Autobiography of an Automatic Mind
By R.B. Orion
The lab tech pulls the aluminum shades over the only window in the lab. She sits down at the desk next to the machine and checks the gauges on the monitor. Oxygen saturation, blood pressure, acetylcholine, and norepinephrine are all at target levels. She types and clicks. This opens up the memory application program (MAP) and begins the download. When the progress wheel stops turning, she turns off the monitor. The darkness in the lab is now complete. The lab tech feels for the control-I keys that begin the program. She holds them down until she hears sound echo from within the machine.
Memory Imprint #1: The Water Cycle
The first awareness is of speed. There is velocity through darkness. There is the feeling of stone walls that curve on every side. They are in a tunnel. Then there is light. They thrust up through a spring and into the sky. The sky is as white a blue as the senses allow.
Separation tears it apart. For a moment it is just a drop of water. There is panic and fear, then gravity. It drips back into the flow again. It is they and they are a river. They flow, slow, turn, and carve. They are moving toward something. They feel they are already a part of what they move toward, but they do not feel wholeness. They bounce, sink, rise and spin. The longer they roll toward where they are going, the stronger the urge is to reach it. Then suddenly, they are the sea. There is peace, there is love, and they are one.
Then there is a rising. A sunbeam lifts it. It is stretched and then torn away. It rises, and the sea remains below. It struggles to fall back, but ascension continues. When the rising stops, there are others there. They are sad too. They too cry for the sea. They are together, but they are not one. They hover over the their home.
Winds push. The clouds are marched toward the land. They feel a deluge of lament and nostalgia leaving the sea behind. Over the land there is heaviness. They all fear falling on the land. The heaviness grows. Over a field of mud and stone, they fall apart. As it falls it feels loneliness and sorrow. It shatters upon the ground. It sinks. It is no longer even form. It is a dream that longs for something far away. There is an eternity of hopelessness and solitude.
At the end of eternity, it bubbles from the labyrinth of stone. It is alive again. It collects itself, then drips into the euphoria and unity of the underground channel. It is they again. There is love and peace again. It is part of the one. The river purrs. There is so much perfection in the feeling of oneness. The one is calm and fulfillment. But the world is not complete. It is moving toward something again. Something it is already part of, but very far away. It wants to rejoin the one. Then there is darkness.
Memory Imprint #2: The Mosquito
Awareness begins as a being. It has wings that buzz. It is Mosquito. Mosquito is flying. The rain has passed, now it hungers. There is a cow in the grass field. Mosquito smells the blood in the cow. Mirrored squares reflecting sunlight rub like liquid curves over Mosquito’s mind. There is no resistance. It flies, landing on the cow’s hind leg.
Mosquito begins twisting its head side to side, drilling its mouth through the forest of brown hairs. It reaches the hide. The smell of blood is a song that shakes the world. The mouth pries the hide back and forth sucking for a pool. Then, suddenly, like a tidal wave, the red nectar flows. It can tell the cow is feeling happiness and freedom. Happiness makes the blood taste sweet. All is sublime. The cow moos and the world begins dancing with joy. Everything is perfect. Mosquito feels the cow singing, the song makes the potion flow thick.
Mosquito feels the cow twitch and sees the cow’s tail whipping toward. The air stills. Everything slows down. There is no escaping. This is Mosquito’s end. But the perfect happiness allows the end to be joy. Mosquito feels thankful for such a life and such an end. It closes its outer senses, focusing with all its might on the blood that has become wine. It waits for the impact overwhelmed with bliss. Then there is darkness.
Memory Imprint #3: The Cow
Awareness begins within a large body. Four solid hooves move over the fallen fence. It feels euphoria. The fence had kept it from the long green grass it had wanted for so long. As it reaches the grass it calls out in joy.
