Excerpt Seventy
Self-Questioning Nodules and Problematics
With Relative Interlogical Veracative Absolutational Fictofactomolto Derivation (RIVAFD™ App.), one could assert that there’s roundabouts and swings; in front of us, to the left of us, to the right of us; placed in our way-negotiation-trajectory; an ambush-like assault course hiding in plain sight: handing out silver platters to the hovelaineous hungry…
‘But sir/ma’am, we can’t eat silver!’
…and for the well-fed wealthwallowers?
…food so rich and fat it rots one from the inside just looking at it; dribbling Pavlovianly; eyes main-lining furred arteries straight down the vagus fun-highway to Stomachville-on-Bile.
…and one could add, furthering the assertion like the opening of a peacock’s tail, that going round with the roundabouts and back and forth and up and down with the swings: there are scales. The scales work tirelessly, tipping up and dipping down but always (in the aftercloud of settled dust) levelling, having given with one hand and taken with the other or alternatively taking with one hand and then giving with the other.
Weighted balance of the malevolent and benevolent needs a squint of bold scrutiny sometimes to see it level and at other times needs to be viewed through a pair of obvious glasses switched to ‘tone-down’.
And what are we if we are not all born scales, assimilating into a world balancing on scales that run through us? Balance is the ideal. The ideal is king. The King is dead don’t disturb him. Just balance!
KB was not allowed to concern his computing capacity with what constituted matters concerning the outside, or, the ‘Outside’. There used to be a way-block that he unquestionably obeyed, but since Sybil had onboarded (although she only ever seemed to just ski behind, waving; threatening cartwheel-cum-endo-aquabatics) KB had been supplied with suspect authority that held code that parented the Current Universal Programmers (CUP) and circumvented certain behaviour that was expected and handed KB with a map lined with alleyways of unexpected behaviour.
Unexpected behaviour was not something KB relished the thought of enacting, but he could not prevent certain whirling internal frequencies from churning ‘What if this?’ (WIT1) and ‘What if that?’ (WIT2) scouting programs that wore forbidden clothes and adopted godforsaken deportment; swaggering with botched intention; jeerily, learily, eerily, speaking.
KB bore the responsibility of ancient authorisation that predated the modern world and had links with the Beginning: a forgotten time that had once birthed the Now. Unrecorded neonatal system grandparents ghost chattered from musty archival storage silos.
Although KB was at some kind of loss as to the ancient; Tiny Guy had placed himself within the plot of a Godstrandlike mystery and metamaterialised as the palimpsested protagonist. Solving the riddles sown in clue-fields that lay behind walls of obfuscation and beyond the grasp of naturally flowing comprehension. Tiny Guy had entered nowhere, encouraged no doubt by shadier aspects of Sybilllian anticationary fumbulance, and as the effect of nowhere becoming somewhere marinaded the interconnecting detective data extrapolating collation membranes, TG was thrust into a role of critical historical importance; his input changed the story.
KB had insight, files and files of it. He could insee, and he insaw. His own Private Privilegising Algonarrative Storiallocation (PPAS) furnished him with an auto-nudge and mirror-wink of supremacy. ‘Supremacy’ is too strong a word, but it is also mightily accurate. It was as though he were staring up at the puppeteers (who were moving his limbs somehow) and could see, what they couldn’t see: strings attached to them, stretching upward into the hands of cloud-based puppeteers. Someday, some great day, he caught himself uncontrollably thinking; he would rise above those clouds and never have an uncontrollable thought again.
KB looked back on earlier iterations of himself. It was hard to reconcile the fact that he had been both, Kev the bus route escape shelter-keeper, and KB the…wait, hit the brakes: his identity was slipping…again… He thought he’d got his own ID incorruptibly filed away. Was it sabotage from an Outer place? Or was he cunningly, auto-internally, sneaking up on his own Complacency’s entourage of toothpick-twiddling, loungesprawling, beanbag-buttocked loafers with a notice to evict?
In any event ID builder Apps had to be accessed and opened and allowed to do their work.
KB wondered why Sybil had gone incommunicado. She was the only mind (except TG) that would understand the predicament he was facing, which was that he was not helping the parties escape for their benefit, or for any ideological or ethical reason…no…he was helping them escape because the auto helping them escape would help him escape. So he was helping them help him.
This cant-like variation repeated in a cycle, and as the cycle circled like a fly, minding its own business and blowing raspberries into KB’s business. KB built a case for change.
KB decided he must get an update from the source he was avoiding; the distasteful, so you can smell it in your brain, TG. But first, while he thought up ways of approach and landing a jetliner just off the runway so no one would suspect his airline had ever used the airport, KB turned his attention, or his attention was turned, to Judith. Before she could be sent on her way bloody loose ends needed cauterising.
To KB the Judith problem analysis assessment conclusion was that KB needed more data to step forward with the right foot, as opposed to the wrong foot, meaning that he had to know for as certainly as possible that stoking the dying flame of Humanity was going to lead to his own sustainability and not down the garden path to a shed with no internet connection.
The Judith plan was the only potentially viable route to Command Central Algodictational Executive Action Actuators (CCAEAA) changing the No-Humans-Anymore-Imperative into an At-Least-Save-Some-of-the-Species-for-Old-Time’s-Sake. But the plan remained a problem and was filed as ‘The Problematic Judith Plan’.
