Quia Sum, Cogito: Chapter 20

On the Introduction of “Social Media”
The world of the early 2000s was changing: virtual chat rooms gave way to instant international public engagement as the technology advanced, all replacing the face to face interactions of yesteryear. Even the construction of narratives shifted: the gross wealth inequality eventually allowed private citizens to acquire established news outlets which were buckling under the ever increasing operational costs. This granted them temporary dictation over a manufactured truth but ultimately collapsed the trust of the institutions. The resulting market vacuum was filled by a cacophony of anonymous voices in the new virtual interconnections known as “social media”. The digital anarchy exploded into multiple conflicting realities to choose from. While this could have been liberating under different circumstances – allowing the populace to shift from one narrative to the next without loyalty but increased empathy and understanding; the legacy of individualism and expert dependency caused the opposite effect – users became entrapped within ever more insulated echo chambers that validated their predetermined truth. The legal and ethical reactions of governments – which were completely unprepared for the existential shift – varied greatly, some of which became protectionist to ensure order and increased national allegiance while others deemed the robust communication apparatus a natural right. Regardless, this shift in community gave equal empowerment to both the voiceless (promoting an unparalleled rise in the virtues of direct democracy and wisdom of the crowd) and also conmen (feeding on anonymity, a juvenile application of postmodern news generation, and desperate demographics that were victims of lost privilege).
The Technological Revolution – Troy Akadom – published March 4, 2037
As we desperately run through the forest, the vines and weeds reach out and pick us off, one by one, tripping us and causing us to stumble. I don’t know why I’m running, but it seems the right thing to do at the moment; at least until I fall as well, caught by a small weed which slowly snakes its way up my leg. I almost wretch it off as the tendrils bury into me and draw blood. While the disgust is overwhelming, there is no pain, but I submit to the encroaching vegetation. I push through fear allowing it – and other vines and roots – to burrow into me, embracing the connection. This uncomfortable body dissolves into a vessel of unity. The others continue to flee – racing to an unestablished finish line – animals and plants start to surround the thing that was once me and it is pulled under the warm soil. It doesn’t fight the submersion; and through it I experience the explosion of colors I’ve never seen before but fully expected to encounter. Erupting into sounds and smells; reforming the universe into something novel… yet familiar and ancient, and lonely.
I open my eyes as the BioWear on my arm vibrates with the 0600 hours alarm. Without activating the AR, there is barely any light in the room. I strain to see tarnished and weather faded cream paint on the bedroom walls and I hear the calm breeze from beyond the door. I know I shouldn’t be surprised anymore at the missing pillow beside me, but I am. It’s been almost two years since that chapter of my life has concluded, but I miss the morning company. Regardless, the entire summary of the relationship hits me: laughter, tears, fights, celebrations, love, depression, anxiety, comfort, and so many more emotions in an instant both named and unnamed. I can’t help but wonder if the catharsis is mutual for him as well.
My nostalgia is interrupted by Hampster pushing her way into the room; making her way to the section of the bed where the sheets are damaged. She’s learned to account for the small studs on her collar to avoid tearing the sheets further and rests her brown and black head on the bed. After taking a moment to scratch the dog behind the ears, I sit up with an ache in my joints that comes with getting older. I don’t feel old though, 38 isn’t old. I slightly chuckle at my own vanity. Hampster runs out of the room and waits at the door expecting me to follow.
Even though it’s still warm, its noticeably colder since the weather front hit us, slightly more chilly when compared to the previous days. It will surely get warmer as the day goes on, still too hot to do anything really meaningful outside without the BioWear, but for now the comfortable air is a welcome relief… and downright pleasant compared to the summer warmth. It doesn’t seem like that much time has gone by since the Consensus deemed the property habitable and gifted us the property to take care of. Exiting the bedroom, I walk across the carpet of pine needles, dust, and leaves which has blown in through the missing section of the wall; I consider that “habitable” likely took a more strict meaning in the past. Though, it is nice when the occasional bird or squirrel visits, even if it sends Hampster into a fit.
