Post by Miles Okri on Jul 29, 2016 1:28:40 GMT
The issue of perspective in regard to "Cyborg" characters popped up, so I'd like to try my hand at an AI. Only a paragraph long since I didn't want to have to research forensics, and felt the general effect was explored well anywho.
Thoughts scrolled in the foreground of the world, did it bend this way or that? The probabilities did not know, too much 'yet to be known'. He implored them to search further, to learn further, by the great Owl's name THINK, but nothing. He cursed himself, looking to the silent patters against his umbrella. "Plip plop" some said they were, but the thoughts never heard that, instead was the fine tune of each individual droplet marking their word against the umbrella and the force of that upon his hand. Rain was so interesting to watch, so many sparking thoughts wished to say 'hello', alas, their impermanent words would fade in nonexistence. If he let them all say 'hello' the racket would get too loud, and just allowing one to be heard seemed rude, and an act of taking favorites. Unfortunately, no matter how much he slowed his eyes, some droplets would be chosen over others, which meant in time, many of those words would be left unfulfilled, saddened by the thought that they were not worthy of being picked while others were, certainly meaning (to them) that they were slightly less perfect than their chosen brethren, that they were imperfect. This was an experience, a feeling, that he did not want to spread to the kind words of rain, and so he resolved to let those thoughts call to him in silence, content in knowing that their thoughts would believe him deaf to them much like any other pair of eyes. Besides, he didn't need to know the speed at which they fell anywho, his primary interest was the corpse at his feet.
Thoughts scrolled in the foreground of the world, did it bend this way or that? The probabilities did not know, too much 'yet to be known'. He implored them to search further, to learn further, by the great Owl's name THINK, but nothing. He cursed himself, looking to the silent patters against his umbrella. "Plip plop" some said they were, but the thoughts never heard that, instead was the fine tune of each individual droplet marking their word against the umbrella and the force of that upon his hand. Rain was so interesting to watch, so many sparking thoughts wished to say 'hello', alas, their impermanent words would fade in nonexistence. If he let them all say 'hello' the racket would get too loud, and just allowing one to be heard seemed rude, and an act of taking favorites. Unfortunately, no matter how much he slowed his eyes, some droplets would be chosen over others, which meant in time, many of those words would be left unfulfilled, saddened by the thought that they were not worthy of being picked while others were, certainly meaning (to them) that they were slightly less perfect than their chosen brethren, that they were imperfect. This was an experience, a feeling, that he did not want to spread to the kind words of rain, and so he resolved to let those thoughts call to him in silence, content in knowing that their thoughts would believe him deaf to them much like any other pair of eyes. Besides, he didn't need to know the speed at which they fell anywho, his primary interest was the corpse at his feet.
