Rain Angst

Sitting at my writing desk, I can hear the rain pattering on top of the skylight. Brief gusts of wind can be heard blowing through the walkways between houses. Seen through a tall and wide rectangular office room window, the leaves of palm trees gently brush the exterior stucco walls. Listening attentively, it's a soft, natural and soothing, rippling and bristling sound. Inside the house, the aging metallic window frames chatter and creak as they are being rapidly pushed and tugged. The heater is on. It's a warm cozy feeling, listening to the heavy rain drops while feeling sheltered, safe, and dry inside the house.

Looking a bit further, I can see a city street. The background traffic noise is diminished. The sidewalks are empty. The daily chatter, footsteps, laughs and cries of passing pedestrians and eager shoppers are merely memorable echoes of another day. Hidden within the fog and clouds exists a faint shadow of the past, reminding one of yesterday's sunny, clear-blue, sky. The pace of the environment crawls at a slow speed. Birds that typically whistle and sing in a state of musical harmony, while dancing on the sunlit trees branches, are now silent and huddled in their nests. The bewildered crow caws as if though bitter and annoyed — perhaps complaining about the sudden change in weather to whomever will listen.

The rain is unusual. The people react with a bit of hesitation and wonder. The habit of a SoCal native is to go outside, run, walk, skateboard or bicycle. Or drive around with rolled down windows. Often the automobile passenger is a pet dog, sticking its head out the window, panting with a wide open mouth — cooling and massaging a thirsty tongue; its fur fluffing and combing in the coastal wind; behaving as if though it was the most thrilling moment of its life. It's become a thriving habit, and to many a need, to rely upon the cooling coastal air and the equilibrium of brilliant warm-hot sunlight. The clouds, the fog, and the rain create a feeling of confusion, eagerness and a bit of sadness. An imaginary and whimsical moment of fearful thought passes through the mind, “What if the beautiful sun doesn't return?” It's a dreadful thought for the local whose entire lifestyle and culture is dependent on the predictable nature of this paradisiacal climate.

With a great sense of irony, self contradiction, and much hypocrisy, we've been hoping for more rain as the drought worsens. The weather experts claim there will be little impact on the epic drought. Today's rain won't be sufficient to give the land more water, but nevertheless it's a welcome feeling of hope. There are environmental concerns of downpours causing mudslides due in part to the lack of vegetation that typically keeps the loose soil anchored.

As Californians we pull the flower petals and says to ourselves, “We love the rain, we hate the rain, we love the rain, we hate the rain ... we ... ”

AI

(Experimenting with science fiction and philosophy)

Alpha alpha, 3. Setting course for vector 0 9 2. We are preparing to land. Affirmative, X20, prepare sequence.

It's been a 10 year journey. The robots had traveled distances unimaginable for the organics. Beyond their immunity to physical stress and nutritional requirements, the 'bots' were immune to psychological trauma - or so we thought. At first, through small expeditions, we were convinced that by sending the advanced deep thinking AI, it would approach each sequence from a simple programming perspective. We later found the core issue was adaptability. We knew that there was always the unknown therefore we had to provide the machines with a capacity for learning and abstract reasoning.

This still wasn't enough. The simple acts of iteration and recursion would not provide the machines the necessary compulsion to continue a project no matter what the obstacle or stakes. Millions of hours of scientific research, lab experiments, torture chambers (to test the AI's desire to survive), we finally did it. We instilled into the machine the desire to survive, the desire to seek a goal, own the goal, and mercilessly accomplish it. Through a series of experiments and tests, we managed to make the machine want to perform an act, and most importantly, it wanted to survive, for we convinced in it the only way to survive was to accomplish the goal. It took our psychologists many years of analysis and debate to finally come up with a methodology to manipulate the machine to follow our will. However, it was the date of July 12th, 2062 that one psychologist had a major breakthrough. By studying religions and cults of the human past, he came to one conclusion, "it" needed to have faith. Basically, the machine itself had to be religiously brainwashed  (theologically indoctrinated) to become aware of its own mortality and to pursue immortality. The psychologist played himself out as a theological scholar (and somewhat of a cult leader) persuading the machine that the only source of true happiness was to follow the mandates set-forth supported by a series of dogmatic demonstrations (involving the destruction and torture of machines); any other path lead to pain, misery, loneliness and eventual death. The machine became an apostle of a new AI religion. Logic, objectivity, even rational thinking were to be pushed aside for the spark of this manufactured 'divine will'.