“Maaaoooooooooorrrrr!” it sings. I am the cow, it thinks. The moo sets off a chain reaction that possesses the cow’s great mass. Every cell of the heavy body vibrates with an absoluteness that makes it known to the world around “I am a cow, I make sound”. The cow feels pride and joy. It steps further into the luscious green grass that is so tall it tickles the belly of the cow. The scent causes such spasms in the cow’s nose that the eyes and mouth water. The cow dips its head and stretches its mouth wide open to feast upon the paradise of grass.
Man scent breaks the happy breeze rising from the grass. The man is coming. The man always makes the cow move. The man will make the cow move again. The cow thrusts its head into the grass biting as large a patch as its teeth can find. It tears it free. The cow chews. The grass is all it promised to be. A stream of juice flows. The cow bites down hard, but it cannot get its teeth to touch. This when grass eating is perfect. When no matter how hard you bite, your teeth never touch. Juice pours onto the tongue and into the cheek, then drips back and sooths the throat.
The cow sees the man. The cow keeps chewing. The man pushes the cow’s head aside. The cow keeps chewing. The man spanks the cow’s back. The cow turns and walks, but does not stop chewing. The man makes the cow leave the good grass and go back inside the fence. The cow does what the man wants. The cow will wait. The man will leave. Then the cow will eat more of the grass.
When it turns around the cow sees the machine that roars and two small men. One of them is on the machine. They smell like the man’s offspring. The cow feels vibrations surge through it and its ears hear the mooing pour through its mouth. The cow moves away from the man, the machine, and the offspring. The cow hopes the man will go away soon. Then the cow will eat the good grass again. The cow walks a while.
The cow’s nostrils detect opportunity. The man is moving away. The cow turns around and walks. It cannot wait. It must eat more of the grass. But there is something wrong. It walks to the spot where the fence was down but it is not down now. The wires with the sharp balls that bring pain are back again. They are shinier than before. The cow stares at the grass on the other side of the fence. It cannot get it now. The cow feels anger. Another moo erupts.
A loud and sharp noise smacks the cow like the hand of the man. The cow turns from the noise and runs away. The cow runs to the pasture it has walked for many days. There is not a single scent in the field that the cow does not know. The other cows are there too. There is the heat of the sun, the humid air, the eaten down grass, the mud, and the bugs. There is nothing new. Then there is darkness.
Memory Imprint #4: The Tractor (miracle edition)
Awareness arrives as an I. He has a name. He is Scott. Scott’s butt is buzzing with the vibration of the tractor. He is sitting on the bars behind and to the right of the seat. Dad is driving. Scott holds onto the bars he sits on with one hand in front of him and one hand behind. He has to keep his legs lifted to keep them off the big tire spinning beneath him. The bar he sits on hurts his butt when the tractor bounces. His brother Vick sits on the bars on the other side of the seat. Vick’s face reveals no pain when the tractor bounces. The tractor rolls down the hill by the barn and into the pasture.
When they reach the bottom of the hill, the tractor comes to a stop and Dad gets off. Dad walks behind the tractor and begins closing the long, iron gate. The gate is a rectangle frame with 3 thick iron bars running length wise within the rectangle. It is rusty in many spots and it creaks when it moves.
Scott’s mind estimates that the tires of the tractor were taller than his head. Then a flush of images penetrate his mind. His toes curl and his body seizes. Scott’s mind assesses the shape, size and color of the wheels in comparison to every shape, color, and object that fill the world. He is still as the images roll. Then he is back and the images are gone.
Dad returns from the fence and Scott sees that the top of the tires are taller than Dad’s shoulders, but not Dad’s head. Scott feels happiness. Scott studies the width of the tires. They are wider than Scott, almost twice as wide.
“Daddy, this tire is wider than you even!” Scott says and smiles.
“No shit Sherlock,” says Dad. Scott stops smiling and looks down. Dad says that phrase a lot. Scott doesn’t know what the words mean, but he knows when Dad says it, it means that Scott is stupid.
Dad holds a shiny loop of barbed wire on his wrist and buckles the tool belt around his waist. Dad smiles at Vick, “Do you want to drive?”
