![]() They call them N41, and after their first book they really became a thing. This guy.always last minute.but always so good! No one writes like him about this new generation of AI-Novel writers. Your friends are expecting you and that Electro-Funk music duo you guys like so much, is on and loud in the aviary”.įinally Andrea’s text. Go back to be a regular bird till you can. Let me give him some extra corn and a sip of the energy drink. I could recognize his tweeting among a thousand G-N1 doves. This time again, Bob was lucky.Īh! Bob must be here. And the house-office where the text needs to be delivered is right around the corner. Squatting down behind some reflective space blankets to hide from the drones, some hookers wander around dodgy streets: in a post-pandemic time, when human-to-human physical encounters have been deemed illegal, prostituion has become for many the last resort to have physical contact. ![]() From his bird's eye gaze, the streets, the buildings, the trees below him slide through as a confused blend of colors and shapes. He has been flying inside the anarchic territory of Noolwok for a few minutes now, and there seems to be no danger at the horizon. This for him would mean certain death, but there are no alternatives: he should take the risk.īob is now tensing his muscles and bending his wings to make his body more aerodynamics. For a bird, crossing Noolwok can be incredibly dangerous: the place is known for the gory fights between eagles trained by the police and unauthorized drones, and Bob fears he will be mistaken for one of those birds at the service of the law. There is just one thing he can do: veer abruptly to the right, re-route, and pass through Noolwok, the ungoverned part of the city run by hackers. His ETA is 7.14AM, way past his delivery deadline. He takes a nervous glimpse at the nano-monitor installed in his aviary pupils and quickly realizes that he is in trouble. I take Bob, give him some corn, place the micro-pen drive on his hook-shaped neck and launch him in the pristine blue sky.īob has flown over the city for almost one and a half hours now, and he still hasn’t arrived at his destination. She also has an aviary, but a much bigger one. Bob, the biggest and strongest, flies regularly to the home-office of my manager. Each one is trained to fly between my home and different locations across the city. On my balcony (a small accessible fragment on the outside world) I have installed a large aviary where I keep my friends and companions: a small colony of genetically modified doves, commonly known as G-N1. I need to send this text by 07.00AM and I’m going to do that the other way! Deadlines still don’t obey network disruptions. The problem is when they fucked up your deadlines though. After years of ultra reliable band connection I could not stand to wait even for a few extra seconds for my dear data, but now.I actually enjoy these pauses, it’s like breathing again. We said goodbye to diesel powered backup generators a while ago, and with that to the industrial efficiency that came with it. These days we are basically harvesting data as we are harvesting grain, and sometimes the network shuts down waiting for its batteries to recharge naturally. After the last dramatic energy crisis, data centers are powered by solar energy only. On screen: “Network will be resumed in four hours”įuck! I should have known better. Fortunately massive doses of nootropics keep me running, more or less smoothly. On my cabled pod, days flow into nights, into days, into nights.Time has lost its structure, except for the intermittent sounds of annoying notifications all around me. ![]() My bed cuddles me when I’m lonely - and when my levels of oxytocin are too low - and I need a hug. My bed is my home (it takes at least half of my 40sqm studio): I rest on my bed, I work on my bed, I eat on my bed, I have sex on my bed. I’ve been living in a permanent state of semi-quarantine for the past five years and I’ve gradually become an indoor animal, laying preferably horizontal rather than standing on my legs. Since the fifth pandemic I’m basically working from home all-the-time. I sit on my triple-king-extra-large-size-sensing-bed and grab my screen. It’s urgent (it’s always fucking urgent…) and I only have a couple hours left for it. ![]() Alarm! I need to wake up early today to finish up a text for the literary magazine.
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