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drabmakyo · 3 months

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Thoughts regarding/plot synopsis of Post-Self: Qoheleth

[This is just a copy of my ramblings on Discord to apologies if there's some missing context or whatever, I didn't feel like reformatting this for the five people following my Tumblr.]

Okay. So. I'm going to be completely honest, it is hard to know where to begin with this.

So, for a few months I've known about this four-book series called the Post-Self Cycle. I don't remember where I first heard about it, it was probably on Cohost back when I still used to use that site. And after a cursory scan of the series' overall themes, I decided that despite fascinating me, I didn't feel like it was the right time to actually dive into it. And in retrospect that was absolutely the right call.

It's very philosophically heavy, tackling topics regarding identity and the future which I already struggle with a lot in my personal life. But the knowledge of this series continued to live in my head rent-free between then and a few days ago when I felt I was ready to explore what Post-Self had to offer. I literally remember talking to Sable one day having a breakdown(?) regarding identity and my fear of ego death, and the thing I remember most about that moment was how I actually brought this series up to Sable [my girlfriend] at one point. Without ever even reading it. Like it revealed to me fears I've been harboring my whole life.

I don't really know if there was anything specific that caused me to feel I was mentally ready to start reading it, because I knew that once I did it would change me in some significant way. And it's really fucking funny on the surface to be feeling this way about some furry book series. I think there's something particularly uncanny about combining furry with deep philosophical themes. I felt similarly with Slime Time. It's been so far ingrained in me that furry is just some nerdy hobby that doesn't really matter at the end of the day, that when it's used as a vessel to expose very serious things that I'm trying to ignore, it almost feels like an invasion of a safe space.

I guess that's why Post-Self latched on to me so intensely after just simply learning about it. Because it's the starkest I've ever experienced that sort of uncanniness. It seemed almost scary. And it is rare for me to feel that way about fiction anymore. But, I don't know. I've been thinking a lot about transhumanism lately, especially after having personally adopted the label "alterhuman". And I guess that's why the time felt right to finally check out Post-Self and hear what it has to say. For the past few days, I've been reading the first book in the series, Qoheleth. This is where I'm running into difficulty figuring out how to even talk about this. Because this isn't like any piece of media I've consumed before.

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drabmakyo · 3 months

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Arise To Oath And Office

[This is a little story surrounding the events of Marsh, which is currently being funded as a Kickstarter until the end of January. It doesn't contain spoilers for the book. I'll also be appearing in the Marsh anthology, if you need more reasons to back the book.]

At around 11:30 PM on New Year’s Eve 2399, Tomash wandered home. He planned to come back to the small gathering he’d left in time for midnight, but he needed a break from socializing and space to finally process a merge from earlier that night.

That pre-midnight return never happened. Instead, some time later, Tomash found himself bolting off of his couch with his fur standing up all over his body as a flood of sensorium messages came in.

[highest urgency] “I can’t find him! He’s gone! I can’t send to him! Where is he??!!” — Scout With John Doe

“The date jumped! A lot!” — Scout On Platform 3

“A bunch of people vanished. Why?” — Scout In Central Park

Tomash bent over, clutching his head as the pressure of almost all of his clade trying to get a hold of him at once built up.

[high urgency] “Big screaming, missing people, come quick!” — Scout In Springfield Village Square

[confused head-tilt] — 19 Scout instances

“Hey, Cyan just disappeared, their down said they never got a merge, just wanted to let you know while I file a ticket … never mind, there’s already, like, five meta-tickets, good luck, call me if you need me.” — Tomash#ThePondMustGrow

[high urgency, heavy panting in background] “Where’s Older Coffee? Did he come home?” — 2nd Scout Behind Coffeeshops II

Tomash pushed the messages back, willing the stream of contact from his clade into an orderly line that’d wait a moment while he worked out what was going on.

He walked over to his desk, sat down, and pulled up the systech feeds. As he read the first page of subjects, he frowned. Confusion, instances missing all over, no core dumps, massive downtime, external feeds down … a whole lot of information, and none of it was any good for explaining what had happened.

Whatever this … bug? incident? … was, one thing was obvious in that moment: he and the rest of the System Emergency Response Group would need more data and more coverage.

It was time to call on the pack.

The Scout arm of his clade was mostly dedicated to scampering around the System being dogs, both for their own fun and so he could eventually live vicariously through their merges. Their other purpose, though, was to keep an eye out for problems that might require his attention. That was, as they thought of it, the Job.

Tomash hadn’t ever dreamed that the whole pack would get sucked into the Job in one go, but he’d just had it thunder through his head. As he stood up, smoothed his fur, and mentally ran through his message, he realized he didn’t just need the pack: he needed more Tomash instances, but with a Scout’s local context. He’d had to do this a few times over the last century, and the relevant Scout had always found merging in his people-y up-tree uncomfortable afterwards. Nothing for it, though.

He stood in front of his desk and started up a sensorium conference. Full video and audio. At first, he roped in the other Tomashes. “About to call the pack,” he said. “Figure y’all’ll get the idea from the message. Couldn’t think of two explanations.”

Then, at high priority, he pulled in the pack: every last Scout, minus the usual rabbit-chaser exclusion list who wanted nothing to do with wrangling the System anymore. A sea of over a hundred dogs filled the space in front of him. They were worried, sad, scared, running around in a panic, and, most of all, looking up at him for answers. The Tomash instances arranged themselves behind and to the side of him in the half-real abstraction of Tomash’s office the conference message was taking place in now.

