...Every shitty morning I woke up with the static whispering from my Conscience Bots series 34AD/009, brought to you by The Visionary Existence Laboratory. Around seven the game started with a goody two-shoes voice who said "You should wake up now. Can’t be a sleepyhead all the time…" followed by all-time Terminator style speech "Get up you lazy shit!" if they felt like being a bit nasty; virus style. I knew that their AI system was going on a total L-O-O-P when it considered the matter of shiny creativity but they always got me in the end.
The consequence? I went crazy with old fashion rage and added a halo of destruction to my apartment. The updates will cost. This happened every fucking morning (how can a guy expected to be bootable that early) and every fucking morning I tried to rinse my ears with hot water and homebrewed alcohol (for medical reasons only) but the Conscience Bots, brought to you by The Visionary Existence Laboratory, always lurked somewhere near the eardrum which is far from my reach. It’s like they anticipated my every move, mind-reading fuckers. Besides being totally annoying they also planted a compulsive tic to repeat a commercial message every time I mention them by name. As you can see in my story. The strange thing was that I bought the Conscience Bots, brought to you by The Visionary Existence Laboratory, of my own free will down on Arab Street way low in Brighton.
I was really struggling to avoid a group of pimps selling the service of Flesh Bots, screaming "Modified sexual behaviour for your pleaaaaasureee!" with their synthetic wares standing clueless behind them. Nipples still hard from the mandatory time in the body freezers. Then I stumbled, literally, into this Greek guy. An old time hacker and low-tech rider, you know, struggling to provide new era experience without fascist conservatism, chewing endorphin gum like nothing else mattered. Looking for that special weekend kick in serious consumption, I was curious when he banner-like flashed a message in front of my nose when I passed him on the street. "Changing the way? I give you ability without biotech nonsense. A better life I can provide, no nonsense. No nonsense at all…here be goodies"
So what did he provide in the alley besides dogshit and antique garbage? Another high-tech solution from all those Muslims lost in the modern world of hip hip drug youngsters and metaphysical realities from the belly of Mammon’s giant computer? Sure thing…microscopic robots that through their little speakers provided a morality that I lacked, a conscience that I despised or was afraid of. An AI system directly tuned into my moral centre, pestering me 24 hours per day with messages like: “Don’t eat that candy-bar.” or “Don’t hit on that girl.” or even “Cumshots are provided by Satan.” Changing the way of my life? The most scary and overwhelming experience ever. Of course I couldn’t say no, even if it isn’t my ticket…
Excerpt from the novel: Visions of a wasted virtuality
Printed in "It's about time", 2009