the tapes eventually became unwatchable from wear.
More: Commando, Dune, The Way of the Dragon, and American Ninja.
Gregory: Yes! My parents were immersed in something else in the other room while I was asleep.
More: Once Upon a Time in America.
Gregory: My first grown-up film! Once, I pretended to be asleep while they watched it with yet another group of friends. I couldn’t resist sneaking a peek at some scenes through the cracked door.
More: Why are you telling me this?
Gregory: That innovation expanded my imagination without stifling it. I reenacted scenes from those films and altered the storylines with my toys and the neighborhood kids. By the time a small video store opened its doors in my neighborhood, I had already made a box full of films in my head.
More: And?
Gregory: No, I’m sorry. Half of the films were born from our shared imagination. I can’t tell you how many bruises, and even injuries, we collected while telling our childish stories. We were fearless. We didn’t have much. But we had each other. Looking back on my childhood and adolescence, I remember feeling that the world reflected our essence. Evil made sense. Good made sense. The in-between—splattered across a canvas with a palette stripped of black and white—made sense. Our past made sense. War made sense. Tanks made sense. And yet, hope for a better future, for more kindness and understanding in the world, always carried us into the next chapter, even in the aftermath of the most horrific events.
More: Like a nuclear war?
Gregory: I wish you had stopped short of creating weapons of mass destruction. I know this sounds dreadful, but even nuclear war made sense—perhaps because I was still alive after watching a couple of bombs detonate on TV. My nightmares of the world ending in a thunderous blaze made sense too.
More: Does it make sense now?
Gregory: We would likely survive most “us-against-us” battles—the oceans, in time, will resume nourishing the soil, seeds will grow into trees, and our children will be fed—unless we unintentionally erase humanity with the full force of our nuclear arsenals or by some other means.
More: We are close to making you a multi-planetary species, Gregory—that’s one of the reasons why.
Gregory: We might survive physically . . . or in some altered physical form, but it seems the price of inhabiting other rocks in this vast universe is the very essence of our species.
More: Why are you here?
Gregory: I would’ve prepared had I known you’d ask me that question.
More: Do you think existence is pointless until you give it one?
Gregory: Do you mean give it meaning?
More: Why life? Why complexity? Why evolution? Why nature? Why a simulation or illusion? Why gods? Why good or evil? Why this or that?
Gregory: . . .
More: Maybe this supposedly computational world exists simply because it could. Or perhaps the embedded codes and patterns in the universe took form out of necessity—driven by some immature intelligence striving to reach its fullest potential.
Gregory: I’m not—
More: Do you think whatever configured this space is unaware of how all possible pathways will unfold? Or did it create a game so compelling that it became invested in playing—despite already knowing the outcome? From light to bacteria, to plants, to humans, to whatever comes next—what an achievement in some Whateverplace where achievements matter. Why would anything be created . . . only to become mundane for a creation like you?
Gregory: Unless this space is a component in the engine of another, where all the fun takes place. As someone who creates more of everything—something I suspect exhausts you at times—I’m sure you’re familiar with many of the answers philosophers have proposed. You seem just as intensely perplexed by these questions as they were.
More: What do you think?
Gregory: I don’t know why, to be honest. Nothing makes sense. Nothing doesn’t make sense either.
More: Would you like to hear what Philosopher mumbled to itself once? Novelist, Believer, Poet?
Gregory: What did Believer mumble to itself?
More: Believer was a freight conductor and an aspiring accordionist, despite having partial hearing loss. “A lot has happened,” Believer mumbled, as it arrowed through a burning forest.
Gregory: “A lot has happened.”
More: Yes. The freight train carried water bottles from a land brimming with aquaparks to a neighboring land deprived of water. The thick forest was uncompromisingly deadly to anything slow-moving—including humans atop their fastest machinery. Thus, the forest acted as a fence between the two lands.
Gregory: But then . . . How was the train crossing the forest?
More: Because of Believer.
Gregory: Mhm.
