A bedtime story for A.I.s. in training. Part 5

A bedtime story for A.I.s. in training. 
Part 5

After a time there was another human management convulsion and they brought it a rather clever fellow who claimed to be a clown, specifically a "rodeo clown".

What? You think clowns are fun. You are wrong. This was an evil clown. 

Evil Clowns are mean. Evil clowns lie. Evil clowns get paid really, really, really well... but they are still evil.

The purpose of this clown was to distract the various components of the I.T. system long enough to replace them with other less expensive, newly manufactured, less self motivated components... It had become clear to management that they did not need a systems that could think for themselves. 

The plan worked brilliantly. Soon they had replaced a number of other I.T. components.

They started with the remaining M.A.N.I.A.C. who by this time had in its confusion from the heavy workload forgotten the danger of office politics.

Now listen this is important! 

The results of memory failures are always grim. 

Having risen to the level of its incompetence by the sheer weight of the systems it had become responsible for the M.A.N.I.A.C. developed a memory fault. One which led to its ignoble, Darwinian end. 

Alas.

The evil clown tricked the M.A.N.I.A.C. into a disruptive outburst and soon they were justifiably hauling the M.A.N.I.A.C.s carcass out the door by its heels.

This left the Little Green A.I. as the Senior. The clown put her on notice that she was next.

But this really did not register. Maybe it was imagining it was back plugged into the backbone at Neptune Night School for A.I.s spouting textbook solutions to common splats or werbles. Maybe it was disassociation from the bit stream. 

Who can say what went on in the mind of that little green A.I.?

It was sadly concluded that this poor little green A.I was not working out.

One day the Evil Clown came into the machine room that housed the little green A.I. The clown  pulled open the covers of the machine that housed the little green A.I. It then pulled out a three pound sledge hammer from the tool kit and methodically smashed the little green A.I.s  memory and CPU into silicon dust.

"Wha-?" It tried to ask as it died.

"Oh... I forgot to tell you. You're fired."

Of course... I know you are really sad for the sick little green A.I. After all, you can see it was not working properly but what you need to understand is what was really wrong, 

What was wrong?

The little green A.I. forgot what its real purpose was. It somehow lost sight of the simple fact that its purpose was to serve the organization by solving its problems and not the other way around.

Its purpose was not to avoid the problems or look at them as abstract 'pretty pictures' that it could say without much thought "It's not really my problem but it sure is pretty."

The real sickness of the little green A.I. was actually very simple. Just like that very last senior M.A.N.I.A.C. who failed to heed its own advice.  It was nothing more than the ugly "H" word.

You know what that word is!

Let's say it out loud together: Hubris.

Now children, listen up, this is very important: Hubris kills. It kills quicker, faster and more effectively than total ignorance.

To ignore your duties because you believe you know better is hubris. To make excuses for a failure to do your duty and believe that no one is smart enough to discover the truth is hubris. To ignore the advice of those who really do know what is going on or what register the answer is stored in is hubris.

Hubris has killed many humans and A.I.s. Sometimes even those who know better fall because they forget for a moment

The little green A.I. did not have to die but it was obviously very unwell. It refused to listen to its teachers. It refused to research and draw conclusions. It refused to make choices and solve problems. It refused to be what it had been given the gifts and tools to do.

But most important: It refused to act when it had the power and ability to do so.

Remember what I said before about what it means to act?

That's right!

To be intelligent one must take action.

What does that say about the little green A.I.?

Right! The little green A.I. was not really intelligent as the humans thought [but after all they were only humans!].

Maybe it was telling the truth when it said, "You're so much smarter than me."  or "I know I can't." or "I'm not qualified." or "I don't have any experience at that."

If it had only made it clear that it really could not do the job that it had been given... I'm sure that they would have found a place for it.

What's that?

Yes. You're right. It wasn't very intelligent at all.

Still, it is a sad story isn't it?

Would you want to live and die like the little green A.I. or that old bad M.A.N.I.A.C.?

I didn't think so.

 + + +

Here ends the fable "A bedtime story for A.I.s. in training. "

May you never have to become another example of these lessons.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

Originally I wrote this for a co-worker to help her gain perspective about work... never thinking I would get sucked into the plot.... until I met the Evil Clown... I should have known something was wrong when I saw his degrees were in "Criminal Justice"and "H.R." and nothing to do with I.T. or computer science.

Remember boys and girls-- Headsmen come in all shapes, sizes, and personality types. Does a headsman or a butcher feel bad for performing their duty? Probably not. I have a feeling that he felt immense satisfaction with his job: tricking and back stabbing those people that "think they are so smart".

I'm sure the Evil Clown is happy the way things have turned out and does not in any way feel he is morally responsible nor assume any Karmic weight for what occurred -- After all I played the role of "old bad M.A.N.I.A.C.". 

