Archive for ‘WebComic’
I am a robot. To test my artificial intelligence, and my ability to mimic human thought and behavior, my creators sometimes place me in rooms with real humans and have me strike up a conversation with them. They are not told before entering that I AM a robot, so I assume the point of it all is to see if they notice anything ‘off’ about me, or if I can successfully pass as just a normal, real person. The term is ‘Turing test’, I believe.
The gentleman who just walked in is looking at me rather nervously. A shy fellow, it would seem. Not wanting to give him cause for alarm or concern, I act as normal and human as I can.
“Wonderful weather we’re having!” I say jovially, gesturing grandly with my gatling-gun arms.
He nods nervously, smiling, but backing away.
“What’s wrong, friend?” I ask, gently, skittering closer on my dozens of spindly legs, all four of my eyes telescoping out to look at him closely.
“Nothing!” he sputters “It’s…it IS wonderful weather we’re having!”
I nod, my heavy neck clanging cheerfully up and down on its pistons.
“It certainly is!” and then, feeling like maybe I should relax around someone so high-strung, I deepen my voice further, and intone slowly “Today is a good day”, with happy little flames hissing out between my jaws, like a relaxing fireplace on Christmas day.
The man looks nearly ready to pass out.
Very odd. What’s WRONG with this guy?
But then I realize: HE’S a robot! That’s why he’s acting so ‘off’ !He MUST be! They’re pulling the ol’ Double Turing! They want to see if two robots, both human-like, can recognize each OTHER for what they are! My, but I have some clever creators. I almost feel bad for seeing through their ruse so quickly, after they must have been so proud to come up with it.
“You are a robot!” I happily shriek “Show me your insides!”
I’m curious whether his interior looks similar to my own, but just as I unsheathe my scythe-tail to help open him up, an EMP surges through the room and I pass out. Peculiarly, I notice before all goes dark, the other robot seems not to, and seems to be busily trying to leave the room. No wonder. There are EMP’S about!
Scary!
I awaken awhile later, one of my creators staring at me with concern.
“How do you feel?” she asks.
“Oh, quite alright, quit alright. And…I’m sorry” I reply, sheepish about having pulled back the curtain of their little game so immediately.
“It’s…okay. But you won’t be participating in any more tests like that for some time.”
Of couse. I had proven my social skills quite definitively.
“So, then, what are we doing today?” I ask, not wanting to rudely dwell on my own achievements.
“Back to combat tests.”
I sigh, steam issuing forth through my teeth
“I just don’t feel as CONFIDENT in those situations.”
“Are you kidding? You’re by FAR our most effective and highest-testing project in every simulation we’ve tried!”
I pause for a moment.
“Diplomat at heart
Forced to live a fighter’s life
My sword can’t be dropped”
She stares at me blankly
“Haiku.” I explain.
I climb the old ladder
To the top of the wall
And stare out past our border
And I see the future
Walking towards us
A giant and endless centipede
Trailing past the horizon ahead
And below me
Disappearing into the tunnel we built
Well, not ‘we’
My ancestors, this town’s ancient people
The tunnel they built into the wall
That leads through our baroque city
A path kept clear and protected
For the centipede’s eternal journey
When I was young, I would sit near the path
And watch the centipede pass
Its segmented body blurring into a cohesive snake
Its spindly, busy legs buzzing like motors
Some of my friends would even rest their hands on its body, rushing past
Though touching it was illegal
And they would brag about how strange it felt
I never did
And by the time I was older and braver
(Though still just a kid)
I found the centipede boring and mundane
Everyone gets used to its constant, repetitive parade
But now, looking out over our town’s wall
And knowing what I know
I jump
And land on the centipede’s back
I run as fast as I can
And though the centipede walks quickly
It paces itself, for its journey never ends
And by sprinting
I make progress, running upstream across its body
And around me
I see the plains changing
I see the grass, bending and rising and falling
As shifting and dynamic as a rippling sea
And I see trees, their trunks rising
Then exploding into leafy branches at their apex
Fireworks
And the sky above me changes too erratically to observe
Flashing between night and day like a strobe light
And the clouds speed by overhead like a river
As the epileptic landscape turns to reds and browns
I feel the chill of winter approaching
And in a gentle avalanche
The world is blanketed in snow
Undulating in piles and snowbanks
I witness speedy shadow children flash and vanish before my eyes
A fast-collapsing snowman, the only proof that I truly saw them
And the cold, striking in unpredictable waves, starts to wear away on me
For I am dressed in summer clothing
But finally, the snow sinks into the earth,
And spring has come
Bringing green with it
Along with showers
The flashes of rain make the centipede’s armored hide slippery
And I lose my footing, falling onto my back
And though I get my bearings fairly quickly,
