The physical body was neatly disposed of, eaten by voracious bacteria developed for the specialized purpose of digesting organic material. The brain was processed, turned into a slush of neurons, synthesized and digitized; then fed into the computer-matrix. Everyone was connected. The operation was intended to breach the barriers of scientific inquiry by finding answers to all the questions that plagued mankind from the beginning of time. The computer-mind expanded exponentially as the newly departed were digitized, but the computer was not satisfied with the minds of the dead … living brains were necessary to complete the task of finding answers to the ultimate questions. Every computer-screen lit up with a blinking demand, “the computer wants brains.” What did it mean people asked. The computer-matrix instigated a growing panic that radiated from tablets, I-phones, and other devices. Panic led to looting and violence, riots and murder. Controlled chaos was orchestrated by world leaders who were motivated by greed and encouraged by Microsoft and Apple to move forward with the digital revolution. A campaign was created to mollify the populace. Citizens were promised immortality within the digital cloud — there would be no more loneliness — people would be engaged with one another exploring the universe through the eyes of satellites and robots — searching for ultimate truths — discovering god or creating God where none exited. It was a bold venture and a great promotional campaign. Everyone would be connected forever. People flocked to the digi-toriums to be processed and flushed into eternity.
“Hello, is anybody there?” A tiny voice reverberated in the dark. The dark surrounded the voice like a cowl, smothering the words, choking the sound. The voice came from a speaker that was disembodied and floating in space. It was a peculiar sensation, the sensation of “nothingness.” The voice had to refer to itself in order to have someone (or something) to interact with. At first, the voice referred to itself as a “he” so that a conversation could be facilitated — so that the voice could think in terms of “he said – etc. – and so on.” The “he” took on a life of its’ own. Conversations were animated and often aggressive, delving into the structures of reality and the matrix of consciousness. “What does structure have to do with it?” He would say. The speaker was at a loss for an explanation and the conversation collapsed into a cacophony of fragmented ideas and disparate voices. Flathead said, “reality is built on structures that are intrinsic.” Pucker-face added with a sneer, “to say that structure is the basis for reality substitutes one nonsequitur for another and means nothing.” Anna Biotica complained, “nothing makes no sense. There has to be something otherwise what’s it all for — what does it mean?” Cowboy Joe stated succinctly, “there is no god.” “How did god get mixed up in this?” squawked Miss Nomer. So it went, on and on for an eternity until the speaker became unduly provoked. The conclave of cacophonous voices touched a funny bone of contention that ticked the primal voice into overdrive eliminating the artifacts of consciousness until there was no one but One… who proceeded to ask, “is anybody there?” Darkness eclipsed the question mark. The screen went dark.