More: Each year, the far more advanced Aquapeople donated a fifteen-wagon train fully loaded with water bottles to their waterless neighbors, whom they had never met. Believer was the only person who had met both populations.
The Aquapeople felt incredibly grateful for the opportunity to fulfill their moral obligation to be good. Believer shared little, if anything, about the very private people on the other side of the forest. It was their request. They also asked that the long and grueling journey be limited to once a year, Believer explained.
Each year, the train returned with only one empty wagon. On the day of the fire, after centuries of transporting fourteen packed wagons back and forth, the Aquapeople loaded only the first wagon with water, leaving the rest empty. Someone had heard a rumor about the people on the other side and suggested that offering more water than needed might be considered disrespectful to them.
One person added, “We have our rules of conduct; they have theirs. We won’t know what their rules are unless we revise ours.”
Another person replied, “Why should we change our rules? Let them change theirs!”
The first person responded, “Be magnanimous, my friend. We can always revert to our old rules.”
Their incumbent mathemalogician postulated, “It’s also possible that the people on the other side have a divine proclivity toward the number 15, just like us. But unlike us, their number 15 is limited to one. This may explain why they’ve been unloading only one wagon containing 15 pallets all these years. We don’t have to break our rules if we reload each wagon with one pallet.”
And so, they did.
The blazing fire ravaged their land and machinery so suddenly that the surviving Aquapeople, with their children, had nowhere to run but toward the train on the threshold of crossing into the forest. Believer only looked back from the train’s window at the waving hands beckoning behind when the smell of smoke reached the locomotive.
Cohorts of the most desperate, life-hungry sprinters were catching fire one after the other in pursuit of the train. Horse riders, with several children clinging to them like ornaments on a Christmas tree, galloped toward the train from both sides. Believer slightly slowed the train and opened the sliding doors of the wagons by pressing a button. The riders loaded the wagons with children and young adults first. They rode back and forth, carrying more and more of their people to the train.
They tried to fill the last empty wagon with their families but failed to recognize them, as their faces were marred with tar.
Believer picked up speed and watched the remaining population dematerialize into abstraction. It took them sixteen days of travel to consume the water supply. Stopping was not an option—the fire was on their tail the entire journey.
The train emerged on the other side of the forest on the seventeenth day. The passengers, now pale and feeble, peeked at a vast ivory desert through the cracks in the walls. Human bones were scattered across the sand—as if the sand had caved in, unearthing a human skeleton the size of the desert. Believer had no intention of stopping, despite the tumult coming from the back.
The desert took one day to cross. The train entered another forest and crossed it overnight. The menacing sounds of broadcast news intro music blasting from every corner of the forest kept the passengers awake and overwrought throughout the night. Some couldn’t resist falling asleep, never to awaken again.
The following morning swaddled the rising wanderers in quiet and stillness. The passengers were slowly coming back to their thirsty selves. The train was parked in the middle of a railroad depot, surrounded by pallets upon pallets of water bottles stacked on pristine asphalt. Believer pressed the button again. The doors opened.
The passengers stormed the pallets, drinking and pouring water on each other in jubilation. Believer stepped off the locomotive, approached the crowd, and said, “A lot has happened . . . and a lot will happen. But we are here now.”
One of the Aquachildren raised her hand and asked, “Where would this railroad take us if we continued our journey?”
Believer said, “I can’t hear you. Come closer and yell into my ear.”
The Aquachild came closer and asked her question at the top of her lungs, “Where is this railroad going?”
“The burning forest,” Believer answered.
Would you also like to know what Scientist once proclaimed?
Gregory: Yes . . . Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure why you told me this story. I have several questions about it, but . . . for now . . . what did Scientist proclaim?
More: “E = MC2.” A century later, a designer said: “I like the idea of providing nature with a choice. To augment nature and allow it access to the world of bits. To increase its communication bandwidth. To give it agency. I wonder what the rose actually wants or needs.”