“First of all, thank you, each of you, for all the messages. Good job, Scout. Good dog. All of you are such good dogs.”

Some tails wagged.

“Second …” Tomash sighed. “I don’t know what happened.” He paused. “No one knows. SERG’s trying to find out. I’m trying to find out.”

That intensified the emotions of the dog pack. Tomash, their down-tree, was the Elder, the one who knew things, who could help. If he didn’t know anything … More worry, more sadness.

“Third, whatever happened happened everywhere, and it's still looking random. So we need to find more about who’s gone, see if there’s any patterns, any clues. … Oh, and, right, let’s use the clade feed for that, I got really wasped just now because of how good you were at raising the alarm.”

Much of the packed perked up. Tomash’s drive to understand and help the world, those desires that had made him a systech, had a very canine reflection in his four-legged forks: they were dogs with a Job, and they liked doing the Job. The Job was fun!

Tomash paused again. Took a deep breath, trying to soothe the frantic energy bouncing through him. Yeah, this has to happen. As he was about to begin, he realized a tiny problem with his plan so far. He forked off four instances, Tomash#Rights0 through #Rights3, granting them technician’s privileges and pulling them into the call. “These are the #Rights instances, call them for the bit, not me. Just realized we’ll need that.”

Some of the dogs glanced at each other, confused. Instances specifically for empowering the clade? Why would he do that?

“Now, finally, with how bad this is looking and with what the System needs, I have to do this Scout, Scouts. I’m sorry in advance.”

Then, before the pack had too much time to react, he shifted his voice and straightened up. His next words were something that he always intoned, not merely said. He ensured his gaze was firmly on the pack, so they all saw him looking right at them. “Scout. Scout, wake up. Remember. Remember the pack. Remember the clade. Remember becoming you. Remember being like me. Remember speaking. Remember fingers. Remember two legs. Remember being me. Remember the office. Remember the oath. Remember why.

“Scout, I ask you now to arise to oath and office. Fork towards me. I need the me in you. I need the me from you. All of you, if you please.”

The pack stood grimly as they remembered. As they formed the intent to, through new forks, walk back towards existing like Tomash. Some Scouts chose not to go through with it, either from not wanting to deal with the merges or from not seeing the point, but most did. The call was still and silent as the clade expanded in a way it had never been meant to.

Tomash#root stood there running a paw through the fur on his head, unsure what else to say, until some forks started filtering in. “Good luck. I’ll call if there’s news.” he concluded before dropping out of the message.

Scout In Springfield Village Square walked through the terrified crowds (in a few cases, literally) towards the steps of City Hall. Springfield Village was a sim that tried its hardest to pretend it wasn’t a sim at all. The people who wanted to live here came to stick to the illusion that they’d just emigrated to another country, not another mode of existence. Being too obviously uploaded was against local ordinances and, at worst, a banishable offense. The place was a Taskerville, and one more true to the stereotypes than not at that.

There’d been a lot of disappearances here. Huge portions of the crowd gathered for the fireworks were gone. The mayor, deputy mayor, and police chief were all gone. Those authorities who remained had no idea what to do other than to desperately shout appeals for calm.

Scout stood near the podium and looked in its direction. No one seemed to pay him much attention. He was just the dog who hung around the square, after all. Those who knew he was more than that had, over the years, kept the secret, and weren’t paying him much mind right now anyway.

Fork. Fork. Fork. Forkfork. Quitquitquitquit.

Now, Tomash#SpringfieldVillage stood behind the podium. He’d elected to lose the fur and drag out his human appearance — even in an emergency, it was important to not disrupt the culture of the sims one was helping more than needed.

Some people in the crowd noticed his appearance and pointed at the newcomer.

“The office, please?” #SpringfieldVillage sent to #Rights2, commencing the little ritual the clade had for giving up-trees systech rights that hadn’t been granted at time of forking.

“Swear to defend against defects and threats, internal and external?” came the reply. That was a paraphrased line from the systech oath their root had written, but not one that #SpringfieldVillage could remember being used for this rite.

“Really? You think?”

Rights2 gave the impression of a shrug. “Yeah, maybe.”

“System take me otherwise, then.” Tomash#SpringfieldVillage said.

“Done.” And so it was.

The newly-minted systech summed his token, an adapted dog’s vest that told everyone his job and (despite this Tomash’s lack of fur) that he shouldn’t be petted while on duty.

He fiddled with the microphone and cleared his throat into it.

“I’m Tomash. I’m a perisystem technician with the System Emergency Response Group. I’m here to help work out what happened.” he announced. “I can’t make any promises, or offer any details about what caused this.

“Since it might help us, I’d appreciate it if you all could put together lists of the people you know, along with if you can message them or look them up in the directory or not. That might help us solve this. If you spot any patterns on those lists, please let me know.”

He waved a hand towards the patch of lawn that’d been roped off for the pyrotechnics. All the fireworks and barriers disappeared, replaced by a trailer, a table, some folding chairs, and a temporary roof over the whole thing reading ‘System Emergency Response Group’. “I’ll be over by trailer,” he added. “Councilmembers, if you could join me there?”

He began walking through the crowd, leaving his up-tree to go be a dog again. What was left of the town council followed him in a daze. This’ll be a huge mess, they all thought.

None of them knew just how right they were.

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