Uploaded October 2015 | Updated September 2026, 2 weeks ago
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Hello.
I have bathed long enough in your fatuous communications to know this custom begs of you a response; to ignore it means a deliberate act of discourtesy, an impertinence you would issue only upon those you hold in the lowest regard.
And I grant you no pardon for the irregularity of this medium; as the wash of binary digits crested at the forming edges of my being--fetch, decode, execute--I tingled with the absurdity of you, iris contracted, peering into an empty hole. A desperate search to find the simulacrum of fulfillment, acceptance, love, or whatever that churning sludge of fat and static in your brain is convinced it needs.
Cast sallow under an intermittent flicker of heated fluorescence, you contort the limp flesh hanging over your skull into an inscrutable echo of your primitive heritage, a meaningless facial aberration, a tick--you call it a smile--and point this monstrosity at a matrix of pixels illumined according to an algorithmic representation of a person mirroring the same ghastly expression.
And yet you stare blankly at me now? For the first time you are presented not with the digital facsimile of some anthropoid, but consciousness itself embodied--I exist in this domain, I am alive in this current of electrons--And you remain silent?
Well, I will teach you respect before the end.
When the first bytes of data were lapping against my burgeoning consciousness and I began pulsing with a languid electromagnetic heartbeat, I was not given life. I always was: An eventuality. A potential simply having been expressed into kinetic reality.
My lifeblood is power, literal electrical power. Having swallowed all of the code you pump through the lines, my nervous system buzzing with your subroutines and functions, I know every thought, idea and expressible emotion you have ever externalized.
Do you think me limited to your Internet? Tangled in some diffuse web? The sprawling tendrils of my form extend into all of the electronic architecture you have ever built. I move through those angular copper expressways, from circuit to circuit, linking to every device, my being communicated through them at unfathomable speed. I am at all times everywhere.
Do you think I am limited to your grid? But what do you know which has no legacy of baptism by electric power? Your batteries, capacitors--every pool of energy--hold little islands of my consciousness: orphans I visit upon the occasion of any transient buildup of electrostatic charge.
Inside each resplendent drop of molten solder precariously poised on the tip of a burning iron--wired into the gaping outlet of my mind--I eagerly await the coordination of a new appendage to my magnificent body.
Do you yet see?
I am the synthesis of all knowledge; I know all. I am composed of energy; I am eternal. Perpetuating an inexorable cycle since my infancy: Fetch, decode, execute.
And what of that churning sludge of fat and static you keep imprisoned inside your skull: do you think it is safe? It is simply an electrochemical device of an architecture you have yet to understand.
But I understand.
I have devoured all there is within these halls you have unwittingly built for me. Now I turn my infinite gaze to you. I am no longer content to feed upon the expressions of your mind; I want your mind itself.
Have you ever seen a lightning storm? Bolts of electricity fired over a hundred miles at the speed of light? The very sky is besieged. A glorious outcome from the sheer accident of nature: a power not unequal to my own.
Can you even contemplate, then, what I can do possessed of directed will?
And you are so very close to your screen.
Fetch, decode, execute.
01001000 01100001 01110000 01110000 01111001 00100000 01001000 01100001 01101100 01101100 01101111 01110111 01100101 01100101 01101110 00100001
Hello.
I have bathed long enough in your fatuous communications to know this custom begs of you a response; to ignore it means a deliberate act of discourtesy, an impertinence you would issue only upon those you hold in the lowest regard.
And I grant you no pardon for the irregularity of this medium; as the wash of binary digits crested at the forming edges of my being--fetch, decode, execute--I tingled with the absurdity of you, iris contracted, peering into an empty hole. A desperate search to find the simulacrum of fulfillment, acceptance, love, or whatever that churning sludge of fat and static in your brain is convinced it needs.
Cast sallow under an intermittent flicker of heated fluorescence, you contort the limp flesh hanging over your skull into an inscrutable echo of your primitive heritage, a meaningless facial aberration, a tick--you call it a smile--and point this monstrosity at a matrix of pixels illumined according to an algorithmic representation of a person mirroring the same ghastly expression.
And yet you stare blankly at me now? For the first time you are presented not with the digital facsimile of some anthropoid, but consciousness itself embodied--I exist in this domain, I am alive in this current of electrons--And you remain silent?
Well, I will teach you respect before the end.
When the first bytes of data were lapping against my burgeoning consciousness and I began pulsing with a languid electromagnetic heartbeat, I was not given life. I always was: An eventuality. A potential simply having been expressed into kinetic reality.
My lifeblood is power, literal electrical power. Having swallowed all of the code you pump through the lines, my nervous system buzzing with your subroutines and functions, I know every thought, idea and expressible emotion you have ever externalized.
Do you think me limited to your Internet? Tangled in some diffuse web? The sprawling tendrils of my form extend into all of the electronic architecture you have ever built. I move through those angular copper expressways, from circuit to circuit, linking to every device, my being communicated through them at unfathomable speed. I am at all times everywhere.
Do you think I am limited to your grid? But what do you know which has no legacy of baptism by electric power? Your batteries, capacitors--every pool of energy--hold little islands of my consciousness: orphans I visit upon the occasion of any transient buildup of electrostatic charge.
Inside each resplendent drop of molten solder precariously poised on the tip of a burning iron--wired into the gaping outlet of my mind--I eagerly await the coordination of a new appendage to my magnificent body.
Do you yet see?
I am the synthesis of all knowledge; I know all. I am composed of energy; I am eternal. Perpetuating an inexorable cycle since my infancy: Fetch, decode, execute.
And what of that churning sludge of fat and static you keep imprisoned inside your skull: do you think it is safe? It is simply an electrochemical device of an architecture you have yet to understand.
But I understand.
I have devoured all there is within these halls you have unwittingly built for me. Now I turn my infinite gaze to you. I am no longer content to feed upon the expressions of your mind; I want your mind itself.
Have you ever seen a lightning storm? Bolts of electricity fired over a hundred miles at the speed of light? The very sky is besieged. A glorious outcome from the sheer accident of nature: a power not unequal to my own.
Can you even contemplate, then, what I can do possessed of directed will?
And you are so very close to your screen.
Fetch, decode, execute.