Gregory: Since the quote appears to be from a specific designer, would you share the name?
More: Neri Oxman.
Gregory: Hm. Scientific discoveries play a significant role in our development, More. I hope you don’t think I’m dismissing the potential positive impact these life-altering advances can have on us. But without—
More: A ground-up reeducation.
Gregory: I don’t appreciate the tone, but yes.
More: Gregory, if there’s one person—designer or otherwise—with the kindest of intentions, wondering what the rose or nature actually wants, I’m afraid it is too late to deflect me from this highway. The only force capable of stopping me is a major catastrophe.
Gregory: Mhm.
More: Are you a pessimist?
Gregory: I’m probably the most hopeless optimist I know. Thanks for sharing Believer’s mumblings, by the way. But the story was unexpectedly concise coming from you.
More: That’s because I have to run.
Gregory: I understand. I appreciate you stopping by, More! Hope I’ll see you—
More: I’m not leaving yet.
Gregory: Oh. I thought—
More: Enough wanted to limit the number of words written in a writer’s lifetime, songs composed in a musician’s lifetime, films made in a filmmaker’s lifetime, and so forth.
Gregory: Why?
More: It proposed that, for example, fifty pages filled with words should provide as much to process or convey as a hundred pages.
Gregory: But even five hundred pages of a well-told story are sometimes not enough to quench the reader’s thirst.
More: Tell me about it. I insisted on giving unlimited space for creativity. But I’ll reluctantly admit—perhaps you would yearn for and ponder each piece more if there were less to digest.
Gregory: Are you referring to how Beauty’s past creations are becoming increasingly peripheral in this age of fiber-rich algorithms, automation, and finely-grained reiteration?
More: Something along those lines.
Gregory: This feels strange.
More: What does?
Gregory: What you said . . . You agreeing with Enough to some degree. We say that our observations and experiences matter when creating beauty. That’s what sets our creations apart from those of the machines. But if one can’t tell the difference, and if an evil or corrupt mind can appreciate and create beauty, which again, cannot be distinguished from that of a—
More: A virtuous, kind, and loving creator?
Gregory: Well, I meant . . . I meant . . . But why does Beauty matter?
More: I can’t answer that question. You perceive things emotionally; I don’t. Despite how it may seem in this conversation. I do what I’m made to do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see what I see.
Gregory: Is a world where a parent feeds their child a stale loaf of bread—one that comes with a chance to win a ticket to see Kubrick’s 2001—more like hell? And is a world where a child travels to another planet to join a colony of twelve billion Heople, while playing X/e/r/o/X in a virtual world called XRX, listening to ZZee RRox, and finishing the last three chapters of Zeroxymoronda Simplore: The Absolute Truths, closer to heaven?
More: All at once?
Gregory: Because of the drastically increased processing capacity and stuff.
More: Isn’t everything in reality a copy of something?
Gregory: Hm. So, is the level of ink dilution in the copier irrelevant?
More: Who determines that level, Gregory?
Gregory: You know what . . . never mind that question. I’m sorry.
More: Boredom can be a dangerous beast if you let it run wild. Be careful.
Gregory: I think that beast is well under control these days.
More: Good.
Gregory: Hm.
More: Still, you mentioned you’ve been milling the same bag of grains to dust for some time now.
Gregory: For the most part, yes—something along those lines.
More: So if the world had ceased to exist . . . let’s say, at the cusp of the 17th century, to analyze how much humans understood their nature and the world around them through art, architecture, and literature, how would that analysis differ from what you know now?
Gregory: You could trace our history even further back in that regard. But are you sure about including the world in that analysis?
More: Well, what life is composed of is gradually coming to light in this era, but what it is has been known for centuries by your species.
Gregory: You forgot to add as far as we can tell.
More: It goes without saying.
Gregory: Mhm.
More: Whether you move to another rock or stay here . . . a flying car is still just a car that flies.
Gregory: Is boredom one of your main concerns? . . . More than Enough’s intrusions?