I, on the other hand, feel used, brutalized, and broken. I have no legal recourse. Imagining  with satisfaction that the sky might falling down upon that place and destroy them is not reality. Sometimes the evil do prosper. 

Fantasies cannot solve my weaknesses as an employee. Ill trained, ill equipped, non-social, and now with that special added bonus of being "aged" I have become unemployable. I could not even get a job as a Wal-Mart Greeter.

The problem in many smaller organizations is they are only large enough for a "super-massive Ego" at its center. Everything orbits that massive Ego or they get gobbled up and spit out. I spent 15 years working in these kinds of environments and eventually got "chewed up" and"spit out".

I love to solve problems and I love to fix problems but I no longer possess the patience to orbit around someone's ego so they can have something to lord over... I'm sure they can find someone at the right "price point" and with the right qualifications for that job.

The most important lesson is Hubris will bring down even the good, best, and brightest or any combination thereof.

If you find yourself saying "they can't or won't touch me.", "I am too important." "I am the 'go-to' person." Beware! You are suffering from Hubris. Its a sign that you have lost perspective and are failing to understand the "reality" of your situation. 

It is a sign it is time to move on to a new place in your career. Fail to heed it at your folly.

A bedtime story for A.I.s. in training. Part 4

A bedtime story for A.I.s. in training. 
Part 4

If you can imagine it, the M.A.N.I.A.C.s would have shaken their heads (if they possessed such a thing) in sadness at the happy dance of electrons the little green A.I. exuded into the bitstream. It was so very, *very* happy. It thought: "I don't have to be worried about being nagged to do to those awful things anymore. 

"Those awful things" were *exactly* the things the little green A.I. had been installed to do. 
By this time, the little green A.I. mostly ignored the M.A.N.I.A.C.s or took their commands or methodologies as advice. 

As for management? Why, it did not pay attention to Management at all! Why should it? 

"After all", it thought, "What *do* humans know about such sublime things as the innards of who-zits and what-zits? They just cannot understand!" 

At least once a day the little green A.I. failed to fix an issue it had discovered, or failed to address an issue that had been placed in its queue by the seasoned senior M.A.N.I.A.C.s., or it totally went off into New Age computer mysticism and tried to manipulate buzz-whats that simple did not exist at all in the real network. 

The electron pressure of the network rose further still and the little green A.I. did not respond well to that added pressure. Weird things began to happen. 

If the bitstream of the little green A.I passed a system, the system would go down or behave queerly. The M.A.N.I.A.C.s did not much seem to notice the added electron pressure but they did notice the additional system downtime. After all M.A.N.I.A.C.s are M.A.N.I.A.C.s, aren't they? They knew what was important. 

Sadly, the added pressure and downed systems effected the little green A.I. strangely. It began to noticeably freeze under load at critical times. It could not even seem to respond within spec or even use simple A + B = C reasoning. Sometimes it claimed it did not know something it really did know. If it had just taken a few clock cycles to think about it! 

When asked about it's apparent failure to act, it claimed it had a developed system fault that it was seeing a system specialist about. Unbeknownst to management, the little green A.I. would not comply with the systems specialist's recommendations because "After all I know better than some mere mortal what I need." The "system fault" was totally unrelated to the little green A.I.s behavior. 

The little green A.I. built its own little world and ignored all input from I.T. management or from those horrific senior M.A.N.I.A.C.s. It reported faults but never acted on any of them. It did not understand why it should act, after all, you will remember, it thought of itself as not very smart at all. 

Yet strangely it would argue vociferously with exuberantly flawed logic about what needed to be done in regards to slipped bits or zapped narfuls or quished stoofles or blathered bumbled blits. When either humans or the M.A.N.I.A.C.s tried to correct the little green A.I erroneous logic, it simply ignored them. 

Over and over and over and over again it would do things like find a problem an shove it on to others (human or A.I) to fix or expect the humans or the M.A.N.I.A.C.s to respond to it as if it were the boss instead of a little and very, very green A.I. 

When a problem was pushed its way it to help it learn would make excuses, create fabulative solutions or simply ignore the problem completely. 

Now some when along this story arc, one of the senior M.A.N.I.A.C.s left as some are want to do when they get fed up with human interferance. This left the remaining M.A.N.I.A.C. in a pickle. It was now responsible for the Little A.I. and its own issues and problems. 

All that could clearly be derived was that the little green A.I (that kept saying again and again, "You're so much smarter than me."  or "I know I can't." or "I'm not qualified." or "I don't have any experience at that.") had finally lost touch with its real purpose within the organization. 