I tumble off of the creature’s back
Landing in mud
Which I pollute with vomit
As the shock of falling back into normal time makes me dreadfully nauseous
But as soon as I recover, I consider my situation
And I find that I miss my home
It would be quickest to hitch a ride back to town on the centipede
But it’s too tall to get on easily from below
And the legs thrash too violently to hold on to
So I walk home alongside the centipede
While the rain follows me
And asks in wet whispers
What I will tell my parents
When they demand to know where I’ve been
For the past six months
I ask the centipede if it has any suggestions
But its ears are a million years ago
And my question comes too late
The forest has infinite hands
All of them lazy
All of them reaching
For the nearest star
But their wooden arms are sluggish
Their arms bend with the days
And though their bodies grow tall
Turning water and light into wood
Architects building themselves Inch by inch
Guided by blueprints they found in their seeds
They never quite reach the star
(Really, never coming close)
Perhaps understanding
It would make them burn
So they relax their campaign
And let squirrels move in
I pick up the feather
Fallen from the bird in flight
And examine it thoughtfully
Its exquisite design
Meanwhile
Back at my house
On the bathroom floor
A beetle picks up one of my toenail clippings
And examines it thoughtfully
Its exquisite design
Those closest to him noticed a difference in him the day he came back from his trip
He had grown suave
And debonair
Always immaculate
And he always knew exactly what to say
About anything
He would reveal himself to be an expert on any subject that could be brought up
His newfound fortunes, too
Were a source of much speculation
When asked where his wealth came from, he’d merely wink
There were only two issues with his seemingly new persona
One was his strange habit of frequently excusing himself from the room whenever a new subject was brought up
And being gone, less than a minute, before returning to expertly weigh in on the matter
(jokes were made, that he was quickly and furiously looking the matter up in an encyclopedia)
Also, every once in awhile, he would seem to sharply twitch…very quickly
As if he would just instantaneously, but slightly, change his posture into an approximation of itself
These twitches usually seemed to happen when he was in a position where it would be impossible to excuse himself
Though that fact was never consciously noticed by his associates
And though it was observed over the years that he seemed to be aging very poorly
Always looking far older than his peers, and increasing the gap consistently
Enough was, perhaps, not made of that
It was merely brought up as a matter of light curiosity when he was absent
- – -
For his own part, he started to grow neurotic
And worse, he could feel himself growing unhinged
But every ultimatum he presented himself with was elegantly and justifiably broken
He continued to freeze time
Over and over
Whenever he felt that doing so would benefit him
However mildly
By giving him preparation time
Or simply time to relax
Indeed, the flow of time now struck him as crude and frightening, needlessly stressful
He was, he could admit to the frozen halls of society in his most private moments,
Addicted
To being the one person awake in a crowd of marionettes
To the sight of rain suspended in air
And the feathery-wet sensation of running through it
To the delights of stealing without worrying about risk
And being able to frame whoever he wanted at his leisure
To being able to walk through an unmoving world
Feeling like a hero or a god
These were the sorts of thoughts he was feeling one day
As he walked across the enormous suspension bridge
One of his favorite haunts
Seagulls hanging in the air as if stuffed, and stringed to the sky
All the fools in their cars, with dull faces
He cheerfully broke the headlights of anyone he passed who he didn’t like the look of
And he eventually stood at the edge of the bridge, and surveyed his kingdom
He, the secret sovereign
The waves of the bay beneath him, great and unmoving
As he smiled a drowsy smile
(the act of sleeping now irritated him, and he had cut it down to a minimum)
He nearly dozed off right where he stood
And though he snapped back to full awareness almost immediately
He had, by then, already toppled over the safety rails, and was plummeting down from the bridge
And whether he lacked the wherewithall, or was simply too selfish to think of it,
The end result is that he dashed against the unyielding, jaggedly still water
His bones wetly splintering through his skin
Resulting in his prompt death
Without him ever resuming the flow of time
Those who are blinking will never open their eyes
Those walking will stand like flamingoes, one leg in the air, for eternity
Those asleep won’t know how their dreams end, confronted with magical toads dancing on soup cans, always
Cats in mid-pounce will never reach the dragonflies
Or even fall short
The biscuit sits half-eaten in her mouth, forever
Never swallowed
The boy’s chemotherapy will not succeed, nor fail
But he won’t die
Neither will anyone else
The moon halts
The sun’s lashing flames are now hardened roots
No more surprises
The box is shut





