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sugartums · 6 years

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The Full Heart and Emotional Availability

The drive home from the Theater for Emotive Artificial Intelligence Science was in the rain on gravel roads past the one/laned bridge. The country. A lone squirrel was making her frantic search for acorns and sustenance for the winter. My winter of discontent, no more, thought she.

He should start acting differently in a few weeks, it’s done, the Maestro determined. It was all a matter of time now. His brain is sub/affecting the change through his baptismal/implanted devices as we speak. They were still current, no new insertion needed for the next twelve years. Strange: none of the future Meridians had any recollection of the pain inflicted by violent insertion of ear-implants; a ritual unquestioned and decided long before consciousness was attained.

The Maestro remote activated the device to reconfigure the area around the corpus colosseum; (like in Rome, said Maestro), so that when she arrived back home; her live/in boyfriend would already be Engaged. Interconnected cryptic syntax; nerves talking one another or something, his being unaware of the whole affectation of his advanced personality. Blah blah blah.

He would be better that way, such as was advertised on TV.

Click click, program supra/routine engaged: Emotional Availability: EA.

It wasn’t a cheap upgrade. The MC in his electric/silver/plated desk and his silver/black hair swiveled when she balked at the non/premium covered cost of her boyfriend’s brain evolution. That’s not what it said on TV. The Maestro said nothing as prices were haggled.

Slicked back and side parted.

Long metallic pen in thin/tarantula length fingers, fingering the thing.

False/glass plate windows were back in vogue and behind him, the foggy dusty lines framed the once-scientist.

Weary and heaving downward in the chest, he determined the price again without argument. MC would indeed be the Master of the Ceremony and the coin.

She weighed her actions like a laundry list.

←←←←←

II.

The night before the upgrade he didn’t respond to her question. While watching her

decision (re Boyfriend) stare at the plexiglass moonroof of their bedroom, flat-backed; "Do you ever feel anything?" asked she.

“Whaat?” and a chuckle from him.

Even worse, any text messages received from him, after her explanation remembering a time-frame, or a series of events surrounding them, were answered with an “I see”.

She thought he may as well have said, “I don’t give a shite” instead of “I see”.

Halloween was over. The guise of insanity no longer an excuse for Fools.

↑↑↑↑

In the next phase, the doctor said, the subject, i.e. Raymond, would be responding more lovingly and with empathy.

It would be another few weeks before anything would happen; runtime errors, bugs, and self-deletion of wayward files.

It was good for humans to have a heart. Every stew needs a salting.

Even some humans rejected the attempt of science to force more humanity, said the once-scientist. I don’t want this to happen, she thought.

Halloween was over. The guise of insanity no longer a suggestion. Who dresses up on the other days of the year?

←←←←

The stupefied glow of a man after orgasm reaches a point of lull for only five seconds, then he becomes aware of reality again. The Fukijawa light on a semi-warrior pose of Raymond by the wall window held for more than five seconds-- there was a time she could stare at his slim-toned stomach for many seconds after sex. In this time frame, she was getting up to clean herself off after the five-second lull. Wasn't the time used now for better things than sex? But without sex Raymond would retreat further into his Mother's figurative tentacles. Birdsmouth would be around to feed him immediately at her exit.

His body was never the problem. His sexual prowess, even without the help of botvibes, was never the problem.

His mind: was what she said in her mind. Born and raised without empathy. That kind of person. Mean sometimes. Critical of her driving. Unnaturally negative in simple conflicts.

Lush green mountain flora and sweet smelling air. Country s-curve roads in a to

p-down blood red Mitsubishi r-type.

→→→→

“The end of the story is when the people go away, then only come back as spirits,” Mirima explained to her 6-year old niece when visiting Fractiontown trying to forget about Raymond’s upgrade to complete.

“I don’t like this story, Aunty Em, it scares me too much.” Mirima laughed, “No, my baby, this is just a story that is not true, and what you are hearing cannot really happen, people cannot come back as spirits.”