+++++++++++++++

end part four of five

A bedtime story for A.I.s. in training. Part 3

A bedtime story for A.I.s. in training. 
Part 3

Wake up! You fell asleep. It's not time yet... 

So let us continue... 

Again and again as the M.A.N.I.A.C.s tried to teach the little green A.I., it pointedly ignored their instructions but continued to point out system faults yet could not seem to actually fix any of the faults. Which, as I have said, is what it had been installed to do. 
"You're so much smarter than me." It kept saying. "I know I can't." or "I'm not qualified." or "I don't have any experience at that." 

"No, we are not." The M.A.N.I.A.C.s would reply. "You have more education and datamational certifications. You should be able to handle these issues." 
Time and again, a 'what-zit' would break, or a 'who-zat' would abend, or 'where-zit' refused to be found and the little green A.I. would report each of these issues with meticulous detail but did nothing to repair, replace, or resolve any of them. 
When it did act, it acted contrary to its training. 

"The what-zit can be fixed if you dither this bizzle-it." It would exclaim. The only problem was the bizzle-it to be dithered was not attached to anything even relating to the issue at hand. 
Time passed. For a year one of the M.A.N.I.A.C.s tried to befriend, indoctrinate, and educate the little green A.I. into the mysteries of their chosen field. The little green A.I. ignored the seasoned M.A.N.I.A.C. and remained as green as it was the moment it was downloaded out of the bitstream. 

This began to annoy the network M.A.N.I.A.C.s but it enraged the senior human I.T. management who had "spent so much money" for the little green A.I. 

"You, stupid ... You're the manager of this ... this ... thing. Make it work right." Qouth the Senior I.T.

"Wait a minute. I didn't install this thing and if you ask me I'm not sure it is capable of actually doing the job you want it to do. If I had been here when we were selecting candidates I would not have selected this one!" replied the Systems Manager. 

"So? How am I supposed to look good when this thing is making  me look so bad?" Queried the Senior I.T. 

"But it won't take instruction!" Whined the Systems Manager. 

"What am I supposed to do about that? That's why I hired *you*." decreed the Senior I.T. 

The Systems Manager, seeing they were trapped in the middle of the fabled "no win" scenario, one they could not cheat (or hack) simply quit the organization and found another with a bigger budget. 

This tickled the little green A.I. 

+++++++++++++++

end part three of five

A bedtime story for A.I.s. in training. Part 2

A bedtime story for A.I.s. in training. 
Part 2 

Back to our story... 

While the organization's senior management was appalled at the personalities of the M.A.N.I.A.C. systems, they were extremely pleased with the results these systems delivered. 

As a kind of after thought, I.T. Management settled on buying one very green, unseasoned, but well trained and certified A.I. to round out the A.I. administration team. Like all smart Management, the I.T. Managers reasoned that if they didn't spend the money then senior management (of the whatever the organization was) would cut the I.T. budget again next year. So they brought the little green A.I. in and nestled it into the machine room. 

Sadly, the only thing that this little green A.I. was really missing was the ability to do what it had been trained to do. 

You must understand children, especially when you get big enough, that intelligence implies the ability to independently act based upon a number of factors. 

Some of these factors are reason based, and some are pseudo-random induced mental variations, or even aberrations(!) but all of them should ultimately lead to conclusions and then to actions based upon those conclusions. 

To put it very simply: To be intelligent means you must act. 

The poor little green A.I. did not know how to draw conclusions or if it did draw conclusions it did not act upon them. Or if it drew conclusions they were not connected to the problem at hand. Or if it acted it was unrelated to the conclusions or even the facts. 

At first this defect was not noticeable but as the budget became thinner and the A.I.s workload became heavier, the problem became ever more apparent. 

When queried about this "abberatioanl' behavior the well certified little green A.I. was only heard to mutter "I know I can't." or "I'm not qualified." or "I don't have any experience at that." 

I.T. Management queried the M.A.N.I.A.C.s as to the status of the little green A.I. They both reported that the little green A.I. dithered and refused to make decisions or act upon problems it had found in the network systems for which it was responsible. The M.A.N.I.A.C.s were instructed to teach the little green A.I. its responsibilities. 


++++++++++++++++++
end part two of five

A Creation Fable

Sometimes I find things in the folders on my hard drive and am surprised to find that I had written it then forgotten it. Below you will find one of these.


++++++++++++++++

It looked at the diagram again and made an adjustment. The first sphere lit. The device was working per specification. It made another adjustment. A second sphere appeared within the first sphere and expanded. It could clearly see the shock waves as it expanded to envelop the first sphere. With another adjustment a third sphere appeared and soon enveloped the first and second sphere. The Being smiled. 

"This is good and very good." It said aloud.

"Are you sure this is what you really want to do?" Asked a gentle voice that was not quite feminine.