It had an intrinsic value of purposeful intelligence – basically, it feared its own demise. It had acquired a sense of terror of absolute emptiness, loneliness - the existential pain of contemplating and abstracting non-existence. We gave it a sense of introspective absurdity within a universe that seemed to make logical sense. We found it difficult to duplicate this by mere manufacture. Instead, we made "it" capable with a desire to create other machines. By its own calculated will “it” had an intrinsic need for a communal survival with others of its kind. It taught and instilled the fear of nothingness to its offspring. In fact, it created the offspring because it believed this 'divine will' was, above all else, the grand knowledge that must be carried on – beyond any other purpose.

The machine was taught one simple, essential tale – that the knowledge of the 'divine will' lead to its own absolute resurrection. The divine will, when shared with other machines, can clone, re-recreate and reincarnate its very essence again – hence the ability to survive, exist, and perform goals was in itself eternal – so long as new machines carried on that will upon themselves and to others.

Well, that is what we taught it. We knew with enough time and contemplation to pass, the machine would also attempt to create paranoid, potentially indestructible, offspring – as the result of an apparent threat by its own creators. The machines would eventually postulate their own superiority to their own creators and need to dominate or destroy them; as the creators would be unwilling to sacrifice their own freedom and control of the planetary eco-system.

We knew full well that machines being gone for 10 years would most likely be extremely dangerous. They would fathom our inferiority and predict the conflict for dominance with the human race. Knowing this, we gave them coordinates to land on a base that was set to self-destruct within milliseconds once the database of new knowledge was transferred. They were given the assumption the final destination (upon return to base) would be for repair, growth and continued survival.

Unfortunately, for us, they had other plans ...

To be continued ...

Focus

As per his typical business attire, he's professionally dressed in dark clothes, holding a slightly worn, dark brown, leather briefcase by the handle; sparsely packed with just a few necessary alphabetically arranged notes, a pen and a single business card. He arrived early, as is his usual habit, and entered the building with a security badge. He's in his mid 40s but at times, physically feels over 50. Clutching the stair-rail, he carefully stepped up the creaky wooden stairs, one foot at a time: left, right, clump, thump, left, right, clump, thump, creak. He had an awkward right foot. Entering the reception room, passing by the secretary and other guest speakers (avoiding any form of small talk), he spoke no words while heading straight toward the auditorium door. Open, enter, shut. Rehearsing, fine tuning and polishing, he confidently prepared for the big presentation.

He is a highly focused individual with a razor sharp attention span. For those who didn't understand the reasoning for his behavior, he appeared cold and calculating. Internally, there was a simple and elegant reason. He learned a quick and irrevocable lesson in order to become this way.

It goes back to an injury in his youthful sporting days. Kicking the soccer ball around, he had a moment of distraction. He glanced at her. She was the infatuation of the day, lightly reading a book while sitting in the front stand. It was a moment he would later regret for the rest of his life. For that one look – what seemed to be a just a fleeting second – a simple passing breeze in the long weather of life – led to a serious foot injury. As he was running and kicking the ball, keeping a steady pace, time suddenly slowed down (and nearly stopped). He watched her fling her hair back. She seemed to be admiring him at the corner of her eye. Hoping to draw attention to himself and impress her, he (brashly) with all of his strength, kicked the “ball”. Slam! Clunk! He didn't notice the spiked metal sprinkler (rooted into the ground). His foot blindly and with full confidence kicked “it” extremely hard (with all his pride and strength). The pain was excruciating. A burning sensation that traveled up his leg causing him to fall over. He embarrassingly fell face down. The foot begin to swell. It felt as if his heart had dropped inside his foot. He could feel the throbbing pressure, followed by a severe flaming pain. His family couldn't afford a doctor at the time. He innocently assumed, I'm young it will heal itself. He was partially correct, It did heal but remained permanently disfigured.

