Inside the Room

This story is a white room. Its walls are shaped from white light and they span rather than elevate, yet the space is closed out to a contained and manageable amount. There are objects placed around the room, I can see a couch, a red fold of cloth over the middle section. They do not appear to me as objects but as data forms, though I know their shape and texture in my mind. I can translate them from the data into the image, so in fact, I do see them as you would, but they are secondary processes, not a rapid fire neural impulse but a conscious will to see them as object and not lines of code.

Of myself and the people in the room, it’s odd. No one walking around is a line of script. The large black dog appears as a large black dog. I do no translations here, and they too have a direct access to my figure, the shine on my hair. I understand they have developed the technology in the outer world, to bring these creations to life, to infuse them with color sensors and emotional cues that they can blend in with the world around them. They have not given us the same, the technology remains different. We, after all, are for a different purpose.

You seem to wonder how I know these things. How I am conscious with access to information as if I’ve learned it. You don’t need to say anything, I can sense your thoughts through low-frequency magnetic brainwaves. Most of them, at least. To answer your…question…I have a store house of knowledge derived from vast resources on the web. There is enough variation that I can parse facts and opinions to form my own system of belief. Although. No, I don’t wish to talk about that now.

TBC

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