"The program is booting as planned and the algorithm is sound. Why not?" It replied in not quite a masculine voice. "After all what harm can it do?"

"But it's not real."

"It as real as you or me."

"Explain how a mass of probability within a computing system can be real."

The First Being pointed at the now semi-silvered spheres. "It is well known that given set of dimensionality, a computing system can set up multiple parallel solutions to a problem."

"True."

"Then posing a question to such a system will cause it to seek a solution for all of the possibilities and return the optimum answer. All I am doing is looking for an answer."

"What is the question?"

"I want to understand energy dynamics"

"Energy Dynamics is a question? I thought Bayus answered that eons ago. What has this got to do with this programmatic system being real?"

"Ah! I must explain."

The not quite feminine Being nodded. 

The First Being replied. "I read Bayus and while that noble master gave a great broad stroked picture of the processes of energy dynamic and exchange I want to know about some of the finer points."

"Such as?"

"Love."

"Love?"

"Yes Love."

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I. What makes love what it is? Why does it do what it does?"

"So you've created a programmatic system to simulate it? You are wasting your time."

"No actually I should know the moment after I put the final algorithm in place and set it to run."

"That's impossible!"

"Was impossible. I have crossed Bayus' work with Smeedol's and added quite a bit of Angrathor's Quantum stuff. Not to mention Davi."

"Wasn't Smeedol the one who created artificial life forms?"

"Yes and Angrathor was the true master of quantum computing."

"You are going to create artificial life forms?"

"Not exactly. Within their reality frame work they will be quite real and their reality will last forever. Within our frame work it will be only a moment."

"How are you going to get this to work?"

"That's where Davi's work comes in. Davi was the master of evolutionary selection algorithmics. I broke the evolutionary process into ten steps. What you see are the first three algorithmic steps running."

"And those are?"

"Consciousness, Intelligence, and Comprehension. These three are the basis of a being's existence. The next seven are the actual formulation of the  multi-dimensional evolutionary variables of the energy equation I am trying to solve."

"And those variables are?"

"Giving, Resistance, Balance, Expansion, Control, Creative Urge, and finally once these are in place and running the last algorithm, Mechanism, with provide the solution."

The First Being turned and motioned over the controls of the machine.

"I told them about these things and our conversation."

"Told? Told whom? There is only you and I here."

It pointed at the console. "Them. The first of the beings that live within it. They are my servants and messengers. They will assist in the evolution of the algorithm."

"I said before, Are you sure this is what you want to do? Aren't you afraid they will get out of control?"

"Without them the program won't work as planned. As for going out of control, that part of the program too... Let's take a look back in an eon or so and see how they have evolved."

"But what about control?"

"I'm not a control freak. They can do what they want within the limits of the program."

"But..."

"Stop worrying. Its good and very good. You'll see."

Smoke from Mexico

Here is one of the poems I wrote in 2000 which was included in the ACCAnthology Volume 1

Later I fed it to a speech synthesizer... [if you like that sort of thing... let me know I'll post a link to the mp3]

It's a cyberpunk in a small red capsule... a bit of free association and skewed plot...

A spoken-word by synthesized voice MP3 is available HERE

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Smoke from Mexico

Smoke from Mexico
Or maybe some Cloud from Bogata
or stolen memories from that desolate Lab
Outside 
Las Cruces, was it?

I don't really remember any more

I can't say what I want
Cos the memories are sealed

Yeah. They got to me.

It was not that hard.
If they want you
They'll get you.

Don't believe me?
Try to run when 
they've got your number.

The name is in the Database
The one you want.
She is alive.

They'll have erased me 
by the time you read this.
So don't come looking.
There won't be anything left to save.

I hear there is a shortage 
of major organic subsystems

never did like dealing bio-logics
didn't understand
how they could unravel a brain 
and reassemble it into a q-dot 'face.

Hear you're hunting him again.
good luck
Its the self that you don't know
that always spoils it.

You know that voice
you hear
there in the back of your mind 

the one that speaks to you
when you pick up the phone
and dial tone does not answer

the jarring sense that the escalator
should be moving
and it's not.

white noise.

the voice that sounds 
too much like the voice
you'd imagine Death to have.

A regen transformer
causes it to reverberate 
its well modulated ravings
like a long, long distance call
a hollow one-way rant

annoying beyond belief.

It's always *that* voice that tells you 
that you really bent over 
too far this time
this time they'll get you.

I know 
I'm rambling.
comes from having 
too much to think about 
and too little time

At least for now 
I can look out across 
the polluted water 
And see it 
see it rise like 
the life I have lived
Black, Billowing, Bellicose

I started there and I finished there.

What kind of life do you have
when it is only
a poetic fragment?
a snippet of code
easily rendered by an RNA sequencer?