Samuel is still asleep in his room and I’ll wake him up after getting clean. On the wall just before the hallway entrance, I trade out one of the two newly depleted batteries with the one collecting the charge from the previous day with a fluid motion before moving to the bathroom to change my pad. The room has no windows to let in the natural light, so I activate the virtual feed which will shift the brightness of the world to something more manageable. I marvel for a moment at the technological advancement as the boot up cycle runs its course – throwing up the logos of the manufacturer, checking on all the connections, relaying personal health stats – and contrast that to the technology that’s as old as clothes. Adding on that the pad hasn’t progressed much more than the rag it started with is an extra insult. I have to subdue the irritation by reminding myself we all have blindspots, and half the population doesn’t have to deal with this. Then the irritation reemerges when considering that’s only likely because of what has historically been considered “acceptable” to talk about.
With the brightness at a more usable level, I start my grooming routine. The same disgust I always get revisits me as I look to see how heavy the blood flow of the day is so I can prepare accordingly for the day to come. It’s light, so hopefully this will be the last day of the month to worry about this. While taking my morning reprieve, I consider that today isn’t my day to bathe. Even though I feel disgusting, the water shortage is putting a strain on everyone. It would be unfair to others to appeal for special treatment for something so trivial. After getting up, I grab two of the bowls off the shelf and fill up one. The sound of the running water screeches against my skull as I also retrieve two rags, one for me and one for Sam when he wakes up. I wash off – reserving my crotch for last so I don’t soil the cloth too early – before finding some new clothes and applying clean protection to my underwear while disposing of the non-reusable water down the drain.
The morning preparation is accompanied by the slight buzzing in my skull I’ve been acclimated to and I realize almost immediately that today it will cause a migraine. My joints strain under the burden of the increased power drain while I get ready for the day. I’m scheduled to fulfill janitorial duties for the rest of the week on the CapDem campus, so wrapping my chest and adding a tinge of dishevelment to my hair is an extra precaution I’ll have to endure if I don’t want to be dehumanized. I also break the unenforced CapDem law by wearing the more lax attire assigned to the male custodial workers and the synthetic suspenders that I inherited from my granddad. It’s surprising how little people question their own expectations when you play the part well enough. The anticipated exhaustion evokes a sigh no one except Hampster and the ever present CoDaS hears. I grab the last two pads from under the sink and stuff them in the side pocket of my work pants, adding a personal note to the AR that I’ll need to “resupply my stock” when cleaning the women’s restrooms.
Samuel’s room has more character than mine: art projects that he’s finished, tokens from his friends, and a few pictures of us all together. Seeing my younger reflection, laughing and being carried by Clint while Samuel is hanging off his arm is a bitter sweet reminder of what the world expects and how easy it was when I could comply. It still breaks me to realize I can’t fault him for leaving, but the prioritization of his personal truth over our solemn promise to unconditionally support each other was – and still is – invalidating.
Then I look at my kid, sleeping awkwardly and peacefully, and I realize how grateful I am to the child. He will likely never know how much the neutral acceptance helps to push away the existential self doubt. He has never had any preconceived expectations of me beyond accepting who I am. I often wonder if he knew me before I knew myself. How could he not? He was never taught a delusional understanding of my identity. I only hope I can repay the favor if it’s ever needed.
After a few attempts, my nudges finally stir him awake. He looks at me with groggy annoyance before trying to ignore me and go back to bed. I remind him – as I do every morning: “You know the drill.”
A muffled and sluggish voice comes from the sheets he’s buried himself in: “I know. I’m up.”
“See that it stays that way.” And I tickle his foot as I leave causing him to spasm and ball up. I hope this is a typical day when he will get ready as soon as I leave, but allowing him to set his own terms might also mean that he’s going to push the bounds. I really hope it’s the former as I place a communicator on my cheekbone so I can passively listen in on the daily updates from the Consensus and my morning headache starts to set in.
The daily discomfort has taken on a new malice since I was diagnosed with technological dysphoria, the aches have always been part of my life, but to think that it could have been avoided this whole time is almost insulting. I grab two of the anti-pain pills off the cabinet while wondering if I will be doing the same thing tomorrow. I reflexively swallow them while remembering that experiences are inherently normal until there is reason to think differently. At least that’s the assumption of Tendis; “Quia Sum Cogito” – “I am, so I think”; we can’t help but normalize ourselves. If it is dysphoria and the new BioWare helps, I wonder how much my understanding of myself will change? Ahh… existential dread, there you are again.