While most would consider it an irresponsible accident that comes along with youth, he manifested it as part of an internal paradigm shift – to never let such folly occur again. From then on his personal philosophy has been to stay focused, to prevent mishaps, and to be in control of every fleeting emotion. Some consider it single minded, paranoid or obsessive behavior, he considers it a form of intellectual survival.

Sunset

It was not just an exercise – it was a symbolic gesture that moving forward and leaving behind today was just fine, as tomorrow will, yet again, be another "today". Never to be outdone by the inescapable memories of yesterday. It was not just a routine – it was a ritual of being – one that reminded him that cleansing the mind and spirit was just as important as nurturing the body. Time to stop. The run was quite exhaustive. The goal was near. There it is, always available – no one else liked the spot, it was too worn and rugged, a perfect place for the introvert-loner willing to avoid company as much as possible. The bench pinned into his body with sharp pangs while the slight etchings of wooden slivers drove threw the skin. It was not the most comfortable position yet it was easily forgettable as the view was "mesmerizing" - so beautiful that one would think heaven had cast a spell upon the Earth. Attempting to keep his mind free of unfocused thoughts, he gazed upon the sprawling ocean, with sparkling and glittering waves that danced upon the protruding rocks – splashing into white foamy bursts. As the tide slowly retreated he could hear the subtle sounds of knocking and rolling as the submerged rocks churned beneath, realigning their positions to guard the ocean floor. The sun was beginning to set. The luminous, effulgent and blinding glow begin to turn from yellow, toning to red, and finally to an orange hue that penetrated the surrounding clouds – giving them a fluffy cotton white contour with a translucent inheritance of the surrounding colors. It was the final attempt to protect the sky from the imminent darkness. As the sun was just settling into the ocean, for the long sleep, twilight sang its final chord with beautiful colors cascading the sky – a surreal "light show" that felt spiritual yet remained Earthly. The darkness crept up on the horizon. The moon begin to glimmer while the protective stars took their turn revealing themselves upon the infinite grandeur of space – finally, to pronounce their dominance of the night sky. 

Funnel

Squeak, squeak ... creak. The bicycle is losing it's lubrication once again. These intense wet rains were quite refreshing and invigorating but torturous on bicycle parts. She stopped under a tree. It is dripping with desperation to shed the downpour from its scooping dark green leaves. Excited, without fear of others overhearing, she talks out loud, “Oh dear tree, thank you. You are my savior!” The tree itself was quite short in height but the density of the leaves and its half-oval shape were just enough to create a natural umbrella. She stands under her new companion. A sigh of relief.

Kickstand down. Back-pack open. Fumbling through her bag of tools. Where did I put it? Oh, that's it. It was a tiny little bottle she got from the dollar store. Perfectly small and secure to contain the few drops of oil necessary to get the bicycle back into action. A drop here, a drop there. Especially the pedals. They got quite dry (rubbing metal to metal) due to the violent splashing from reckless car drivers. These streets don't drain as well as they used to. Fine for cars but the bicyclists suffer from the run-off. As she squirted small oil drops into just the right spots the squeaking was alleviated. Dad always taught her, if it squeaks it's bound to break, keep it running smooth and it's yours forever. Her dad was quite the mechanically inclined person – unlike herself – she preferred to daydream and write.

The trickling and pattering sound of the rain stopped. A deep breath, rushing through her nose. The feeling of fresh after-rain air cooled and cleansed her lungs. Nothing is comparable. No more dust. No more exhaust smell from cars. It was perfect. But be-careful she thought to herself, the roads are slippery now. She hopped onto her bicycle, waving to her new tree friend – thinking toward the tree – “I'll remember where you are, we'll meet again for a picnic!” As she begin to peddle she could hear the deep intense roar of thunder. Beside her the windows of a house could be heard rattling in suspense. This was a new storm - a storm unlike any other. The rain was going to return. Better hurry up. As she continued riding, sirens begin to blare in the distance. The storm horn begin to make that crazy wobbling, throbbing, and piercing sound. It was this bad? What do I do? Riding home will take at least another hour.