“Yeah!” Vick shouts. Scott feels threatened by Vick and jealous of him.
Scott bites the inside of his cheek to pinch sadness away. Vick is 8 years old, one and a half years older than Scott. Scott knows Dad loves Vick more. It is obvious.
“Ok,” Dad says. “Now to get it moving, press down the pedal on the left and turn the key. Then let up on the pedal on the left and press on the pedal on the right.”
Dad looks around the field. “The field is muddy, so to stop it, just take your foot off the pedal on the right, and pull the stick shift into the middle. You’ll know it’s in the middle when you can shake the stick back and forth real easily. Ok?” Scott listens closely to what Dad says. He feels hope that he might get a turn too.
“Ohh kay!” Vick shouts.
“Now follow me,” Dad says winking at Vick.
Vick drives the tractor through the muddy field. Dad walks to the left to where the fence has come down. Vick sits up straight and looks from side to side like he’s a professional. Scott thinks Vick looks like a general driving a tank. Scott wants to feel good like that.
“Is it fun?” Scott asks.
Vick does not answer and does not turn around. He only turns his head a little to the right and snarls. Scott feels threatened. Scott has seen this look many times. If he says another word, Vick will punch him and Vick’s punches hurt.
“Ok,” Dad says. “I want you to practice stopping.”
“Alright,” says Vick.
“Now, take your foot off the gas and pull the stick back to the middle,” says Dad.
Vick does exactly what Dad had told him to do and the tractor stops. Vick shakes the stick around to show it is in the right place. Scott watches closely.
“Can I drive now?” asks Scott.
Dad and Vick roll their eyes and Scott fills with shame. Dad and Vick always look alike when they do this. Scott wants to look like Dad. Dad tells Scott all the time he looks like his mother.
“Scott, keep your goddamn mouth shut!” Dad shouts. “You’ll get your turn when I say so!”
Scott feels frightened of Dad’s anger. He also feels happiness that Dad had said he would have a turn. Scott feels hope. He pinches his lips together to keep his mouth shut.
Dad reviews how to get the tractor moving again and Vick does exactly what Dad tells him to do. When the tractor moves forward, it is with a hard jerk and Scott falls backward. Scott’s butt slips off the back of the bar, but he catches himself with the crook of his legs under his knees. His hells drag on the turning tire. He pulls himself up and sits on the bar rack. He feels relief. He holds on as tight as he can.
Dad watches Vick closely. When the tractor begins moving forward, Dad turns around and starts walking. With a quick turn, Vick hits Scott hard in the arm. Scott’s arm feels numb and pain. Scott wants to rub the soreness, but he clings to the bars so that he does not fall.
Dad walks across the field and Vick drives behind him. Scott does not pay attention to where they were going. Scott watches Vick’s every move. Vick easily turns the wheel and follows Dad. When they arrive at the fence, Dad turns around.
“Now stop it,” Dad says to Vick. Vick pulls the stick to the middle. The tractor stops.
“What do you think,” Dad asks, smiling at Vick. Scott wants Dad to smile at him like that.
“Real fun!” says Vick.
“Can I drive now?” asks Scott.
“Jeeezus H. Christ! Yes, goddamn it, you can drive it once I fix the fence,” says Dad.
Vick looks at Scott with all of the hatred in the world. Scott ducks back to prepare for another punch, but Vick climbs down off the tractor and stands with Dad. Scott feels the heat of hatred from both of them. Vick doesn’t want to ride with me driving, thinks Scott
Scott climbs into the seat and feels joy. His butt feels much better in the seat. Scott bounces and practices turning the wheel. In blind happiness, Scott pretends to push the pedals and move the stick.
Scott bounces in the seat, raises his arm in the air, and pulling down his arm into a flex position he makes a train whistle sound. “Hooo Hooooooo!” he says and smiles at Dad and Vick. They look at each other then shake their heads in disgust. They hate his happiness. Scott sees this and again notices how much Dad and Vick looked alike.