“What about ghosts,” she was curious.

“I don’t know about ghosts, but your grandma is still with me, I can feel her. “

“Do you still talk to her anymore?”

“When I miss her, “ then a wave of emotion, silently stepped stage center from a waiting place; so Mirima let it, and let it more. Tears cannot be repressed when your heart is full.

“Stop,” said the niece slowly and atonally. Again three more times.

Mirima came home five days later.

Raymond worked at a polymer plant and got through traffic and gravel roads around

1900ss.

His self-chosen duties were to make the dinner of fish and rice, sauces, and soy, peas and beans. Sauces and soy, peas and beans. He had an apron to protect his clothes. He maneuvered around the kitchen like one of his robots doing inspections. He amused himself by acting as they would; sharp stops and slow turning.

Control of heat and time. Watch the flame. Lower the flame.

Toss the food, Plate the table.

She sat at the supper table and looked on the outside of his deeply Jade and orange-flecked eyes, soft black eyelashes, and the Steve Martin-esque hairline from 1979. It was some kind of rage and admiration always. Both at once, unlike a cup of milk on the table. The table had other things there like a bowl of rice, but the rice would never be judged.

After dinner, she looked for some signs and was told to preview her questions slowly but surely over the course of four weeks. One question per day to solicit an emotional response. When the desired answer was received, she could then reward and affirm him through a series of phrases and personal attention.

The physical attention was the first thing she desired from him in the commencement of their matchmaking. Then as the progression happened, and her happiness waned, she let him move into her complex. He was more than willing to take over the financial and the household task halves. She watched him at the stove and garbage bin a

nd held back screams of rage.

But there were no sounds to describe the horror.

The secret remote engagement of the missing elements would be modulated to the maximum potential of Raymond’s emotional threshold. Max. pot. meaning using the prefrontal cortex as a type of clay, molded to make the emotional elements missing, would force the man into a more balanced being.

Dionysius and Apollo. Yin and yang. The fullness of the heart and mind.

Lonely. Cold. Scared. Alone.

This morning she decided to wake early to make some muesli with honey and kiwi. Some fruits were rare and showed extra love to prepare for someone.

He came to the table dressed and pressed. He had a smile on his face. She asked how he was doing, he gave her a tiny pinch on the shoulder at the breakfast bar while bussing his bowl to the island.

Oh god, a rush of dopamine, oh yes. Thank you for touching me. It is happening, It is

happening! She suppressed the joy/wave but smiled back. Have a good day honey, I love you.

Love you too. And into the gravel driveway to the Mitsubishi Eclypse.

III.

Because this will help us. Because he is disabled by lack of emotion. Because he is a man.

He will thank me later for this. She wandered mentally in this matrix for the rest of her morning. She had to take off this day to get some bloodwork done. She was having her own brain chemistry tested to make sure her evolution was in order. No new upgrades for me.

I am tired today. I am feeling slow and tired. Does this happen when someone else changes?

→→→→→→

On the desk a month later, in her computer room, was a card. It said her name in black ink. She opened it and saw the picture of a heart on the front with some kind of abstract fish swimming through it.

She had a pause before the feeling she was looking for.

Ecstasy. She had to calm her beating heart. Inside, the card said:

“I have sunk like a stone to the depths of the ocean; I am lost in devotion.”

Love, Raymond

She lay back in bed with the card on her chest and cried a joyful messy cry with minimal repression.

I want to feel this way every day please please my God I knew this would work and my dreams would come true finally

She drove off the gravel driveway looking straight ahead. This will last with her eyes unblinking at the battery of red lights that forced her to pause. She would not be stopped now. Her way was now.

→→→→→

The second card. Two months later. Know that she never brought up the cards; that would ruin it. I’m not dull in the brain, for Pete’s sake.

A picture of a saint or something, looking woeful, and in pain. Only inside a quote:

"And what God? Great Jove,

Who shakes heaven's highest temples with his thunder,

And I, poor mortal man, not do the same!

