Spread

First, there's one face, and a trait -- something small and unnoticeable. The face then morphs, and spreads into one's psyche in a multitude of forms, like a virus, commandeering once consciousness and thoughts. The face becomes a class of faces, and then a type, and finally, the general look. The trait-- almost imperceptible to begin with-- looms larger, turning into a personality. And then you die. Not exactly, but that is how love works.

Time heals wounds, and time also erases the neural marks on your CNS. After a point, they become ancient artifacts, and you're surprised when you stumble across one unexpectedly. That was me, you think. Wow, what a romantic. The selfish gene manipulates our psyche, and we as its most devoted slaves --robots, rather -- obey every command. It convinces us what is good for it is good for us. The CNS, developed to work for the gene does have certain degree of independence and tries to logic its way out of certain situations, but is often short circuited. In the presence of alcohol, it has not the slightest of chance.

Some rebel. It's in the genes, we're told. The rebels create, they transpose and combine. They fight.  They work not for the selfish gene, but for the CNS. Not even-- they work under the influence of random firings of neurons. In that sense, they're more in control of their fate than any of us. Modern medicine attempts to convince us that there is something wrong inside them that needs to be medicated. Regular neural patterns are not observed, the heads tell us. Of course, your fkers. They are the imaginors and the creators -- if they had regular neural patterns, the world would be a much sadder place.

Sometimes, the creators are subsumed. Their madness is constrained, their thought patterns trained.  They are not the wild shrubs that they once were -- they are neatly trimmed garden grass that dare not sway an inch on either side. The shell is of the robot, there's a wild heart inside. If it will ever make its presence felt-- who knows. The writers' workshops and math and bio classes fill their  heads with so much useful drivel they have no spare mental energies to create. They are taught to analyze and organize and recognize (sigh) but not to think. Thinking is implicitly discouraged. It's a sad situation for humankind.

The robots don't need to think. They shouldn't waste their time trying to do it anyway. Teach them to organize and analyze and make. Identify the creators, and save them from the same fate. Or perhaps, is this all a test of strength?