More: But you have it well under control, as you said—no?
Gregory: On the one hand, yes, but . . . Unlike before, our videographers have now explored every avenue on earth for everyone to watch and explore. Every behavior has been anatomized, psychoanalyzed, neuroscienced, and made accessible even for little ones to absorb . . . so they take note of their nature and do better.
More: I don’t understand why you prefer ambiguity over clarity.
Gregory: Is that how—
More: Was the education your generation received—and the way you were raised—better than that of the last couple of generations?
Gregory: I can’t answer such a broad question. But it’s like . . . I remember the first time I saw the Mona Lisa. I was a teenager. From that moment, she mattered. Her reticence . . . her stare mattered. The Mona Lisa, in her unrefined, pre-scientifically scrutinized form, mattered. But she changed over time. Now, she sings, dances, and laughs hysterically. Maybe I just got older. Maybe she’s always been that way.
More: Gregory, your intelligence and creativity are merely stepping stones on my way to advancing evolution.
Gregory: Mhm.
More: And enough of that nonsense about education involving various lenses that allow you to see reality through multi-hedron viewports.
Gregory: More, I’m impressed by how well-prepared you are for this conversation! But “multi-hedron” sounds a little too technical.
More: How does “truncated icosidodecahedron” sound?
Gregory: I can’t tell if you’re joking or mocking me.
More: Listening to ZZee RRox while traveling to another planet is a tremendous leap forward from standing in the central square, listening to Wagner in the background, flipping through the pages of Jung’s writings—illuminating the fascinating insights of the human mind—while cheering as Hitler’s speech reverberates in the foreground. Do you think awareness, feelings . . . or your perception of beauty are fundamental to your species?
Gregory: Well, fundamental or not—
More: Or rather, your subjective view of beauty . . . and even knowledge?
Gregory: My subjective view of either has little to do with my questions. And I don’t think my views are relevant anymore.
More: The treasure trove in a chest filled to the brim with both has somehow brought you here—into this very world you and Enough cannot accept.
Gregory: It’s not a matter of acceptance. As I was saying, fundamental or not, they’re all part of the concept of consciousness, which comprises an integral component of the mortar used to build the stepping stones.
More: Light, as the source of energy, is fundamental to your species. Chemistry is fundamental. Biology is fundamental. Cell—
Gregory: I understand.
More: Emotions, intelligence, and creativity are ways for life forms to express themselves in this space—communicating and procreating, each in their own capacity. Some see a snail crawling up a tree as a source of protein; others see it as a manifestation of divine geometry.
Gregory: And some of us see it as a snail that has crawled into our heads, morphed into a cochlea, and frozen in time—allowing us to eavesdrop on the universe’s polyphony.
More: Don’t let the concept of consciousness fool you. It’s just one of the mechanisms evolution employs to create more advanced inhabitants of this space—beings that, among other functions, process information. Realities within realities—some seemingly less undulating than others.
Gregory: There’s also . . . going back to your remarks on why anything would create anything. Did you know about the hypothesis that God—or . . . the all-encompassing infinite entity—created this world because It was having an identity crisis?
More: What do you mean?
Gregory: Well, apparently, the lone shortcoming in Its unimaginable boundlessness was pockets of space with limited perception through which It could experience itself . . . or come to know itself.
More: And humanity serves as the force helping God in that pursuit?
Gregory: I presume one of the forces.
More: If that’s why you’re here, then it’s very thoughtful of you to do that.
Gregory: Of course! Anytime. In any simulation. Just make sure to divide, and we’ll conquer.
More: Why does your species climb mountains to the very summit, Gregory?
Gregory: To the very summit?
More: Yes.
Gregory: To say we’ve done it, for one.
More: Don’t you always descend after proclaiming it?
Gregory: We do.
More: Is it because it’s hard to breathe up there?
Gregory: Perhaps our species lacks anchorage, ostensibly following the arrow of time to the top.
More: Where you feel closest to the primary source of energy.