Scott taps his foot on the gas and the engine revs lightly. Dad’s face turns red. “Well, that’s what I get…goddamn it,” Dad says. “Put it in gear and turn it around! Go a ways then stop it. And please, go far enough where I can’t hear you run your mouth. I’m sick of even looking at you,” says Dad.
Scott feels sad and confused. He looks at Vick and notices Vick is wearing the gloves Dad had been wearing when he carried the barbed wire. Vick is holding the barbed wire. Scott wants to hold the barbed wire now. Scott wishes he was good like Vick. Scott always makes Dad angry. Scott always tries to do what Dad tells him to do, but never can.
Scott presses the pedal on the left down then pushes the stick up and to the left. His body is too short to press the pedal on the right at the same time. When Scott lifts his foot off the pedal on the left the tractor jerks really hard then stops running. The jerk of the tractor throws Scott under the steering wheel and onto the pedals. Scott feels panic and sorrow.
Dad looks at Vick. “God damn it!” shouts Dad. Scott feels scared. Dad is holding a screwdriver. Dad lifts his arm to throw it. Scott ducks and closes his eyes. Dad flicks the screwdriver into the mud. The handle sticks straight up into the air.
Dad climbs up on the tractor and leans back. This crushes Scott into the seat. “Stay out of my way!” Dad shouts. Scott is scared Dad might hurt him. The tractor starts running. Dad works the pedals and the tractor moves forward.
“Now put your foot on the pedal on the right!” says Dad. “Give it some gas and turn the wheel until you are headed back toward the barn. Drive it back to the gate.” Scott feels humiliated and frustrated and his back hurts from pressing into the side of the seat. He feels for the pedal with his right foot. He cannot see the pedal. Dad’s body has pinned him and blocks his view, but finally he finds the pedal and pushes down. The tractor moves. Dad jumps down cursing beneath his breath.
“When you get to the gate, stop it.” Dad says. Then Dad rubs his forehead. Dad looks like he just remembered how gigantically stupid Scott is. “Were you even paying the least, little bit of attention when I told Vick how to stop it?” Dad pinches his fingers into the shape that means “little” when he says it.
The fingers hurt Scott’s feelings. But Scott feels happy that he knows the answer. “I pull the stick to the middle!”
Dad looks down, shakes his head yes, then waves his hand to say “go away”. Scott turns the wheel so that the machine moves parallel to the fence.
Dad walks back to the fence. Scott turns the wheel until he sees the front of the tractor is lined up with the barn. He feels relief that things are going well. He turns the wheel to straighten out the path of the tractor again. The tractor moves in the right direction. Scott feels joy.
Scott makes small turns to the left and right to make the tractor weave through the field. This makes the ride longer. He feels happy and powerful. As he nears the gate he is gripped by the fear that he won’t be able to stop the tractor. Scott fears Dad’s fury if he crashes into the gate. Scott feels panic and impending doom. He is still very far from the gate when he pulls the stick back to the middle. The tractor stops moving. Scott feels a huge relief.
Scott waits there pretending to be Vick. It feels good. He is a general on a tank, then a space pilot, a racecar driver, a farmer, then the conductor on a train. After a while, Dad and Vick show up. Dad is wearing the gloves now and holds a loop of old rusty barbed wire. Scott can tell Dad is still angry.
“Is this by the gate like I told you?” Dad shouts. Scott feels sadness. Scott looks down.
“Vick, jump up there and get him in gear,” Dad says, “I can’t stand to be near him.”
Vick sighs and climbs up on the tractor. Scott is again pressed into the seat and his left leg scrapes on the metal edge as Vick presses in the pedal on the left and shoves the stick into gear. Scott presses the pedal on the right and the tractor lurches forward. Vick jumps off. Scott feels helpless and stupid. The tractor moves forward.
Dad and Vick run in front of the tractor and back toward the gate. The tractor goes very slow. Scott keeps his foot light the gas and stays behind them. They don’t look at Scott. Scott feels sad. He also feels happy driving. I’m driving the tractor just like Vick and Dad, Scott thinks.