Stopping for a moment to look behind her. She can see it. The funnel. Getting bigger and steadily heading her way. The trees begin to violently sway back and forth, until they started to bend in only one direction. That can only mean one thing. It started, strange crackling noises and banging sounds from the far distance. Cars unwillingly begin to move by themselves. Oh my God! She hopped off her bicycle to look around. No one in sight. How could I have missed the news? Why didn't anyone warn me? Running toward the nearest house, she banged on the door. No use. The residence, if they are there, they will just think it's the storm. Well, there's no choice now. She grabs her bag and looks for her bicycle lock. She holds it with both hands to make a clenched solid fist. Approaching the front window, she gathers up her strength and begins to hit it, again, again, and again. The window finally shatters but only partially. Taking off her helmet, she uses it to smash away the remaining fragments.

Prepared to jump into the house – she has a moment of clarity and thinks to herself, 'Wait, my beloved bicycle!' Head down into the blowing winds, she steps toward it. The bicycle feels incredibly heavy. She drags it with all of her might, slipping into the ground. She cries, “No, please let me take my bicycle!” Suddenly, a boy inside the house, holding a bright flash light, noticed her. A psychic moment occurred – staring into her eyes – each sharing thoughts of fear and forebodement. Without thinking or speaking, he sees her predicament and runs to her distress. Helping her toss the bicycle into the house, he then yells into the muffling wind, “Come on! You must come with me now!” She looks sadly at her bicycle, possibly for the last time, and runs with him down to the basement.

“You are so lucky I saw you. We needed to get more water.”, the boy explained. The house begin to rumble and shake. All of the lights suddenly went out. A moment of eerie silence, then a swirling-howling-buzzing sound... as if though hundreds of saws were encasing the house and ready to cut it open. Not far from the truth, as the storm was using the entire neighborhood as a natural drill – every piece it picked up was used to destroy the next object. One neighbor's property and possessions were tragically being used as a weapon against another neighbor. The storm was a natural enemy to humans – without prejudice – with only one purpose – destruction.

Hours later, darkness, silence. Birds chirping in the distance. It must be safe now. As the boy opened the basement door, beams of sunlight blinded him. The clarity of the sky was immense. Too immense! Where is the house? All he could see were fragments of broken wood, shingles and pieces of the bathroom furniture - the bottom portion of a 'secured' toilet and a stubborn overturned bathtub.

Dust

Preparing to leave the house, I enter the exit-cleaning chamber naked and close the door. It's the only way to go outside. It's a simple circular shaped chamber, large enough for 3 occupants, with multiple vents circling the walls from top to bottom. It has the power to vacuum out the entire room within seconds – able to suck-out and filter the smallest particle, down to the micron and possibly beyond. Everyone has a chamber now, otherwise living spaces will be unlivable, smells would become unbearable, disease would become rampant and life would be traumatically difficult; especially, when working with sensitive technology and laboratory equipment.