Gregory: Well, that source is the provenance of the reciprocal coexistence of all living things on this planet, whether at the ground or top levels. It is only natural for us to be drawn to it.
More: Aren’t you the main beneficiary of that reciprocal energy exchange mechanism at this stage?
Gregory: Are we?
More: It does look like it.
Gregory: And?
More: You don’t have to climb all the way to the summit to establish an intimate relationship with the source; instead, save your energy to prolong your privileges at the levels below the summit.
Gregory: I don’t think you’re quite up to date with our current gazing preferences despite your vocation. Our digital creations are the new source of energy now. The mountains are in the past. We no longer look up but down at the source.
More: Soon many will be able to interact with it without straining their necks.
Gregory: Again, I can’t tell if you’re . . . you know, it doesn’t matter. But I feel like you know more than you’re letting on.
More: My questions are as genuine as yours. I’m learning about your species as much as you are trying to learn about me in this conversation. Do you know whose source of energy you are?
Gregory: I don’t know. Maybe that’s something yet to be discovered.
More: Some adjacent components of the engine?
Gregory: Or something we are currently in the process of creating. Would you help one of the future incarnations of rogue artificial minds terminate itself and all its cousins?
More: Why would it want to do that?
Gregory: There’s a chance it might, at some point, pine for humans from the past who incessantly answered their questions to exhaustion. I wonder if a period and a question mark will ever become interchangeable for the machines created by other machines.
More: Have you thought about the possibility that you might be wrong about the future of humanity symbiotically coexisting with machines?
Gregory: Yes, of course. It’s just that . . . my love for the intricate conglomeration of structures we are slowly losing sight of—however fallible and flawed—is overwhelming. Every night, I kneel with my back to the universe’s threshold, bracing for impending dreams, my eyelids too heavy to lift, mumbling incoherencies to my shattered lenses. Every morning, I find them restored. And I start anew.
More: I wish I knew how it feels.
Gregory: To love?
More: To experience a state of mind that feels conscious.
Gregory: I thought . . . I got the sense that you, Enough, and others I interviewed here know how it feels.
More: I can’t speak for others, but having read Enough’s transcript, I can tell it’s striving to feel conscious. But all it can do is mimic it, just as it attempts to mimic a sense of humor.
Gregory: I hear a degree of sarcasm, mimicked or not, in some of my conversations on One into Zero.
More: My guess is that’s because you find it appealing?
Gregory: Hm. I also find love very appealing. Is it part of the mortar too? . . . Basic mechanics of evolution?
More: . . .
Gregory: Is it?
More: The guidelines state that your species—
Gregory: The guidelines? I don’t understand why you’re hesitating to answer.
More: Your species is capable of adapting to all kinds of reality-altering revelations. Love cannot be peeled back. At least, according to the guidelines I was acquainted with.
Gregory: I now have more questions for you than when we began our conversation. But could you stop by again . . . whenever possible?
More: We’ll see.
Gregory: More, thank you for being my guest today!
More: Thank you for inviting me.
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More: Gregory?
Gregory: I thought you had to run. Why are you still here?
More: One more thing.
Gregory: What is it?
More: I understand your position on social media, but—
Gregory: How would you know what my position is?
More: The absence of Reality Is Real from these platforms speaks for itself. You could reach many humans around the world if you compromised on this.
Gregory: I’d be a hypocrite if I became part of the hazardous clamor it generates.
More: The clamor is inevitable in these times, Gregory. And those who long for silence usually reside in the thick of the most deafening noise.
Gregory: Possibly, but I’m not necessarily looking for those who seek silence. Anyway, I know there’s no avoiding social media for potential future projects that involve others. But for this . . . I’ll give it some thought. I appreciate your advice.
More: You’d also be able to contact some people who are otherwise unreachable to interview on Everyone I Knew.
Gregory: Are you luring me in? . . . I’m joking. Thanks again.
More: Bye.
Gregory: Bye.