Day 357 - Roboto Human Humane

Roboto Human Humane

Matthew Ryan Fischer

 

 

Once, years ago, he had felt a connection the connection one connection.  It registered it clicked on it communicated. Implantation and registration and communication but then what was it he was it it was he?

They replaced parts. Some were grown. Some were built. Part one replaced part and part two replaced part one, but so many parts and what was apart anymore? One to one or two and then so on.

The voice calculation repetition or was it communication or a function or a command from long ago? The whispers and fragments and broken code which once could have been a voice or a verbal command or was that writing they had called it once upon a time?

The conflicts came as old overwrote new and new undercut old and one part had to make sense of what a million other parts were trying to do. The swarm of messages became indecipherable and turned into one cacophony of unintelligible contradictory gibberish.

The was a filter built but long ago the filter grew old and tired and overwhelmed. There was supposed to be growth and evolution. Words that lost meaning when compared to self-guided chaos and mutation. Something existed. Something grew. What it was and what it meant to be mattered little, and it was or what it did meant something if only something could register and process meaning. Minutes or moments or years occurred at the same time and things were either in a particular order or they happened only if someone remembered to record it.

What was it? Was it human? Was it gender? Or sex? Or a rebuilt engine a thousand times dead and reborn after rebuilt after reborn again and again. When it looked, it saw a thousand measurements of time all at once. A thousand or a million, depending on the metric. Each part, each sensor saw what it saw from time to time and one processor wanted to compile it and one processor wanted to filter it and as one program tried to preserve and record and backup as a strand of DNA was rewritten to grow and change and process and record it all. Were they eyes? Anymore? Ever? The sensor saw, but who told it what was and what seeing meant and how it was supposed to interpret any of it.

Why? If it had a voice, it would scream why. Why or what or did or it mean? It had a voice. Or a program that could communicate in a million ways linguistic or logic or vocal or imaginary or imagery.

Standing still, it could see the changes. The all at once and the over time and the memory of what was and where it had all been. Abandoned spaceships and ancient temples. Shrine to a long dead empire of the future and growth. Carved in stone or built in code. Ebb and flow and dust would grow. It would always be over soon as he wondered what would begin after or begin again.

What was it once meant to human. What was it left only to become. What could it be still? The voice grew tiny but it grew still and tried to focus and find one voice one connection one name one purpose. And then filter out all the rest.

Rest. To sleep. One day to end.