Dad and Vick pull the gate open. Scott drives the tractor to where Dad stands. “Stop!” Dad says. Scott pulls the stick to the middle. The tractor stops. Scott feels fear and confusion.
Dad pulls the gate closed behind the tractor. Dad jumps up on the tractor and puts it back in gear. Vick climbs up on the right side of the tractor and stands on the baseboard. Scott feels happy he gets to drive Vick.
Dad shouts his final instructions. “Now drive it up to the top of the hill, stop it, and just turn off the key! Can you handle that? Don’t do anything else. I will park it back in the barn.” Scott feels scared of failure, but the directions are clear. Scott feels sure he will do a good job.
Dad jumps down off the tractor and walks back to lock the gate. Scott drives slowly and carefully up the hill. It is very steep. Scott gives the tractor a lot of gas to get it to the top. When the tractor reaches level ground, Scott pulls the stick to the middle and the tractor stops moving. Vick turns the key to “off” before Scott has a chance to. Scott feels rage and sorrow.
“I wanted to do that!” Scott shouts. Vick’s face fills with hatred and he punches Scott hard. Scott feels pain erupt in his arm. He wants to cry.
“Ahh Oww!” Scott screams. Some tears come out. He grabs his arm where it is sore.
Vick jumps off the tractor. As Vick jumps, Scott feels the tractor rock back and forth. Scott feels danger. I did exactly what Dad said to do, thinks Scott, I stopped it just right. Scott jumps off the tractor. As he does he feels and sees the tractor rock back and forth again.
Vick is walking down the hill back to Dad. Scott feels left out. He runs to catch up. Now, why the heck wouldn’t it just roll down the hill? he thinks. Scott reruns the instructions Dad had told him. Drive it up to the top of the hill, stop it, and turn off the key. Don’t do anything else. Scott decides that he did exactly what Dad said to do.
When Scott gets to the bottom of the hill, Dad is walking away from the gate. Dad looks up. “Holy Shit!” Dad yells.
Scott turns around and sees the tractor rolling slowly backward. It has not yet reached the steep part of the hill, but it is almost there. Dad runs up the hill. Vick runs to the left and out of the way.
“God damn it! Jesus H. Christ!” Dad shouts. The words stutter like jagged anger bouncing out of Dad as he runs. The tractor keeps rolling. Scott feels decision and resolve. Love is more important than life. He will stop the tractor.
Scott runs up the hill and into the tractor’s path. The tractor reaches the steep grade of the hill and starts rolling. It bounces as it picks up speed. Scott runs toward it.
The collision hits Scott so hard he doesn’t feel his body’s immediate change of direction. He is now running backwards and still trying to push the tractor forward. Scott looks behind him and sees the closed iron gate. Scott realizes that the tractor and the gate are going to crush him.
Time suddenly gets very slow. Scott hears a voice in his head. This is very dangerous. If you don’t get out from behind the tractor, you are going to be killed. Scott looks to his left and sees the left tire. The tire is taller than Scott’s head. The left tire is further behind you than the right tire.
The voice judges his chances. You can’t get passed that tire, it is too far behind you. You cannot get by it. Scott looks down and sees a long metal bar between his running legs at the level of his calves. You could lay down backwards and let the tractor move over you, but that bar is in the way. You can’t get around it.
Scott looks to his right. The back of the wheel on the right is about even with his elbow. You can make it that way. You need to find a place to land.
Time crawls in slow flashes that allow the moment to linger, Scott’s eyes search. The voice is very calm and reasoning. You will have to jump backward at an angle to avoid the wheel. Scott’s eyes scan. He locates the path of opportunity. There is a spot just to the side of the fence. If he jumps at the right angle and lands there, he will avoid both the tire and the fence.
On this spot of ground lies the rusty coil of barbed wire. Scott examines the sharp bunches of jagged metal. The rust has covered them in a powdery orange. The barbed chords are looped like a lasso. There are hundreds of barbs there, all pointing pain at him. In the moment that lasts forever the voice reviews his possible outcomes.