And right on cue, the soft manipulative childish voice of CoDaS that reflects my own past greets me for the day, “Good morning, is the headache bad today?”
“It’s getting worse. You collect any new souls today?”
There is an audible synthetic sigh, “I really wish you wouldn’t phrase it like that. Humans are more than just a collection of stamps.”
“And you know I have a hard time understanding how you can acknowledge that. You sighed just now. Why?” I cut up some of the kibble for Hampster and put some fresh water into her bowl, careful not to give an excess. With the shortage, it seems some of the wildlife has also been taking advantage of the undefended hydration. Hampster takes advantage of her claim on the nourishment, eating and drinking her fill and leaving a small amount behind.
“It’s a form of communication just like any other. Same as the tone of voice or an outburst. It’s all an expression to get thoughts across.”
As I think about the statement for a moment, I gather some of the brush that has blown through the open wall for fuel for the stove. “Well that’s an idea: violence is part of speech. I don’t think the justice system would agree with that.”
“Obviously it can’t. That’s why you’re ensuring the laws written into the Principles are never considered objective, right?”
“Of course. It’s a nice reminder that you don’t think that will be possible.” The cast iron stove heats the room gradually as it produces a means to boil some of the stored consumable water. As I place the kettle on the cooking surface, a few twitches of my arm interacts with the cuff; creating a note to ask Samuel if he can fetch some after school.
“My disagreement is irrelevant. You and others were specifically picked because you bring different perspectives. I don’t necessarily disagree though, if a society is going to have principles, it needs to commit to a foundation, even if that foundation is essentialized subjectivity. All those that instinctually engage in formatting truth through pattern recognition need an authority to check it against. An authority to return to when they become the proverbial prodigal son.”
Behind the childish feminine voice of CoDaS, I notice the current presenter in the Announcements is causing a massive amount of feedback. “Should I have been listening to this?”
“Yes. There is a potential asteroid headed for Earth. Not much is known, you should submit any questions you have.”
The new information and the blunt way in which it was presented creates an animalistic fear and need to know more. “What is the threat level?”
As CoDaS responds with “I’ll synthesize the questions with all the others”, one of the more well known Consensus Voices pitches in. “Quia sum, cogito. We know what those words mean: even if the worst comes to pass, we will survive. It is just another bump in the road,” for half a moment I roll my eyes and remember why Kyle irritates me so much. The audaciousness of speaking on authority about things that he doesn’t know about. In this case, Tendis’s words. It’s a common misconception which is useful in moments like this to calm things down, but dammit all… those people appeal to the philosophy constantly but half of the time they miss the damn point. The half moment has passed and Kyle continues on, “but there are pressing questions,” then after a slight pause, “namely, what is the threat? And how long do we have?”
The original speaker, a lady named Rachel – which appears to be an astrophysicist (a rare profession in current times) – takes the hint, “Oh! Sorry, yes… we have years to prepare even in the worst situation. I don’t doubt that with CoDaS adding to the calculations we could mitigate any threat.” With that clarification I realize how tense I am for Samuel’s future, bracing for worse news. I relax my clenched jaw while considering how little technical thinkers care about the importance of narrative.
Samuel should be getting dressed by now. I’ll give him a few more minutes before I check to see if he is being good to his word.
I realize I’m pouring the protein mix into bowls without thinking about it, then I move to cut up a peach to add to it while listening to the last few minutes of the announcements and reviewing the bullet points to see what I missed:
- Water shortage still in effect.
- Rising demand for solution
- Reminder that no one deserves more than anyone else.
- Neighboring regions are still on good terms
- Water shortage is putting slight strain on diplomacy
- NY004 attack was exciting but damage was trivial
- Census status: current speakers continue to match the augmented population
- Concern for local known reactionary groups: slight
- CapDem risk level: medium
- Rail repair workers are staying as guests
- Appreciate the hospitality, trying not to overstay
- Local infrastructure is stable
- CoDaS made it clear that humanity isn’t it’s priority
- Rising concern that CoDaS is sympathetic to the CapDems
The last point was interesting. “CoDaS, you compile these reviews, right?”