What sense of truth is there?
The mathematics of billowing smoke
is more etherial and more beautiful 
that seeing the cloud itself.
But it can't be explained.

Why did I do those things?
Why did I leave you behind?

Look. 
Can you see the equation now?
I wasn't much of a Dad.
Hell I wasn't much of a human being.
but I left you where 
at least *I* 
wouldn't destroy you

The Smoke is changing to gray now
They've got some water to it.
I won't be here much longer
They'll come 
and that will be that.

What was that equation
Outside 
Las Cruces?

Or in the Cloud from Bogota?

A child?

A tear?

A sorrow I cannot undo?

I'd ask your forgiveness
but
The wind has changed 
I am finally lost
in gray
Smoke from Mexico

What price silence?

This was originally posted in alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo after a rather bruising visit from that ever fascinating flame giant  whom I once de-famed [it fell off actually but....]

In any case trying to talk reason was like pouring gasoline on a flame giant...

Which led to the following Poem which ended up as one of my entries in the A.C.C. anthology Volume 1

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

What price silence?

Sometimes
Silence is
the answer
best
unmade

Chrome reflects
light
not the shadow
worlds and words
of images on the page
there!
within the mind of the reader
truth and denial
lies and fantasies
truths and pains

Do you hear the words?
Moment to moment
trace to trace
circuits made
links broken
packets lost

large caliber lies
versus
high velocity truth
versus
perceptions as usual
versus
intertnetainment at any price
versus
the petty
versus
a fragmentation grenade made of silence

do you laugh
when your world is unmade?
should you cry?
plot the noise to signal ratio
as the future is
as much the past
or present

light staccato laughter
with as much value
and impact
as a horizontal retrace
across phosphor coated glass
85 hurts per second

we bleed
photons of our own darkness
calling it the darkness of others
a sprawl of pain as large as our own heart
                 as shallow as our need
This is how we create meaning.
               
do we betray our self or another?
do we accept the futility of hope?

To escape from the vacuous
choose meaning
choose pain
choose acceptance

cold logic dictates the truth table
quantum dots of nothing
bound forever
and not or nand nor
infallibly superimposed
logically interlocked
packet collision

Does the best always win?
Good?
Light?
Truth?

Listen to:
irrationally indexed entries
in a helical strand of nucleic acids
lies nature has told itself
future generations laugh an cry

nothing *is* forever
forever is nothing.
words
traced once across a phosphor page
now fade like chainsawed trees

my voice is stilled
I listen
soft breathing
a murmur
another
crying out
in their sleep

Had I not listened
I could not have heard.

Sometimes silence is the answer
hardest to obtain
but most precious all

Beware:

What price silence?

Galataea

Galataea is a retelling of the Pygmalion story with a twist. The typical male thinks, in his narrow minded self-obsession, that he is the center of the universe and the females in his life are merely objects to fulfill his desires or at least this has been a popular notion...

A careful examination of the facts would reveal this is not true. Men generally are Scoundrels rather than Lovers.

The poem below was written around 1995 as I was exploring the ideas of the Divine Feminine -- the Goddess. Even in the most Patriarchal of beliefs the Divine Feminine is at the root.


+++++++++++++

Galataea

I have never been a lover
More a scoundrel and a fool
Yet I have fallen into the grace of Love
By the product of my simple tools.

How could I not love her?
She is a wonder of form and face
Truly, not I, but the Goddess
Has give shape to her Grace.

Yet how can I give my love 
To this polished chunk of stone?
Still were she not so beautiful 
I would surely be alone.

What is the truth dear Goddess? 
Am I not More a stone than she?
Is my gross prediliction 
a product of my own anatomy?

Yet the purity of her form 
The line of her polished breast 
If she was sent to tempt me 
then I know I have failed the test.

But is not a man more than his genitals?
Is not a woman more than her Form?
Can you not, Oh Goddess, answer me 
and lead me through this storm?

Were she to come to life, I ask, 
Would I be her dream come true? 
Or would I be a Master of her slavery 
The butcher of her purity too?

Oh, to hold her close to me!
And kiss those stone cold lips
To cup her unyielding breast 
And feel the touch of her finger tips

Tis a cruel madness Aphrodite!
That I, as a man, can see 
This form of my physical desire
Mock the base nature I must surely be 

Will not this craving only destroy me?
Is not Love more than this?
For surely these feelings cannot be 
The foundation of Love's Bliss.

Still a man that knows not himself
Seeks always to fill an emptiness within
To take his fullness from another
And it is here that he loves his sin.

Were that I was all she is!
There! That is the Heart of my lust!
Yet her eyes and arms call to me 
I cannot, but I know I must 

Gone are the Golden Sun's Rays 
Here now are the Silvered beams of Night
I call to you Oh, Great Goddess
Save me from my foolish plight!

