They had purposely climbed down into a canyon merely to have a conversation. “I should’ve left my phone in the car anyway. And I wonder if I could’ve just not worn my eye clip today at all” Marx muse
The signals were too weak for their phones and their eye clips were glitching due to the thick bush.
“Without your eye clip, how would you have known what to have for breakfast or when exactly to do your workout this morning?” Socho asked.
“Well, does it always have to be that perfect?”
“But it can be, that’s the point. And you know your insurance company will know if you take it off.”
“Yea but not if it’s out of range”
“But it will know what you did. And the latest updates know what you think half the time now too. It will all load as soon as that thing in your eye gets a sniff of reception.”
“This is a dream.”
“What, your life?”
“No I’ll log this out of range activity as a dream. The company deletes the data that way. So I can say what the hell I want and —-”
“Wait!” Socho stopped Marx.
A bird flew by and hovered for a moment. It was a pīwakawaka.
“That bird moves like those mini drones; sporadic, curious and kind of nosy, in a cheeky way.”
“It’s not.” Socho replied.
“No, all of those things are banned down here. It’s indigenous land. Nothing mechanical, electronic or artificial.”
“Then what are we doing here?” Socho asked.
“You’ve got two 3d printed legs, I’m on my third liver and your eye clip is 3rd generation neuroware.”
Marx paused and pondered. He could actually feel his brain working, by itself for once in a long time. Without much processing he spotted a space to sit about 200 meters further up the canyon, bathed in sunlight.
“Let’s sit over there.” Marx decided.
They walked over in silence and sat next to each other with enough space to park a car between them. “You know Socho, I once heard a story about a pandemic that happened in the early 21st century. When billions of people were locked down at home and world trade came to a grinding halt. For a brief period, there were alot less boats in the harbour moving in and out.”
“So there were a lot less SAILS happening in the world?” Socho quipped
“Hah! Now I know we’re thinking for ourselves now...” Marx was amused by that one.
“The sea life began to return closer to the shores, whales in particular. They recorded conversation and compared it to what they had previously heard. They described it like going from drunk men shouting in a pub to two good friends have a deep conversation when the boats were gone. Slower chat, more linguistic and maybe, happier whales.”
Socho looked a little bemused.
“You bought me out here to tell me about whales Marx?”
“I bought you out here because I want more people to realise something I’ve realised. And I’m scared I’m losing myself like many other people.”
Socho didn’t say anything.
“It’s ok whatever you’re thinking, remember, log this as a dream.”
“But thats a lie!” Socho snapped.
“It’s a ‘fuck you’ to them is what it is.” Marx replied.
“Socho, when was the last time you were bored?”
“I get bored all the time.”
“Bullshit, waiting for your next device to tell you what the best thing to do today is not boredom.”
“What’s your favourite song? Marx probed.
“It changes day to day doesn’t it? Pretty soon it will be every hour.
Where’s all the good art?”
“AI does it better.” Socho answered.
“You’re not thinking about these things, but that’s ok, I’ll wait.”
So he did. They did. They sat and waited, for nothing.
Socho sighed.
Marx leapt up and pointed at her chest and said “LOOK at what you just did!”
Socho began trying to cover herself up like she was naked. But she wasn’t.
“You just took a deep breathe, on your godamb own!”
Socho smiled apprehensively.
“Let me show you what else I do down here.”
Marx took a deep breath and let out a giant deep bellied scream.
It bounced of the rocks and echoed throughout the canyon. Birds flew out of the trees and some animals were startled in the bushes.
“Marx! Look at what you did, those birds are so scared now.”
Socho, they are fucking birds, they get over it. They’ll flap their wings, go and land on a tree branch, move on and probably even bang another bird because they can.
“Who are you really Marx?”
“No, who are we? What have we become?
I come here not just to think, but to reset. This is my last grasp attempt at thinking for myself.”
“But your stupid on your own”, Socho smirked.
“I’d rather be dumb and happy than smart and full of shit-tech”
“Ok then. Why do we wear this stuff then?”
“Optimisation. But it’s not what we were built for.”
“Just like those birds weren’t built to be yelled at.” Socho added
“See how soft we’ve become? Soft in ways not intended. We can’t see a spade as a spade, we have to over analyse it.
Yet when it comes to trusting our intuition, we need to wait until we’ve ticked off our 5 daily health stacks before we can even access it.
“You’re exaggerating.” Socho objected.
“And YOU are looking more relaxed”. Marx replied
“Because for once I’m watching someone else have an existential crisis.”
“And even better that it’s your friend… Means you’ll be liable for my decline in health if we spend more than 7 hours a week together.”
“Did they shorten the time for defacto friendships again?”
“Manipulate the data to show more friendships equals more funding. Marx sighed, but differently to how Socho had
…That means my hairdresser is probably considered my bestie now.
They both laughed, paused looked at each other and laughed again.
Marx was standing in the sun smiling. Socho picked up a stick and started drawing on the rocks surface.
Marx was about to say something, but he stopped himself this time.
Minutes went by and Sohco continued to draw.
After a few minutes she looked up and said to Marx “Come sit down, I want to explain my artwork”.
This time he sat right next to her. Their shoulders lightly touched. Socho welcomed the closeness.
They both took a deep breathe at the same time.
There was a glint in Socho’s eye that he either didn’t think he had ever seen or had forgotten what it looked like. It didn’t matter, he’d achieve his mission of bringing another human back into nature.
“I call my art piece ‘Shit Rocks’. Because this is a shit piece of art work, on a rock but I love it and this place rocks.
“At least your art has a story.” Marx was smiling ear to ear.
“Every art piece has a story Marx”.
“Yes but at least yours is a human one”.
Human Love,