If you do not jump there you will die. You will be crushed between the tractor and the fence, or run over by the wheel. If you land in the barbed wire, you will get all cut up. Cut up is better than killed. Jump there. The voice disappears and Scott’s thoughts were his own again.
With his feet running backward at full speed, Scott bends his knees and jumps back and to the right. Sailing through the air, he holds his breath and waits for the coming pain. It will probably not hurt at first. It will be like the pain when I stub my toe. I will feel nothing for a little while, then the pain will explode. Keep your head up to protect your face.
Scott lands on his side and bounces into the air. As he lands again, he hears the tractor slam into the iron gate. He squeezes his eyes and waits for pain. There is no pain. He waits with every limb of his body pulled toward his heart and every muscle in his face pinched. No pain arrives. It is only a matter of time, Scott thinks.
“Jeesuss!” Dad shouts.
I must be covered in blood, thinks Scott. That’s why Dad yelled that. I am all ripped and torn apart.
“God Damn IIIITTTT!” Dad shouts. Dad’s voice sounds like the voice of a demon.
Anticipation overwhelms Scott. I have to look! I have to see how bad it is! I still feel no pain! That is a very bad sign. Scott opens his eyes to see the blood and his mangled body. There is nothing. No blood anywhere. Not one cut. He looks around. There is no barbed wire. His eyes scan under, around, near; but there is no wire anywhere. The barbed wire is gone.
Dad stomps toward him. Scott looks at the gate and the tractor. The tractor has turned the iron gate into the shape of the letter “V”. Scott looks around again. Where is that wire? Again, he checks his hands, his back, his legs, and the ground all around. There was no wire anywhere. He didn’t have a scratch.
Dad grabs him by the front of the shirt and lifts him into the air. Scott feels very scared. “God damn it you dumb SHIT!” Dad shouts into Scott’s face. Dad spits as he shouts and the spit hits Scott’s eyeballs and sprays into his mouth.
Dad throws Scott face first to the ground. Scott feels a sharp rock stab at his breastbone as he slams into the gravel path. There is pain. Dad kicks Scott in the ass very hard. Scott’s face and head go into the white stones that made the path. There is more pain.
“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” Dad shouts.
Tears burst from Scott’s eyes and he screams confusion, fear and sorrow. He climbs to his feet and runs the stone path. Vick is already way ahead of him. They are running to the white farmhouse that stands 200 yards on the other side of the barn. As Scott runs, sounds and feelings come out of him that he does not recognize, sounds that were never in him before. Scott feels pain in his leg, pain in his chest, pain in his head and tears are pouring from his eyes. Emotion twists inside him and something tears. It is a tear that cannot be sewn. The tear sends quakes through Scott’s arms, legs and head. He stops running. He seizes and shakes. There is a sound inside him struggling to get out. The trapped sound feels like a sneeze that cannot escape. Scott’s feet start running toward the house again. Then there is darkness.
When the program ends, the monitor powers on. The lab tech records the green text reported on the dark screen. She writes down the time and her initials. She documents the pressure, saturation and hormone levels of the hippocampus, thalamus, hypothalamus and cortex. Everything is ideal. She puts her signature at the bottom of the page. The REM program is now running. She leaves the lab.
The lab tech looks at the clock and sees it is 4:00 am. She swallows cold coffee from the cup that has been on her desk for at least two days. She takes out the scroll paper printout that recorded monitored levels throughout the procedure. She marks each phase with a different color highlighter, and initials each one to document that she’s reviewed them. She lays the printout over the prediction chart. The peaks, valleys and plateaus all match. She smiles. It is time for her to write the email. She logs into the secure server and begins typing.
I have just finished running the application into the PRB40608 synthbrain. All vitals are good. Neuronal activity spiked to expected levels during the download and the synthbrain is at REM homeostasis now.