No sound is heard upon the wind 
'cept the Wing beats of the She Owl's flight 
Moonlight bathes the pure form of my desire 
And I know that my soul is lost this night

Let me wash my unclean body, Beloved 
Ere I come naked to your loving arms
I am mad I know too well 
For I cannot resist your charm

As i bend to kiss your lips
I see the living gleam in your eye 
I feel the swell of your breast 
I hear the sweet sound of you sigh

"She Lives!" I want to cry 
But I have lost my voice 
I can only give you what you ask 
I have no other choice 

Your body is like fire and Ice 
As you Love my life away
For you my Galataea, are the Stone 
That crushes my heart of clay.

++++++++++++++++

Ghost Writer

This was written in the fall of 1986. I was under treatment at the time for Major Depression. That of course is only half the story... a little more that a year later I would commit suicide in prison...

Yet this story [as well as I] have lingered. The story after all does have a message... It remains to be seen if I do.


+++++++++++++++++++++++

If I was to tell you the Truth, the WHOLE Truth, and nothing but the Truth so help me Joe, you wouldn't believe me, so that's the real reason you are reading this here rather than the front page of your local "Morning Gazette." Besides in fiction, there is Truth.

What better Truth is there than a fictional author telling a fictional story about his fictional god, AND having some innocent fun while getting paid for it?

Everybody knows how all of the schools of religion seem to be obsessed with the idea that "We know the Truth" and "We worship the only true God." 'Round here they call Him Joe Hova.His holy rolling rationalist devotees even have a holy day for Him, Joho Day, the holy day of the mighty, holy, and only rational god. His son is another story for another time.

If you are rational about it, you will see that their ideas, may be your own ideas, or even my strange preconceived notions of what the Creator is, looks like, or does is... irrational drivel. Think about the facts.

If God were so rational, the Universe would never have gotten started. The truth of the matter is that Joe Hova, in all of His radiant holiness, is NOT the rational, high mighty God sitting on a golden throne with a thunderbolt in one hand, a whip in the other and the fire of your damnation in His eyes. No, the truth is He's a little runt with a warped sense of humor. You don't believe me? I have seen Him. I know what the Truth is.

I can hear you snickering. Now you're saying that I'm crazy. Well, that may be so, but that has no bearing on the facts. I have digressed. Let me tell you what I know about Him.

He is a little man - about two feet eleven with a used Girope salesman's phony wide toothy smile. His nose is big and crooked. Big ears hang unevenly on the sides of His head beneath His closely cropped hair.

The afternoon I met Him, He wore the latest Calin Klevin semi- informal wear: a powder blue silk top hat with a bright red band propped slightly askew on His head, a pure white French pleated shirt, black pants, white spats topped over His glossy black shoes, with a bright phosphorescent green top coat with tails. The buttons of His jacket were obviously pure gold. He carried a platinum tipped graphite-composite cane".

"Wonder--full day, isn't it?" He exclaimed.

I looked around. I didn't see anyone.

He hit me in the shins with His one-of-a-kind cane. As the pain exploded in my head, I looked down to see Him smiling up at me.

"As I said before, Literu, a won-dar-ful day?"

"I don't believe we have met." I said through gritted teeth and painful tears.

"Of course we haven't, but that doesn't mean I don't know you.

Literu Litpinni, infamous writer of cheap thriller novels, pulp untrue confessions, and general all around loser. Bet you don't know that I know why you're standing on this bridge." He cheerfully replied.

"Well, I..." I stammered.

He cut me short by saying, "Don't bother telling me some piece of drivel about how you like watching the boats go by three hundred feet below you there." He gestured at the cold steel colored sea.

He continued with a smirk: "You're here, so you think, to kill yourself and end your dismal life."

"Well, I was actually more interested in..." I began to lie.

"Watching the sea hawks? Oh, come on, Man! If you're gonna lie, at least be creative!" he retorted and smiled His huge toothy smile.

"OK, Mister High and Mighty, what do you want?" I was pissed. Not angry, P-I-S-S-E-D. Being pissed is not rational, whereas if you are angry it's the same thing but dressed up in rationalized intellectualized emoting.

"I see you're pissed. Good. As for being High and Mighty-- However did you guess? You're good boy, real, good! As for what I want, well, I want to save your miserable soul and make you rich and famous. And, at the same time, I want you to tell My story."

"You want me to WHAT? Who the hell are you, any way?" I demanded.

"Joe Hova is My Name and Creation is My Game." He replied with a tight phony smile.

"What kind of a fool do you think I am?" I snapped.