I did it, and with all my heart I did it."

She put on the computer to find an answer...it was St. Augustine, talking about sex and then going on about it in a Confessional; about the vileness of lust.

This is not what I want..I wanted to love, I must bring this up to Raymond.

She forced with some flesh resistance, a pair of crystal hoop earrings into the second hole in each ear. It was enjoyable, the feel of the skin ripping. Take it, bitch.

That voice came from nowhere and inside her head, responding to whatever leftover guilt remained. For sneaking, for cheating, for getting what she thought she wanted.

→→→→→

There is first spring, and then there is summer. You now, do not become you later.

The person who has settled down on the train is not the same person who stepped onto the train on the platform.

True words are not beautiful.

Raymond made statements such as these. Mirima went into the bathroom to knock on her head with her fist. She caused a flux of a person; no longer a consistent person. He was more emotional, yes. But was he sensing his brain was different? What did he know of this programming?

If he was giving her a clue, it was when helped her with the kitchen duties. He said I want you to know, I will never judge you. You can be honest with me. She turned from scooping the prickly pear fruit:

Let’s go horseback riding then, you said the smell of horses makes you sick. If you

can handle that, then I know you won’t judge me for forcing you to go.

The jumping of the beasts was horrifying to him, more so at this moment; but the lucidity and clayness of her face; this new frontal cortex made him think, ok, I will go.

Ok, I will go, he said aloud. She shrieked and hugged him around the hips; the hips felt round and lovely, like the vulnerable thighs of a baby.

IV.

The self that travels from moment to moment, corresponding to the moving water on the waves. This is the meaning that no one experiences anything, there is simply seeing and experiencing.

The Maestro spoke to the young woman with the gentle approach of an ancient technologist; the folding rice paper table held a few oyster shells, upside down and holding sticks.

I cannot find a place to love him, he is changing in a way I cannot compute. Maestro sighed, took a long look out the plexiglass, then sneezed with a loud AHHH before the choo.

Recovering swiftly; I can only tell you that what you experience, and you, are the same thing, he said.

So I am looking at his changes, but my insides are not separate from his outside changes?

He ignored her question, then asked if she would take a short test, to see if her brain was doing its job properly. You know, he said, the job for the thing one owns; memories, experiences, Raymond. She laid on the couch submissively with her legs spindly, hanging off the settee.

Raymond got off the phone with the Maestro and grabbed his keys. He would be going horseback riding after all. It was time to move on to look at things he no longer feared. It was his solemn duty to learn how to enjoy himself, the man said.

Mirima was absolutely smashed from a few cocktails at the kitchen table. He was hoping she would be fine to ride when they got there in two hours. Into the deep country, away from gravel and smog. No place to bicker, only the horses. He loved her fully now, no more fear of risks.

On the hill, she was still buzzed but quite aware of her skills inherited from a family

of farmers and tillers. She opted for no helmet, her hair was sprayed and beautifully luscious with copper tones.

No, he would not jump, he would take a stroll on one of the older beasts; on a short journey in the wood while she got her courage to leap over the five-foot barriers.

It was a perfect blue/sky morning. She raced forward and the horse’s gait leaned to the left. She over compromised on the right, and her foot fell from the

←←←←

Down on the ground and neck

Slowly people around the body, she is conscious, she is ok.

Raymond took her to the hospital himself, 23 kilometers away, and raced like a wooden horse. Carried in as a Princess...saved by actions, saved by his works. This was not in the time/frame.

In the waiting room, he sat with his hands folded, knees wide apart, facing the floor.

He was called in and she was bandaged around the head and awake. I love you he felt.

“ I love you, my dear, I have to tell you something..I know what you did, you were stalked..we will be together forever, we wanted you to accept the upgrade….” he burst into tears, the first cry of his time with her. Amidst blubbering, his head in her braless breasts, I

love you I love you...

With furrowed brows, she gently pushed his head away.

“Who are you?”

#emotionallyavailable #the future #relationships nanobots upgrades transhumanism

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