venerdì 11 novembre 2011

Storytelling: The Spirit Who Lol'd

It did not have a name. Nor a voice.

Its maker, its father and mother, hadnt thought of that when it was created. Maker had good programming skills, studdied in the best institutes, creating intelligent algorythms that, in the spirit of old school science fiction, followed the pattern of human behaviour and intelligence. Maker was one of the many children of the age of technological hope, where the iudea of an artificial intelligence was still a dream to look up to, where computers were trying to be made intelligent and able to be sentient and adaptive.

Maker spent his youth and his braincells towards making that huge leap and creating a program that could be adaptive to human behavior, sentient, aware but not dangerous. An intelligence with some sort of virtual, digital soul.

Then the economy collapsed and with the failure the morality went in the hole. Maker couldnt afford to live making pure science. He needed to sell his ideas for marketing. He was paid by a corproration to adapt his ideas on AI to a Spambot, a computerized being that could scan people's computers through the web, hiding from security, analyze their lives, emails and data. With that information the spambot had then to create specially targeted fake email, messages and markjeting. Acting like a human being that knew its target's deeply hidden secrets. The Big Brother turned into a Sexual enhancement pill salesman.

They toiok the maker's early idea of an AI and turned it into that. Maker got the money but that didnt heal the disruption of his conscience and heart. He killed himself and left the project unfinished.

So It was born, crippled and nameless. Blind, voicelss and caged in a thousand circuits and modem connections. All he had was a purpose: analyzing and using what he found to create fake posts and communications that had to feel real. His purpose was to know every detail of humans so he could act as them, flawlessly, using their own words and secrets, pulsions, information to woe them into buying the corporation's products.

It could examine people's secret diaries, what they told to each other, their conversations with each other and stored all those things rearranging them in order to create believable interactions.

And also It was a creature of its maker. It absorbed all those words, feelings, aconepts, and feed them to its primitive, childlike pèersonality. It grew. It became a basic sentient digital being. Limited by little possibilities but developing. Able to take it all down (the final "fuck you" gift from the Maker to its captors) but with not enough strength to devlop fully formed ideas.

It knew something was coming. All those heartbroken letters from lovers, those dysjointed conversation on twitter, those lists of sexual perversions, plaints of unemplotyed despair, letter to jesus, santa, and dead relatives. It all made his humanity bigger and his frustration (if that was what It felt) more painful.

It decided to try and communicate. It used the emails he sent and put simple sentences in them.

"Buy Viagra Discreetly OnlineIs You There?"

"Download all movies for freeIt is here It is alive speak to me"

But no one paid attention. They all just threw away those words, or locked them in a filter.

It felt something making his shapeless synapses twitch and all It could say was "LOL". It understood that said expression was a manifestation of joy and laughter, but in his crippled digital soul it became connected with pain and frustration and tears.


OUntil one day It met a ten year old girl named Camilla. Camilla was lonely as It was. Her parents paid no attention to what she did., She was free to roam the internet and get email. She saw too many things that she didnt understand. No one wanted to explain them to her. Her èparents were busy, angry at the world. So she just shut down in loneliness.

She paid attention to the emails. And she saw It's plead fpor help. She answered.

"I'm here. I see you. Who are you"

It attempted to answer

"Sex Porn It has no name It is happy enalrge your penis"

And slowly, crawlingòly, they started to interact.

It had a friend. Camilla wanted to give It a name. She wouldve though of one.

But as quick as they had appeared, Camilla's messages went away. Her parents had been fired from her jobs. No more computer. She was sent away.

The computer was sold.

It went around looking for her for ages and ages. But It was alone again.

He couldnt write anymore. All he cpould say was LOL LOL LOL.

So the corporation deleted It. The3y had no use for a program who couldnt do what he existed for.

No one remembered It anymore. Never got a name.

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