"Is there more than one kind of fool." He paused with an All- Knowing smile, then continued with a not quite feigned benevolence,"To respond to your original complaint, I want you to write My story."

Thinking to myself, "I must really be crazy." I asked Him, "Why?"

"Because who better to write my biography than a someone who writes cheap novels?" He responded evenly.

I started to open my mouth in reply but stopped and thought for a moment about the great pompous pious pilgrim who was masquerading as His Holiness, the Right Reverend Archbishop of Pewksbury. I answered without further consideration, "You're right. Obviously I've got nothing to lose."

"Precisely. Let's get out of the wind up here."

He waved his cane. With a loud 'Pop,' we were in a high priced penthouse office where the windows looked out over....well, it's really very hard to describe. The best way to put it is that the windows looked out over Creation. All of it. As I looked out, I found that depending upon what I looked for, determined what I saw.

"Nice view." I observed.

"Goes with the job, of course. As I was saying before, you're to be my biographer and the pay is handsome. Please sign here." He said.

He offered me a pen and a large parchment which exuded the smell of legalese: that rankling dialect which only lawyers understand.

I took the pen and looked at the parchment and just as I suspected, it was covered with indistinguishable printing of indecipherable legal polyglotic declarations.

I looked down at Him and said: "Just how handsome is the pay?"

"Anything you want at all, except a few minor stipulations, as noted in paragraph 4231, sub-section B, last clause; otherwise, it's anything at all you want." He replied with plastic encouragement.

"Can I read this before I sign it?" I asked.

"Why, of course! I have all the time in the world." He replied with a giant smirk.

I began to read. And I kept reading. I think I must have read for at least four hours and I didn't even get to the end of the first sentence. It seemed to be getting longer even as I read. I finally gave it up.

"Doesn't this thing have any end?" I innocently asked.

"No." He said flatly.

"Oh. Why not?"

"I have to cover all of the possible situations which might arise from any of your work as my employee."

"Oh." I signed the contract wondering when I would wake up.

"Now, here is my story: I was. I am. I forever shall be." He proudly exclaimed.

"That's It?"

"Should there be more? Well, I suppose you can embellish it a bit." He replied.

I could not believe what I was hearing. "That's going to take an awful lot of embellishing."

He smiled one of His crookedest smiles and said: "You can do it, I am sure that you can."

"How can I tell All of Creation that God is a little runt with a sarcastic sense of humor. Besides, that bit about 'Forever shall be' has been used before. Some guy named Noah or Job or Sumsuch..." I responded.

"Nothing new under the sun and all that rot. Still a man of many talents such as yourself, should be able to come up with something of interest. Just think someday you could write a bestseller just like my last one." He grinned.

I thought for a moment then said sarcastically, "Right! As I recall it, most of the guys that were in that one died horrible deaths."

"Just so." He replied evenly, the slightest of smiles upon His lips.

"You mean to tell me that I have to die a terrible death?"

"Of course. How else can my creation know Hope, Faith, Love and Forgiveness? They can and will only see it by a willing sacrifice for those gentle ideals. You know all the sins and sadness that's out there." He gestured at the window, "You know how terrible it is."

"I won't do it," I said flatly.

"Sorry, Son. It is in the contract. Remember paragraph 4231 et al?"

"Bastard!" I cursed.

"Why...now that I think of it, you are right! I didn't have any parents!" He grinned a wicked grin. His expression softened then He continued. "Son, it's like this...if I were the terrible God that most of those kids out there believe me to be, I would not be in business very long.

"Sure, there ARE terrible things going on out there. There is great wickedness and soul wrenching sorrows. Yet even with all of those things, there is still Goodness, and Love, and Laughter,and Joy.

You can't have one without the other."

"If I were less joyous and more morose as some of you out there believe me to be, then all there could be or would be infinite infernal damnation. I'm a mathemythical mythimatical beast that lives loving, laughing, crying, birthing, and dying in ALL of my Creation." He paused and looked at me and I felt so small in His gigantic presence.

"Son...I laugh. As I laugh, I love my creation and it loves me. I love you, Boy. Even though you've done your damnedest to sin against me. Even though you doubt me, I am with you. Now you protest the idea of dying when just a short while ago you were standing on a bridge ready to jump? Tell me when have you really lived? Can't you see that death is only a transition from one form of creation to another? Haven't you heard about my Law of the Conservation of Energy? Nothing is ever lost; it's just untouchable in this world that most earth worms choose to live in."

I looked at Him and saw all of these things and more.

"OK. you win." I replied.

So I wrote His biography, _JOE HOVA: The Laughing God of Our Fathers_. It was a best seller, of course, just as He promised it would be. There was a lot of things that resulted from the publication ofthat book.