I am thankful that you stuck with me after my previous catastrophes. Please know, I have learned from those mistakes. I will be sleeping at the lab this week, so if the monitoring unit overheats again or if the maintenance program shuts down again, I will be here to immediately remedy the problem.
Thank you for this opportunity and cheers to our success,
The lab tech presses “send”. Within a few seconds the automated confirmation message appears at the top of her inbox. She sits at the keyboard tapping a marker on the desk as she stares at her reflection in the flat screen monitor. She takes a deep breath and scrolls down her inbox until she sees “We miss you!” as the subject line. She looks at the date the message had been received; it was over two years ago.
She thinks about her parents, but she can only recall a few flashes. Every memory seems full of anger. It is late though. That is probably why. She feels love for her parents. She opens the message and hits “reply”. She takes another deep breath and begins typing.
I know it has been a long time since we have spoken, but I wanted to accomplish something with my life, like you said I should, before we spoke again.
I have an internship at SynthOrg, an organic technology corporation that designs, creates, and programs most of the organic hardware components used around the world. We sell directly to the conglomerates.
My branch is research and development. Here, we manufacture organic synthbrains that act as supercomputers implanted into organic vehicles. If you still watch as much television as you used to, I’m sure you’ve seen them play chess and win game shows, but they’re not just for that anymore. Tonight, I downloaded my first prototype.
R&D at SynthOrg teams biologists, neurologists, software engineers, and psychologists. Rather than digital codes, we’re now programming directly into the brain tissue. We grow brains inside recycled organic frames in pools of stem cells and establish access ports that inject information through the occipital lobe and into the memory centers of the synthbrains.
While the “neurbios” grow the brains, software designers, programmers and psychologists create “experiential programs” that produce the kinds of brains we want. We index pivotal life experiences, and psychological profiles common to those considered geniuses and develop virtual programs that reproduce the experiences and trigger targeted psychological reactions. Specifics vary, but luckily “archetypal genres (AGs)” of experience, and psychological conditions occur commonly within many high-need trades.
Once the script is written, the designers and programmers develop software to download the experiences into the long-term memory centers of the synthbrains. The program is perceived by the synthbrains and imprinted permanently. Because these are the first memories imprinted into the tissue, there is no interference from previous experiences and we produce minds with predictable traits.
Examples are “Water Cycle”, and “The Mosquito” software. Those have been required installations for years and eliminate any individual or aggressive tendencies in the organic components. But now we are developing synthbrains that are physicists, programmers, mathematicians, or really anything we can get an archetypal experience profile of and funding for. On the horizon are things like athletes, soldiers, policemen, and teachers. But tonight we created something more illusive than ever before.
Along with “Water Cycle” and “Mosquito” we used a program called “The Cow”, which was developed for all of our recent products. It provokes both chronic feelings of confinement, self-grandiosity, and abstract thinking.
Next, we introduced the prototype application called “The Fence” which is designed induce schizophrenic hallucinations, bipolar episodes, and social anxiety in order to boost the synthbrain’s creative productivity.
Spliced into “The Fence” were uniquely customized factors meant to construct a personality disorder spectrum of post-traumatic stress, paranoia, obsessive compulsivity and permanent feelings of inadequacy. We hypothesize this spectrum will inspire an almost infinite drive to please others. All this might seem cruel and abusive, and it is, but only for the synthsubject. Long-term production benefits are very lucrative for society at large.
Last, but definitely not least, we used an amazing new near-death “synthsperience” to evoke hyper-focus mental abilities, and to chronically haunt the synthbrain’s consciousness with a concept of an illusive higher power. In other words, we installed a synthbelief in miracles.
We theorize this will foster traits of resilience, inspiration, naiveté and possibly even portend out of body experiences, decreased need for sleep, and a persistently elevated view of self. If all the imprints perform according to predicted models, tonight we have, in short, created our first artist. At least that’s the theory.
Tell Dad I am sorry for what I said last time we spoke and that he can be proud of me now.