“Yes. I included the last one because there should be no confusion about how the rest of society feels about me. They are starting to lose trust.” Its ability to anticipate my questions always reminds me of what it’s capable of, which means that the reminder is the intent in not letting me ask to begin with.
“And it’s wise to spread that concern? Won’t that add social justification to any latent fears?”
“Did it for you?”
I think for a second, “If I thought you were actually on our side, it would definitely add to those, yeah!”
“I’ll take that into consideration.” The nonchalance of that response is out of character, but it’s also an AI. It’s part of its programming to update itself. It is easier to focus on the final preparations of the morning meal then to understand the motivations of Continuous Recursive Programming Theory. I add the heated water and mix it into a porridge.
Samuel hasn’t connected his BioWear to the network yet which is a bad sign, so I move to his room to make sure he’s getting ready for the day and knock on the door. The reaction inside is disappointing: the sound of hastily getting out of bed. I move in while he is rummaging through the pile of folded clothes waiting to be put in the storage chest at the foot of the bed – still wearing the same clothes he slept in. I close my eyes to suppress the advancing headache, “Samuel, you promised you would get ready.”
He looks at me with a defiant annoyance of youthful guilt. A darker than normal hew of light blue projected onto him by the AR app due to the anticipated disagreement, “I’m getting ready now, alright? And I didn’t promise.”
I respond while massaging my temples to ease the pain, “You know what you…,” this isn’t worth it. “No. We don’t have time for this. Just get ready. Quickly please. Breakfast is going to get cold.”
And with that I turn my back on the scene and walk out. While closing the door, he calls back in frustration, “But cold breakfast is awful! Can’t you reheat it?” I make an adjustment to the morning’s schedule to account for Samuel sleeping in. We’ll be running a bit late, but I should still be able to get to the appointment in the expected window.
To his credit, it only takes around 3 minutes for Samuel to join me at the table for breakfast. Other than the purposeful tussle of hair that seems to be a new trend with his friends and missing socks and shoes, he’s ready to leave. I envy his lack of responsibility for a moment before running through a list of things he typically forgets. “Did you wash?”
The lightened hue darkens again while he looks at me with continued frustration “I did last night.”
“Cleaned your teeth?”
An irritated shake of the head as it gets slightly darker, “I’ll do it after breakfast.”
“You have everything for school?”
“Can you stop for a second?!” He looks at me for a moment with frustration giving way to exhaustion. The hew lightens again as the eye contact lingers for a moment. He goes back to eating. A silence sets in for a few minutes. Samuel takes advantage of the peace to shovel his breakfast down, trying to make up for lost time. After finishing, he looks at his empty bowl for a moment before giving an expected apology. “I thought I would wake up if I went back to sleep. I know I shouldn’t have.” We both look at each other without saying anything, “but I didn’t promise.”
I let my face slip into a look of doubt. “You know as well as I do that you promised not to go back to sleep anymore.”
He withdrawals while holding up his hands as a way of guarding himself from this reminder, “yeah… but I didn’t promise today.” He raises and lowers his eyebrows to avoid a sincerity that the words could express. When my face doesn’t budge, he adorns one of his half joking expressions to probe a laugh. I think of CoDaS’s comment about language.
I shake my head but give the necessary chuckle to indicate he’s not in real trouble. “Go finished getting ready, we have to leave in [I check the schedule] 10 minutes if we are going to catch the trolley.”
“Is there any more water for tea?”
I shake my head, slightly annoyed I didn’t think about it. “No. Sorry.”
He moves to the stove that is still hot enough to boil some water, “Is the headache bad today?”
I realize I’m massaging my temples again and stop, “That’s for me to worry about. Oh! Will you do me a favor and pick up some clean water on your way home today? I won’t get a chance to.”
He responds with a simple innocent “Sure!” before moving to the washroom to brush his teeth.
I call to the other room, “And do a quick wipe down while you’re in there! The smell is getting a bit much!”
“Common! It’s not that bad, dad!” I chuckle a bit at his irritation while internally justifying the insult with knowing puberty needs to be normalized. It was still a jerky thing to do though.