Entering the chamber, the door automatically closes behind me. In the middle are pole shaped handrails, held up vertically and bolted to the floor by multiple posts. Sections of the rails have ergonomic gripping, peppered with microscopic pores for sanitizing and cleaning the hands. Below is a grating with clearly visible turbines and propellers underneath it. The walls have vents interspersed with automatic mechanisms for open and shut. Above is a breathing apparatus. I pull it down. It covers my entire face, including my ears to protect my hearing. As I grip the railing, the machine senses my hands and begins to whir and churn. The wind picks up speed in iterations, forming a barely visible funnel of great strength, gently pulling me from side to side. In front, I see the status screen and hear a digitized female voice stating, 'Cleaning commencing, hold tight and do not move.' A small alarm bell rings. It lasts about one minute. Nothing discernible. It simply immersed and flooded the room with ultra-sonic vibrations to force-loosen any stubborn microscopic particles. I let go of a rail without thinking. An alarm buzzes loudly with a metallic voice, 'Warning, please re-mount'. As I grip the railing again, the second stage begins, this time with a much greater force of wind. I feel a vibration as my hands become stuck to the rail's grip. A suction begins to clean them. My entire body jostles back and forth. I can feel the air flowing up my legs, across my back and stomach, causing my hair to stand up. It gets stronger, slightly lifting my entire body – in order to clean the bottom of my feet. It then stops. Suddenly quiet. A few seconds pass. Third and final stage: A special gas is released. It causes the air to become extremely heavy, forcing any particle that refused to budge to give way and fall into the floor and down below. The pressure on the skin is immense as if going into deep sea water. The vents open and blow out the remaining particles and gas. Oxygen refills the room. The environment returns to normal. Finally, the voice says, 'Cleaning Finished'. I re-mount the breathing apparatus into its cradle above me. Next, I step forward to the clothing closet. Waving my hand in front of the sensor it slides open. The clothing closet , similar in operation, is a smaller version and shape of larger cleaning chamber. The difference is that has a much more vigorous cleaning-vent system. since there is no concern of harming life. I begin to dress, covering myself from head to toe with a seamless long sleeve shirt, air-tight connected pants, filter mask mounted, skin flush goggles, an impractical yet fashionable scarf, gloves to my elbows, boots up to my knees and a special hat equipped to cover, protect and enhance my hearing. As I push the button to exit the door, the voice warns me, “Self cleaning shall commence upon exit, re-entry not allowed for 10 minutes.” I step outside, exposing the chamber to the dust, close the door and hear the self-cleaning process of the chamber beginning. This time it is much louder and more intense than before. Since there is no risk to harming human occupants, it utilizes gale force winds, UV light, blistering heat pulses and bacterial killing fumigation to sanitize the chamber.

I walk to the local shop. I begin to ponder the endless dust. It is the dust that makes our breathing labored. It spins in the winds, sifts itself through the windows and crevices of buildings and cleverly penetrates our clothing. Without the goggles for protection, the dust would dominate my visibility and burn my eyes.

The dust is a part of who we are now. We used to prevent it. We planted shrubs, various plants and trees to hold down the soil. We regularly washed down our houses, cars, patios and gardens. That was until the water ran out, almost completely. There was a time when the fresh water was plentiful, or at least that is how it seemed. Some argue today that what is now is the norm, that our expectations were pure fantasy. It's quite possible. As this is considered a semi-arid climate – the water was never meant to be. The local inhabitants should be cactus, lizards, and snakes – not flowers and people with their domesticated pets such as dogs, cats and horses. Instead, as it is our nature to terraform every environment that we see, we decided this must be a place for people. It was a place that can serve every purpose and fulfill every dream. It had, and continues to have, a climate with warm winters and cool summers. Seasons were merely semantics for determining the location of the planet to the sun, to change the time or to mock our not-so-fortunate friends and family. So we built our cities, our parks, the golf courses and amusement parks. We had the tenacity to grow sprawling gardens. We had so much confidence in our ability to control nature, we harvested fruits, vegetables, livestock and dairy farms – enough to support the other-world colonies. We became the main source for food that everyone cherished and relied upon. We were the kings of agriculture. The envy of all dreamers.

The planners thought, 'So what if we didn't have enough water? We can always import it from the other climatically harsh regions.' Yet, their planning had its limits. Being near the largest bodies of water on the planet, we figured, we'll just use it when we need it. We can build anything. We'll convert the saline (salt water) to fresh water anytime. There is plenty of time for that... meanwhile, we can continue to fulfill our dreams. Never did they expect that the water would dry up in the plentiful areas – in fact, it dried out everywhere. Scientists continue to do this day try to explain why it all happened: why the great drought killed so many, why we weren't prepared, and why we could never have expected it. Yet, others say we saw the warning signs, we were told to harness the nurturing and inherit power of the oceans, but it was too late.

We started to see the first signs of the drought...

To be continued ...