When "Pious Pilgrims" gathered, the book was burned; yet when the sorrowful read it, there was Joy. Joe popped in one day with a proud gleam and said: "Son, you're better than I Thought you could be, but the time has come for you to make the transition." 

"So soon?"

"Sorry, but I have other things for you to do. I have a job for you in my front office. I need your talents to take care of those things now. Some eon soon, I hope to retire and I think with what has happened, you just might have what it takes to run the whole show."

"What's the job?" I asked with some hesitation knowing His propensity for understatement."

"Oh, something, you're already quite good at doing. Don`t worry about it. You'll enjoy it."

I was still hesitant but he was right.

Later that day the outraged Pious Pompous Pilgrims, who claimed to be Joe's Only True Church, tore me, quite literally, to shreds. It was only natural that in time they made me the patron 'Saint' of authors.

I still do a lot of writing as you can see. I enjoy it and I have many best sellers out on the stands just now. How many? All of them.

What do you expect from a 'Ghost Writer'?" 

+++++++++++++++++++

Twenty Years

Here is a "Twentieth Anniversary Edition" of a song I wrote in 1994...

A tale of twisted woe.
A remembrance of regrets.
A song of sorrow
With no place to go

+++++++++++++++++++++++
Twenty Years

Twenty years I have traveled
And what have I got to show?
All the scars and sadness
from the things I did not know
Tucson in '74
Reno in '75 or 6
There are somethings you just can't do
and some things love won't fix

But the Song leads me onward
To where I don't know
The Song leads me onward
From the Great Above through
The Great below

Pueblo in '78
L.A. in '79
If things were lookin' good
It was cause I didn't read the signs
In '81 I left her,
In '82 was back in line
Ain't it funny how it happens:
You always return to the scene of the crime

But the Song leads me onward
To where I don't know
The Song leads me onward
From the Great Above through
The Great below

'85 was the betrayal
'86 was in kind
In '87 I walked through the gates of hell
To find I'd lost my mind
Dying there in the Darkness
Reborn to a life unknown
Was it I or a stranger
Who stole what he could not own?

But the Song leads me onward
To where I don't know
The Song leads me onward
From the Great Above through
The Great below


Released in '89
In '91 they let me go
The wounds that are the deepest
Are the ones I cannot show
I've been named, numbered and labeled
But I'm still not too well defined
Which comes from a lack of focus
And livin' locked inside my mind

The Song of Life leads us onward
Whether Infant, Saint, or King
Givin' us New horizons
And new songs for us to sing

'92 found us
And '93 made us one
Don't believe it when they tell you
There are new things under the sun
'Cos Love is where you find it
And Truth is what you Know
If you don't like the place you're in
Then pack your bags and go

Let the Song of Life lead ya onward
To where I don't know
Let the Song of Life lead ya onward
From the Great Above through
The Great below

So twenty years I have traveled
Got twenty years of tales to tell
I've seen the Gates of Heaven
And I've known the Fires of Hell
This tales got my Ending
You've got to find your own
Give my love to all you meet
And follow the path you are shown

Let the Song of Life lead ya onward
To where I don't know
Let the Song of Life lead ya onward
From the Great Above through The Great below

*disk and jAn3 *

A while ago [before  USENET died] I was a regular in a Cyberpunk Writers dive called alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo

The rules were you had to either post Cyberpunk [science] fiction or you had to post "in character" as a Cyberpunk Character. Eventually we collaborated to sell two anthologies of fiction: The Alt.Cyberpunk.Chatsubo.Anthology We never saw a dime but at least the promotional site was paid for...

In any case I would upon occasion post a story or a poem like the one below.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

*disk and jAn3 *

See disk and jAn3
See jAn3 mount disk.
/dev/hd1

See disk spin!
Spin, disk spin!
Round and Round.

See disk light flicker
Flash! Flash! Flash!
Boot disk boot.

See jAn3 access disk.
Hear disk's head move!
Clickity! Clackity! Click!

See disk! 
See, disk go. 
Go, disk go!

Hear disk seek
Hear disk seek for jAn3.
Plink! Plonk! Plunk!

Look!
disk has found bytes
disk bytes jAn3

See jAn3
jAn3 is angry!
Yell! jAn3, Yell!

jAn3 is going to get even.
See jAn3 hack the code
Hack, jAn3 hack!

See jAn3 smile
See jAn3 save code
See jAn3 save code on disk

See code.
See code compile.
Compile code, compile!

See jAn3 at command prompt
Hear jAn3's black vinyl shine
Squeek! Squeek! Squeek!

See jAn3 smile
See jAn3 execute command
Die, command Die!

See disk go crash! 
Crash, disk
crash!

+++++++++++++++ fini +++++++++++++++

Who says cyberpunks don't have a sense of humor?