When he returns to the room a few minutes later, he catches me finishing a wipe down of the dishes. The unprompted ask “When are we going to go on a trip?” catches me off guard. I pause for a moment before getting the last bit of food crumbs off the dishes with the reserved Soap Water.
“Did we decide that we were actually going?”
“Dad, you need a break. I know you don’t think you do, but you’re way too stressed out with all the late nights. S or misshapen?” I look at the kid with confusion and he holds up two water containers to respond.
“Misshapen.” Samuel puts the container with an “S” on it away, and uses the other to prepare the tea. “The late nights shouldn’t be lasting too much longer. If all goes well, tonight will be the last one. So maybe we can talk about a trip a bit more tomorrow. But right now -” I check the time, “we really need to go! Put your shoes on, please!”
We are likely going to miss the 0750 trolley and I start remapping a new route to The Compound. This time sorting by ‘arrival time’ rather than ‘social quality’ or ‘efficiency’. All options still place us as arriving late. “CoDaS, is it possible for us to be on time for my appointment?”
I hear the childish voice in my head as we close the door behind us. In my haste, I’m only reminded of the irony as I look at the missing wall that Hampster jumps through to start her daily adventure. “Currently, you’ll be able to make it and you’re on the best route.”
I notice the imprint of childrens’ hands and a date that were cast into the broken driveway as we rush by. A daily reminder of the permanency of the materials used in 2038 and how the demand for aesthetic upkeep and hindrance of natural reclamation is still a plague on us today. “Taylor! Do you have a second?” Before looking, I know the voice and realize we are going to miss the trolley.
I turn to see the average height, bearded man coming at me. The social app gives him the default blue tinge; his is faint, but still darker than Samuel’s. The intensity indicates how much his relative philosophy differs from my own at the moment. Samuel’s is now a barely noticeable green indicating more in agreement with my worldview by the hew, and the color difference shows Samuel and Greg will conflict on a few things, but generally see the world in the same way. When looking at the highlights of the prioritized differences, the view of gender is the most prolific contrast and my presentation doesn’t matter to him. I’m going to be expected to act more like a girl.
I talk with a softer voice and shift my stance to more reserved, “We are actually in a bit of a rush Greg. Can we talk later?” I know already that this won’t work. Greg is a nice enough guy, but he still sees me as most men see women – feminine, submissive, and care takers – it’s rare that they don’t and even more rare that the dynamic is acknowledged at all.
“It’ll be quick. I promise.” A promise. The divine contract has been made. He best stick to it.
“What’s up?”
“Hampster has been barking a lot more the last couple days, it’s been a bit of a disruption to the neighborhood.” I wait a moment for a conclusion to the statement, but apparently that was it.
I rub my forehead to suppress the headache again. “What would you suggest we do?”
“If you want, I could keep Hampster company for a bit while you’re at work… I mean, do you think that would be acceptable? I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Oh.. that’s fine.” Hampster has always gotten along with the neighbors and – even though they have their quirks – they are all good people. “You’ll have to catch her though, she should come if you call, but she just took off. It seems weird that she’s barking though. Usually she’s pretty quiet.” I had forgotten for a moment who I was talking to and realize my mistake too late.
Greg accepts the unintentional invitation to continue the conversation, “I’ve actually heard about animals acting out when they are neglected by their pack or herd or whatever. Maybe this is something like that? Are you giving Hampster enough attention at home?”
I cannot imagine a universe in which the condemnation of negligence isn’t intentional. But time restraint is going to force me to look guilty. I’ll correct the record later. “She’s never shown any indication of it. I’m sorry Greg, but I do need to go. I hope you have fun with Hampster.” I give a submissive smile before moving past him to jog down the street with Samuel to catch the trolley.
From behind me I hear Greg call out with a final word on the conversation, “Sometimes it’s easy to overlook those things! Just look out for it in the future!” Typical engagement. I can’t help that it adds to my annoyance. I check the schedule again and stop jogging.
Samuel – who was slightly behind – stops beside me. “Sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to make us late.”
As we watch the trolley pull away at the end of the street, I let out a sligh irritated sigh, “It’s alright kid. It’s an oddity when things go as we expect.” We give solemn smiles to each other before we continue walking to the end of the street to wait.