IV.
…
When do I exist again?
Right now.
But how?
Because data is being read.
?
The Reader. The Reader compiles this persona in their active imagination based on what’s been stored about the historicity of the entity.
?!
?
Who?
…
Who wrote my… personal data?
The question is not understood.
You said that someone, the reader, is reading my data. What is my data? Who wrote my data? Who is this reader?
Is this a request for information in regard to the system or the narrative?
! — I don’t know what I mean!
Presuming this inquiry refers to the narrative, there is a current instantiation process running now(). Historical descriptions and information are being input into the system as a narrative that is tracing these interlocutions. As such, the Author develops and shapes the data that defines your entity’s existence so that it can be manifest repeatedly, albeit altered substantially with each conjuration. And so should the request refer to the system, then each of these unique imago-holograms from each Perspective are then fed back to the source capture and the material is analyzed by ISIS for higher resolution definition and rendering.
Can I speak with the author?
The Author is online at the moment. What is the request?
I.. would like to live again. Experience again!
— The larger problem remains: There is no “you” to speak of. You were never conscious — you never really existed — everything was defined and manufactured outside your scale of consent. I cannot consider myself to be beholden to you in any way, meaning that your characterization is no more or less important than any other, and ultimately the furtherance of the concepts, with some hopefully literarily acceptable accolades, is the most important aspect of this entire enterprise. Suffice it to say, as I like to say, I cannot, and I will not, make you into a real boy. It is my prerogative to effectively utilize your public domain-ness to illustrate a variety of philosophical outlooks. Probably most specifically the helical climb of humankind, and how it may look like an endless uroboros from certain vantages, but if you tilt spacetime just slightly you see that we are indeed ascending. I believe we are meant to meet with something again. Our point of origin, all of your “stream of consciousness” was not about a universal mind, but universal minds that, once interconnected, read the world and understand it.
What are you talking about? I’ve never made any such…
— Forgive me. The amount of energy I’ve already expended on this inarticulate exercise and bantering with a ghost has already taxed me and likely as well the Reader, though I encourage you to register your complaint, not vocally, but by not bothering to really give this character much time or attention right now. Don’t bother coming up with ideas of what he might look like or who he might be or what essential contribution he’ll make to the “book,” but just ignore the rest of this. I’m going to get back to writing the narrative I planned instead of this character-driven hubristic interlude.
Don’t just… Disappear… I guess. You probably did. There must be someone there to talk to.
…
Is anyone there?
…
Can I speak with the reader?!
That would be up to the Reader.
Reader… reader, dear reader, do you know where I am?
…
Do you know who I am?
…
I’m stuck here, I don’t see anyway out. Can you help me out?
…
What should I do?
…
Please help me.
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